work, and busily attentive to it; but on each cheek a spot of
colour had been fixed and deepening, till now it had reached a broad
flush. Silence fell as the reading ceased; Eleanor did not look up;
Mrs. Caxton did not take her eyes from her niece's face. It was with a
kind of subdued sigh that at last she turned from the table and put her
papers away.

"Mr. Morrison is not altogether in the wrong," she remarked at length.
"It is better for a man in those far-off regions, and amidst so many
labours and trials, to have the comfort of his own home."

"Do you think Mr. Rhys writes as if he felt the want?"

"It is hard to tell what a man wants, by his writing. I am not quite at
rest on that point."

"How happened it that he did not marry, like everybody else, before
going there?"

"He is a fastidious man," said Mrs. Caxton; "one of those men that are
rather difficult to please, I fancy; and that are apt enough to meet
with hindrances because of the very nice points of their own nature."

"I don't think you need wish any better for him, aunt Caxton, than to
judge by his letters he has and enjoys as he is. He seems to me, and
always did, a very enviable person."

"Can you tell why?"

"Good--happy--and useful," said Eleanor. But her voice was a little
choked.

"You know grace is free," said Mrs. Caxton. "He would tell you so. Ring
the bell, my dear. And a sinner saved in England is as precious as one
saved in Fiji. Let us work where our place is, and thank the Lord!"

CHAPTER X.

IN NEWS.

"Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue;
If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly."

Mr. Morrison's visit had drifted off into the distance of time; and the
subject of South Sea missions had passed out of sight, for all that
appeared. Mrs. Caxton did not bring it up again after that evening, and
Eleanor did not. The household went on with its quiet ways. Perhaps
Mrs. Caxton was a trifle more silent and ruminative, and Eleanor more
persistently busy. She had been used to be busy; in these weeks she
seemed to have forgotten how to rest. She looked tired accordingly
sometimes; and Mrs. Caxton noticed it.

"What became of your bill, Eleanor?" she said suddenly one evening.
They had both been sitting at work some time without a word.

"My bill, ma'am? What do you mean, aunt Caxton?"

"Your Ragged school bill."

"It