The Old Helmet, Volume II

how on

o weary! Were

y some

r went, for the most part he went; and at home he was very much at home indeed. Eleanor began to feel that the motions of the family depended on him; for she could find no sufficient explanation in her father's health or her mother's pleasure for their continued remaining in town. The Squire was much as he had been all winter; attended now and then by a physician, and out of health and spirits certainly; yet Eleanor could not help thinking he would be better at home, and somewha

stirring of air to fan them, gradually, by mere action and reaction upon each other, the cold grey ends began to sparkle an

owance of this mute language of assignment, and either her truth would be forfeited or her freedom. She must make a decided protest. Yet also Eleanor felt that quality in the moral atmosphere which threatened that if any clouds came up they would be stormy clouds; and she dreaded to make any move. Julia's society would have been a great solace now; when she never could have it. Julia comforted her, whenever they were together in company or met for a moment alone, by her energetic whisper-"I remember, Eleanor!-" but that was all. Eleanor could get no further speech of her. At the Ragged school Mr. Carlisle was pretty sure to be, and generally attended her home. Eleanor

h she had never seen. Eleanor coolly declined. He pressed the charms of the place, and of the country at that season. Eleanor with the same coolness of manner replied that she hoped soon to enjoy the country at home; and that she could not go to Richmond. Mr. Carlisle withdrew his

u say to a visit to

going,

r somewhere else-such a day; but w

al friends in

you early. He wants to have the whole day. Put on that green silk which becomes you so well. How it doe

are about g

do care. You have no i

e Rythdale-though Ryth

eady. You will enj

d, mamma. I do not thin

lis

y n

clusions people draw about me and Mr. Carlisle. If I went to Hampton Court or to

for months past, Eleanor

ions whatever, mamma, that would be

is winter, by your actions, that you belonged to him? All the world knows it was an engagem

or co

xpectations, mamma. He

y your behaviour these months past. Ever since we

rose to Elea

ouraged others. Grace give

ticular favour in his case

n off,

You rode, you walked, you talked, you went hither and t

mamma; rar

are alone with a gentleman in the street,

as sorry to do, I could hardly get out of or get

rl; be a sensible girl. You have promised yourself to Mr. Carlisle in the eye o

nd forwards in the room. "Mr. Carlisle has been told distinctly that I do not

ve him once

and I do that now; and then I did not know any better; but I wi

u to know an

gain for a minute; then it fade

ight after all, an

it does not follow that a woman must love a

leanor. I shall not suffer you to make a fool of him in my house; not to speak of making a fool of yourself and me, and ruining-forever ruining-all your prospects. You can't do it

ot go,

would not forf

not gi

y has understood it so. Your father looks upon Mr. Carlisle as his

will not say I give my hea

said Mrs. Powle laughing. "Come!

ill not go to Hampton C

s the r

e told

fil your engagement, nor obey me, nor save us a

been, but answered, "I mean no

It is not your heart but your head. It is your re

another word

ext day, when Eleanor went to her father's room after dinner she found, not Mr. Carlisle, but her mother with him. "Waiting for me"-thought Eleanor. The air of Mrs. Powle said so. The squire was gathered up i

eanor? what's all th

t, p

refused Mr

ago,

nter you have been accepting him again

ap

Squire,-"are you going to s

st, p

say yes to him! Wh

sir. If you command me

disobey

st, p

reason?" said the Squire, looking ang

ap

ve as good as said to him every day that you would be his wife, and

sir,

n't you hav

well enough to marry hi

him all the wint

ows I did not. He has

se! Eleanor, I am going to have you at the Priory and mistress of it before the wo

is all past. I shall n

eason?" roare

told y

him. I have seen it. It

ork. "If it had not been for your religious notions, Eleanor, would you no

e I shoul

d you have any difficulty about marrying h

am

h or falsehood, whichever you like. Speak out, and d

t it, mamma?" Eleanor sai

ng to do with Methodists,-would you have any difficulty now

adually and grew deep be

s, mamma, I should be so very different from what

d the Squire, in a g

leanor Powle, take not

as well worth your min

do with you. Do you

etim

Mr. Carlisle, or I won't have you in my family. You may go where you like, but you shall not stay with me as long as I live. I give you a month to think of it, Eleanor;-a month? what's to-day?-the tenth? Then I give you till the

k of it yet, when passing the drawing-room door a certain impulse prompted her to go in. Mr. Carlisle was there, as something had told her he

u are the cause of all the tr

He only gently and gravely disc

do you want the hand without the heart?" T

see yourself at this moment-or you would know better how impos

it. Eleanor's head and her gaze sank a little. She hesitated, and th

to say to me?" he asked, takin

wly; "but I will try not to thin

be giving up when she turned away from him. In one instant the whole view had come; the rank, the ease, the worldly luxury, the affection; and the question came too, waywardly, as impertinent questions will come, whether she was after all giving it up for sufficient cause? She was relinquishing if she quitted him, all that the world values. Not quite that, perhaps; if turned out from her father's family even, she was in no danger of wanting food or shelter or protection; for she would be sure of those and more in Mrs.

ow long first? That no one could tell, nor what might happen in the interval; and when she had got so far in her thoughts, Eleanor's tears began to flow. She let them flow; it relieved her; and somehow there was a good fountain head of them. And again those two pictures of future life rose up before her; not as matters of choice, to take one and leave the other-but as matters of contrast, in somewhat that entered the spring of tears and made them bitter. Was something gone from

ch one rides contentedly in rough water; there is a hope of glory, in the presence of which no darkness can abide; and there is a word with which Eleanor dried her tears that day and upon which she steadied her heart

Mr. Carlisle himself. That gentleman held his ground, with excellent grace and self-control, and made Eleanor more than ever feel his power. But she kept her ground too; not without an effort and a good deal of that old arm of defence which is called "all-prayer;" yet she kept it; was gentle and humble and kind to them all, to Mr. Carlisle himself, while he was sensible her grave gentleness had no yielding in it. How he admired her, those days! how he loved her; with a little fierce desire of triumph mingling, it must be confessed, with his love and admiration, and heightened by them; for now pride was touched, and some other feeling which he did not analyse. He had nobody to be jealous of, that he knew; unless it were Eleanor herself; yet her indifference piqued him. He could not brook to be baffled. He shewed no