of conscience with them; conscience and tenderer feelings which strove together and yet found no rest; and this action the sight of Mr. Carlisle rather intensified. Were her head but covered by that helmet of salvation, under which others lived and walked so royally secure, and she could bid defiance to any disturbing force that could meet her, she thought, in this world.

It was while Eleanor's head was yet bowed, and her heart busy with these struggling feelings, that she heard an invitation given to all people who were not at peace in their hearts and who desired that Christians should pray for them, to come forward and so signify their wish. Eleanor did not understand what this could mean; and hearing a stir in the church, she looked up, if perhaps her eyes might give her information. To her surprise she saw that numbers of people were leaving their seats and going forward to what she would have called the chancel rails, where they all knelt down. All these persons, then, were in like condition with her; unhappy in the consciousness of their wants, and not knowing how to supply them. So many! And so many willing openly to confess it. Eleanor's heart moved strangely towards them. And then darted into her head an impulse, quick as lightning and almost as startling, that she should join herself to them and go forward as they were doing. Was not her heart mourning for the very same want that they felt? She had reason enough. No one in that room sought the forgiveness of God and peace with Him more earnestly than she, nor with a sorer heart; nor felt more ignorant how to gain it. Together with that another thought, both of them acting with the swiftness and power of a lightning flash, moved Eleanor. Would it not utterly disgust Mr. Carlisle if she took this step? would he wish to have any more to do with her after she should have gone forward publicly to ask for prayers in a Wesleyan chapel? It would prove to him at least how far apart they were in all their views and feelings. It would clear her way for her; and the next moment, doing it cunningly that she might not be intercepted, Eleanor Powle slipped out of her seat with a quick movement, just before some one else who was coming up the aisle, and so put that person for that one second of danger between her and the waiting figure whom she knew without looking at. That second was gained, and she went trembling with agitation, yet exultingly up the aisle and knelt on the low bench where the others were.

Mr. Carlisle, and escape from him, had been Eleanor's one thought till she got there. But as her knees sank upon the cushion

and her head bowed upon the rails, a flood of other feeling swept over her and Mr. Carlisle was forgotten. The sense of what she was committing herself to-of the open stand she was taking as a sinner, and one who desired to be a forgiven sinner-overwhelmed her; and her heart's great cry for peace and purity broke forth ot the exclusion of everything else.

not know in the least She did not hear if pray for herself; she

In the confusion of Eleanor's mind, she did what was going on around her in the church. they were praying or singing. She tried to knew not what others were doing till she heard some low whispered words near her. That sound startled her into attention, for she knew the accent of one voice that spoke. The other, if one answered, she could not discern; but she found with a start of mingled fear and pleasure that Mr. Rhys was speaking separately with the persons kneeling around the rails. She had only time to clear her voice from tears, before that same low whisper came beside her.

"What is your difficulty?"

"Darkness-confusion-I do not see what way to go." "Go no way," said the whisper impressively, "until you see clearly. Then do what is right. That is the first point. You know that Christ is the Fountain of Light ?"

"But I see none."

"Seek Him trustingly and obediently, and then look for the light to come, as you would for the dawning after a dark night. It is sure, if you will trust the Lord. His going forth is prepared as the morning. It is sure to come to all that seek Him, trust Him, and obey Him. Seek Him in prayer constantly, and in studying your Bible; and what you find to be your duty, do; and the Lord be with you."

She

He passed away from Eleanor; and presently the whole assembly struck up a hymn. It sounded like a sweet shout of melody at the time; but Eleanor could never recall a note of it afterwards. knew the service was nearly ended, and that in a few minutes she must quit her kneeling, sheltered position, and go out into the world again. She bent her heart to catch all the sweetness of the place and the time; for strange and confused as she felt, there was, nevertheless, an atmosphere fragrant with peace about both. The hymn came to an end; the congregation were dismissed, and Eleanor perforce turned her face to go down the aisle again.

Her veil was down and she did not look, but she knew without

looking just when she reached the spot where Mr. Carlisle stood. He stood there yet; he had only stepped a little aside to let the stream of people go past him; and now as Eleanor came up he assumed his place by her side and put her hand upon his arm as quietly as if he had been waiting there for her by appointment all along. So he led her out to the carriage in waiting for her, helped her into it, and took his place beside her; in silence, but with the utmost gentleness of demeanour. The carriage-door was closed, they drove off; Eleanor's evening was over, and she was alone with Mr. Carlisle.

CHAPTER XII.

AT SUPPER.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Sir And. Oh, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir Tob. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

WHAT

HAT was to come now; as in darkness and silence the carriage rolled over the road towards Wiglands? Eleanor did not greatly care. She felt set free; outwardly, by her own daring act of separation; inwardly and more effectually perhaps, by the influence of the evening upon her own mind. In her own settled and matured conclusions, she felt that Mr. Carlisle's power over her was gone. It was a little of an annoyance to have him sitting there; nevertheless Eleanor's mind did not trouble itself much with him. Leaning back in the carriage, she gave herself up to the impressions of the scene she had been through. Her companion was quiet and made no demands upon her attention. She recalled over and over the words, and looks of the sermon; the swell of the music-it had been like angel's melody; and the soft words which had been so energetic in their whispered strength as she knelt at the railing. She remembered with fresh wonder and admiration with what effect the Bible words in the first part of the sermon had come upon the audience through that extreme quietness of voice and delivery; and then with what sudden fire and life, as if he had become another man, the speaker had burst out to speak of his Master; and how it had swayed and bent the assembly. It was an entirely new view of Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor could not forget it. In general, as she had always seen him, though perfectly at ease in his manners, he was very simple and undemonstrative. She had not guessed there was such might in him. It awed her; it delighted her. To live such a life and to do such work as that man lived for-that was living indeed. That was noble, high, pure;

unlike, and, oh, how far above all the manner of lives Eleanor had ever seen before. And such, in so far as the little may resemble the great-such at least so far as in her sphere and abilities and sadly inferior moral qualities it may lie-such, in aim and direction at least, her own life should be. What had she to do with Mr. Carlisle ?

Eleanor never spoke to him during the long drive, forgetting as far as she could, though a little uneasiness grew upon her by degrees, that he was even present. And he did not speak to her, nor remind her of his presence otherwise than by pulling up the glass on her side when the wind blew in too chill. It was his carriage they were in Eleanor then perceived; and she wanted to ask a question; but on the whole concluded it to be safe to be still; according to the proverb, Let sleeping dogs lie. One other time he drew her shawl round her which she had let slip off.

Mr. Carlisle was possessed of large self-control and had great perfection of tact; and he never showed either more consummately than this night. What he underwent while standing in the aisle of the chapel was known to himself; he made it known to nobody else. He was certainly silent during the drive; that showed him displeased; but every moment was calm as ordinary'; his care of Eleanor was the same, in its mixture of gentle observance and authority. He had laid down neither. Eleanor could have wished he had been unable to keep one or the other. Would he keep her, too, and everything else that he chose? Nothing is more subduing in its effect upon others than evident power of self-command. Eleanor could not help feeling it as she stepped out of the carriage at home, and was led into the house.

'Will you give me a few minutes when you have changed your dress?" her conductor asked.

"It must come," thought Eleanor, "and as well now as ever;" and she assented. Mr. Carlisle led her in. Nobody was in waiting but Mrs. Powle; and she waited with devouring anxiety. The Squire and Julia she had carefully disposed of in good time.

"Eleanor is tired, Mrs. Powle, and so am I, "said Mr. Carlisle. "Will you let us have some supper here, by this fire, and I think Eleanor had better have a cup of tea, as I cannot find out the wine that she likes." And as Eleanor moved away, he added, "And let me beg of you not to keep yourself from your rest any longer, I will take care of my charge; at least I will try."

Devoutly hoping that he might succeed to his wishes, and not