A great weariness came over her, as the
contrast rose up of Mrs. Caxton's dinner-table and the three faces
round it; with the sweet play of talk, on things natural or
philosophical, religious or civil, but always sensible, fresh, and
original and strong. Always that; the party might lapse into silence;
if one of them was tired it often did; but when the words came again,
they came with a ready life and purpose--with a sort of perfume of love
and purity--that it made Eleanor's heart ache now to think of. Her
mother was descanting on lodgings, on the people already at Brighton,
or coming there; on dresses ready and unready; and to vary this topic
the Squire complained that his wine was not cooled properly. Eleanor
sank into silence and then into extreme depression of spirits; which
grew more and more, until she caught her little sister's eye looking at
her wistfully. Julia had hardly said a word all dinner-time. The look
smote Eleanor's conscience. "Is this the way I am doing the work given
me?" she thought; "this selfish forgetting of all others in myself? Am
I standing in my post like a good soldier? Is _this_ 'pleasing all men
for their good?'" Conscience thumped like a hammer; and Eleanor roused
up, entered into what was going, talked and made herself pleasant to
both father and mother, who grew sunshiny under the influence. Mrs.
Powle eat the remainder of her dinner with more appetite; and the
Squire declared Eleanor had grown handsome and Plassy had done her no
harm. But Julia looked and listened and said never a word. It was very
hard work to Eleanor, though it brought its reward as she went along,
not only in comments but in the sense of duty performed. She would not
run away from her post; she kept at it; when her father had gone away
to smoke she stayed by her mother; till Mrs. Powle dropped off into her
usual after dinner nap in her chair. Eleanor sat still a minute or two
longer, then made an escape. She sought her old garden, by the way of
her old summer parlour. Things were not changed there, except that the
garden was a little neglected. It brought painful things back, though
the flowers were sweet and the summer sunset glow was over them all. So
it used to be in old times. So it used to be in nearer times, last
summer. And now was another change. Eleanor paced slowly down one walk
and up another, looking sorrowfully at her old friends, the roses,
carnations and petunias, which looked at her as cheerfully as