ot at all surprised to see her; rose up and gave her a very
cordial grasp of the hand, and stirred up the wood fire; which, May
morning though it was, the thick walls of the old stone house and the
neighbourhood of the mountains made useful and agreeable. In silence
and with a good deal of skill Mr. Rhys laid the logs together so that a
fresh blaze sprang up; then after a remark upon the morning he went
back to his book. Eleanor sat down, also silent, feeling very much
delighted to see him there, and to think that they would have his
company at breakfast; but not at all inclined, nor indeed competent, to
open a conversation. She looked into the fire and wondered at the turns
that had brought about this meeting; wondered over the past year of her
life; remembered her longing for the "helmet of salvation" which her
acquaintance with Mr. Rhys had begun; and sang for joy in her heart
that now she had it. Yes, it was hers, she believed; a deep rest and
peace had taken place of craving and anxiety, such as even now
disturbed poor dying Nanny. Eleanor felt very happy, in the midst of
all her care for her. The fire burned beautifully.

"I was not aware," said Mr. Rhys looking up from his book, "I was not
aware till last night that you lived with Mrs. Caxton."

Very odd, Eleanor thought; most people would have found out; however
she took it simply.

"I am her niece."

"So I find,--so I am glad to find. I can wish nothing better for any
one, in that kind, than to be connected with Mrs. Caxton."

He sat with his finger between the leaves of his book, and Eleanor
again wondered at the silence; till Mrs. Caxton came in. It was not
very flattering; but Eleanor was not troubled with vanity; she
dismissed it with a thought compounded of good-humour and humility. At
breakfast the talk went on pretty briskly; it was all between the other
two and left her on one side; yet it was good enough to listen to it.
Eleanor was well satisfied. Mr. Rhys was the principal talker; he was
telling Mrs. Caxton of different people and things in the course of his
labours; which constantly gave a reflex gleam of light upon those
labours themselves and upon the labourer. Unconsciously of course, and
merely from the necessity of the case; but it was very interesting to
Eleanor, and probably to Mrs. Caxton; she looked so. At last she turned
to her niece.

"How did you leave Nanny?"

"A little easier towards morning, I think; at least she went to sleep