lips remained silent. There
was consciousness of sympathy, consciousness of something that required
sympathy; and the seal of silence. Perhaps Mrs. Caxton's response to
this strange look came half unconsciously; it came wholly naturally.

"Poor child!"--

The colour rose on Eleanor's cheek at that; she turned her eyes away.

"I think Mr. Carlisle's plan--and mamma's--was to make circumstances
too strong for me; and to draw me by degrees. And they would, perhaps,
but for all I learned here."

"For what you learned here, my dear?"

"Yes, aunty; if they could have got me into a whirl society--if they
could have made me love dancing parties and theatres and the opera, and
I had got bewildered and forgotten that a great worldly establishment
not the best thing--perhaps temptation would have been too much for
me.--Perhaps it would. I don't know."

There was a little more colour in Eleanor's cheeks than her words
accounted for, as Mrs. Caxton noticed.

"Did you ever feel in danger from the temptation, Eleanor?"

"Never, aunty. I think it never so much as touched me."

"Then Mr. Carlisle has been at his own risk," said Mrs. Caxton. "Let us
dismiss him, my love."

"Aunt Caxton, I have a strange homeless, forlorn feeling."

For answer to that, Mrs. Caxton put her arms round Eleanor and gave her
one or two good strong kisses. There was reproof as well as affection
in them; Eleanor felt both, even without her aunt's words.

"Trust the Lord. You know who has been the dwelling-place of his
people, from all generations. They cannot be homeless. And for the
rest, remember that whatever brings you here brings a great boon to me.
My love, do you wish to go to your room before you have tea?"

Eleanor was glad to get away and be alone for a moment. How homelike
her old room seemed!--with the rose and honeysuckle breath of the air
coming in at the casements. How peaceful and undisturbed the old
furniture looked. The influence of the place began to settle down upon
Eleanor. She got rid of the dust of travel, and came down presently to
the porch with a face as quiet as a lamb.

Tea went on with the same soothing influence. There was much to tell
Eleanor, of doings in and about Plassy the year past; for the fact was,
that letters had not been frequent. Who was sick and who was well; who
had married, and who was dead; who had set out on a Christian walk, and
who were keeping up such a walk to the happiness of themselves and of