into the stillness of the glen, he asked her, "how
looking at such a thing made her feel?"

"Nothing but surprise and pleasure, I think," said Eleanor; "but a
great deal of both those." Then as he still remained silent, she went
on,--"To tell the truth, Mr. Rhys, I think my mental eye is only
beginning to get educated. I used always to enjoy natural beauty, but I
think it was in a superficial kind of way. Since I have been at
Plassy--and especially since a few weeks back,--all nature is much more
to me than it was."

"It is sure to be so," he said. "Nature without and nature within are
made for each other; and till the two are set to the same key, you
cannot have a good tune.--There is a fellow who is in pretty good
order! Do you hear that blackbird?"

"Sweet!" said Eleanor. "And what is that other note--'chee chee, chee,'
so many times?"

"That is a green wren."

"You are _something_ of a naturalist, Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor.

"Not at all! no more than my acquaintance with you and Mrs. Caxton
makes me a philosopher."

Eleanor wanted to ask what looking at the cataract made _him_ think of;
but as she had told her aunt, Mr. Rhys exercised a sort of quieting
influence over her. No natural audacity, of which she had an innocent
share, remained to her in his company. She walked along in demure
silence. And to say the truth, the sun was now growing warm, and the
two had walked not a few good miles that morning; which also has a
quieting influence. Eleanor queried with herself whether all the bright
part of the walk were over.

"I think it is time we varied our attention," said Mr. Rhys breaking
silence. "We have been upon one class of subjects a good
while;--suppose we try another. Don't you want to rest?"

"I am not tired,--but I have no objection."

"You are not easily tired?"

"Not about anything I like."

"You have struck a great secret of power and usefulness," he said
gravely. "What do you think of this bank?--it is dry, and it is
pleasant."

It would have been hardly possible to find a spot in all their way that
would not have been pleasant; and from this bank they looked over a
wide rich valley bordered with hills. It was not the valley where the
farmhouse of Plassy stood, with its meadows and river; this was
different in its features, and moreover some miles distant. Eleanor and
Mr. Rhys sat down on the moss at the foot of the trees, which gave both
shade and rest. It was the edge of a piece of wood