did in praying for you."

"I suppose I was in danger," said Eleanor thoughtfully. "It was a
difficult winter. Then do you think--Mr. Rhys gave me up?"

"No," said Mrs. Caxton smiling. "You remember he wrote to you after
that, from Fiji; but I suppose he tried to make himself give you up, as
far as hope went."

"For all that appears, I may be here long enough yet to have letters
before I go. We have heard of no opportunity that is likely to present
itself soon. Aunt Caxton, if my feeling is foolish, why is it natural?"

"Because you are a woman, my dear."

"And foolish?"

"Not at all; but feeling takes little counsel of reason in some cases.
I am afraid you will find that out again before you get to Mr.
Rhys--_after_ that, I do not think you will."

The conversation made Eleanor rather more anxious than she had been
before to hear of a ship; but October and November passed, and the
prospect of her voyage was as misty as ever.

Again and again, all summer, both she and Mrs. Caxton had written
begging that Mrs. Powle would make a visit to Plassy and bring or send
Julia. In vain. Mrs. Powle would not come. Julia could not.

CHAPTER XIII.

IN MEETINGS.

"A wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain,
To miseries enough."

In a neat plain drawing-room in a plain part of London, sat Mrs. Caxton
and Eleanor. Eleanor however soon left her seat and took post at the
window; and silence reigned in the room unbroken for some length time
except by the soft rustle of Mrs. Caxton's work. Her fingers were
rarely idle. Nor were Eleanor's hands often empty; but to-day she stood
still as a statue before the window, while now and then a tear softly
roll down and dropped on her folded hands. There were no signs of the
tears however, when the girl turned round with the short announcement,

"She's here."

Mrs. Caxton looked up a little bit anxiously at her adopted child; but
Eleanor's face was only still and pale. The next moment the door
opened, and for all the world as in old times the fair face and fair
curls of Mrs. Powle appeared. Just the same; unless just now she
appeared a trifle frightened. The good lady felt so. Two fanatics. She
hardly knew how to encounter them. And then, her own action, though she
could not certainly have called it fanatical, had been peculiar, and
might be judged divers ways. Moreover, Mrs. Powle was Eleanor's mother.

There was one in the