appointed. Julia and her governess had left the Lodge only the day
before to pay a visit of a week at some distance. By order, Eleanor
could not help suspecting it had been; of set purpose, to prevent the
sisters meeting. This disappointment was bitter. It was hard to keep
from angry thoughts. Eleanor fought them resolutely, but she felt more
desolate than she had ever known in her life before. The old place of
her home, empty and still, had so many reminders of childish and happy
times; careless times; days when nobody thought of great marriages or
settlements, or when such thoughts lay all hidden in Mrs. Powle's mind.
Every tree and room and book was so full of good and homely
associations of the past, that it half broke Eleanor's heart. Home
associations now so broken up; the family divided, literally and
otherwise; and worst of all, and over which Eleanor's tears flowed
bitterest, her own ministrations and influence were cut off from those
who most needed them and whom she most wished to benefit. Eleanor's day
at home was a day of tears; it was impossible to help it. The roses
with their sweet faces looked remonstrance at her; the roads and walks
and fields where she had been so happy invited her back to them; the
very grey tower of the Priory rising above the trees held out worldly
temptation and worldly reproof, with a mocking embodiment of her causes
of trouble. Eleanor could not bear it; she spent one night at home;
wrote a letter to Julia which she entrusted to a servant's hands for
her; and the next morning set her face towards Plassy. Julia lay on her
heart. That conversation they had held together the morning when
Eleanor waylaid her--it was the last that had been allowed. They had
never had a good talk since then. Was that the last chance indeed, for
ever? It was impossible to know.

In spite of June beauty, it was a dreary journey to her from home to
her aunt's; and the beautiful hilly outlines beyond Plassy rose upon
her view with a new expression. Sterner, and graver; they seemed to
say, "It is life work, now, my child; you must be firm, and if
necessary rugged, like us; but truth of action has its own beauty too,
and the sunlight of Divine favour rests there always." A shadowless
sunlight lay on the crowns and shoulders of the mountains as Eleanor
drew near. She got out of the carriage to walk the last few steps and
look at the place. Plassy never was more lovely. An aromatic breath,
pure and strong, ca