iser man. I have resigned
the expectations of a moment. But it is no harm for me to say I love
you as well as ever; _that_ I shall do, I think, till I die; although I
shall never see you again, and dare not promise myself I shall ever
again write to you. It may be it will be best not, even as a friend, to
do that. Perhaps as a friend I could not. It is not as a friend, that I
sign myself now,

"Rowland Rhys."

Poor Eleanor! She was of all people in the world the least given to be
sentimental or soft-hearted in a foolish way; but strong as she was,
there was something in these letters--or some mixture of things--that
entered her heart like an arrow through the joints of an armour, and
found her as defenceless. Tears came with that resistless, ceaseless,
measureless flow, as when the secret nerve of tenderness has been
reached, and every barrier of pride or self-consideration is broken
down or passed over. So keen the touch was to Eleanor, that weeping
could not quiet it. After all it was only a heavy summer shower--not a
winter storm. Eleanor hushed her sobs at last to begin her prayers; and
there the rest of the night left her. The morning was dawning grey in
the east, when she threw herself upon her bed for an hour's sleep.
Sleep came then without waiting.

Perhaps Mrs. Caxton had not been much more reposeful than her niece;
for she was not the first one down stairs. Eleanor was there before
her; Mrs. Caxton watched her as she came in; she was ceremoniously
putting the fire in best burning condition, and brushing up the ashes
from the hearth. As Mrs. Caxton came near, Eleanor looked up and a
silent greeting passed between them; very affectionate, but silent
evidently of purpose. Neither of them was ready to speak. The bell was
rung, the servants were gathered; and immediately after prayers
breakfast was brought in. It was a silent meal for the first half of
it. Mrs. Caxton still watched Eleanor, whose eyes did not readily meet
hers. What about her? Her manner was as usual, one would have said, yet
it was not; nor was she. A little delicate undefined difference made
itself felt; and that Mrs. Caxton was studying. A little added grace; a
little added deftness and alacrity; Mrs. Caxton had seen it in that
order taken of the fire before breakfast; she saw it and read it then.
And in Eleanor's face correspondingly there was the same difference;
impossible to tell where it lay, it was equally impossible not to
perceive