LITMIR.BIZ

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You would like to be Lady Rythdale, wouldn't you?"

      The silence which followed this was longer than that which had been before. Knife and pencil pursued their work, but Mrs. Powle glancing up furtively from her tissue paper saw that Eleanor's brow was knitted and that her pencil was moving under the influence of something besides Art. So she let her alone for a long time. And Eleanor's fancy saw a vision of fairy beauty and baronial dignity before her. They lay in the wide domains and stately appendages of Rythdale Priory. How could she help seeing it? The vision floated before her with point after point of entrancing loveliness, old history, present luxury, hereditary rank and splendour, and modern power. It was like nothing in Eleanor's own home. Her father, though a comfortable country gentleman, boasted nothing and had nothing to boast in the way of ancestry, beyond a respectable descent of several generations. His means, though ample enough for comfort and reasonable indulgence, could make no pretensions to more. And Ivy Lodge was indeed a pleasant home, and every field and hedgerow belonging to it was lovely to Eleanor; but the broad manors of Rythdale Priory for extent would swallow up many such, and for beauty and dignity were as a damask rose to a bit of eglantine. Would Eleanor be Lady Rythdale?

      "He will be here this evening for his answer, Eleanor – " Mrs. Powle remarked in a quiet voice the second time.

      "Then you must give it to him, mamma."

      "I shall do nothing of the kind. You must see him yourself. I will have no such shifting of your work upon my shoulders."

      "I do not wish to see him to-night, mamma."

      "I choose that you should. Don't talk any nonsense to me, Eleanor."

      "But, mamma, if I am to give the answer, I am not ready with any answer to give."

      "Tell Mr. Carlisle so; and he will draw his own conclusions, and make you sign them."

      "I do not want to be made to sign anything."

      "Do it of free-will then," said Mrs. Powle laughing. "It is coming, Eleanor – one way or the other. If I were you, I would do it gracefully.

      Is it a hard thing to be Lady Rythdale?"

      Eleanor did not say, and nothing further passed on the subject; till as both parties were leaving the room together, Mrs. Powle said significantly, "You must give your own answer, Eleanor, and to-night. I will have no skulking."

      It was beyond Mrs. Powle's power, however, to prevent skulking of a certain sort. Eleanor did not hide herself in her room, but she left it late in the afternoon, when she knew the company consisted of more than one, and entered a tolerably well filled drawing-room. Mrs. Powle had not wished to have it so, but these things do not arrange themselves for our wishes. Miss Broadus was there, and Dr. Cairnes, and friends who had come to make him and his sister a visit; and one or two other neighbours. Eleanor came in without making much use of her eyes, and sheltered herself immediately under the wing of Miss Broadus, who was the first person she fell in with. Two pairs of eyes saw her entrance; with oddly enough the same thought and comment. "She will make a lovely Lady Rythdale." All the baronesses of that house had been famous for their beauty, and the heir of the house remarked to himself that thiswould prove not the least lovely of the race. However, Eleanor did not even feel sure that he was there, he kept at such a distance; and she engaged Miss Broadus in a conversation that seemed of interminable resources. The sole thing that Eleanor was conscious of concerning it, was its lasting quality; and to maintain that was her only care.

      Would Eleanor be Lady Rythdale? she had made up her mind to nothing, except, that it would be very difficult for her to say either yes or no. Naturally enough, she dreaded the being obliged to say anything; and was ready to seize every expedient to stave off the moment of emergency. As long as she was talking to Miss Broadus, she was safe; but conversations cannot last always, even when they flow in a stream so full and copious as that in which the words always poured from that lady's lips. Eleanor saw signs at last that the fountain was getting exhausted; and as the next resort proposed a game of chess. Now a game of chess was the special delight of Miss Broadus; and as it was the detestation of her sister, Miss Juliana, the delight was seldom realized. The two sisters were harmonious in everything except a few tastes, and perhaps their want of harmony in those points gave their life the variety it needed. At any rate, such an offer as Eleanor's was rarely refused by the elder sister; and the two ladies were soon deep in their business. One really, the other seemingly. Though indeed it is true that Eleanor was heartily engaged to prevent the game coming to a termination, and therefore played in good earnest, not for conquest but for time. This had gone on a good while, before she was aware that a footstep was drawing near the chess table, and then that Mr. Carlisle, stood beside her chair.

      "Now don't you come to help!" said Miss Broadus, with a thoughtful face and a piece between her finger and thumb.

      "Why not?"

      "I know!" said Miss Broadus, never taking her eyes from the board which held them as by a charm, – "I can play a sort of a game; but if you take part against me, I shall be vanquished directly."

      "Why should I take part against you?"

      Miss Broadus at that laughed a good-humoured little simple laugh. "Well" – she said, "it's the course of events, I suppose. I never find anybody taking my part now-a-days. There! I am afraid you have made me place that piece wrong, Mr. Carlisle. I wish you would be still. I cannot fight against two such clever people."

      "Do you find Miss Powle clever?"

      "I didn't know she was, so much, before," said Miss Broadus, "but she has been playing like a witch this evening. There Eleanor – you are in check."

      Eleanor was equal to that emergency, and relieved her king from danger with a very skilful move. She could keep her wits, though her cheek was high-coloured and her hand had a secret desire to be nervous. Eleanor would not let it; and Mr. Carlisle admired the very pretty fingers which paused quietly upon the chess-men.

      "Do not forget a proper regard for the interests of the church, Miss Broadus," he remarked.

      "Why, I never do!" said Miss Broadus. "What do you mean? Oh, my bishop! – Thank you, Mr. Carlisle."

      Eleanor did not thank him, for the bishop's move shut up her play in a corner. She did her best, but her king's resources were cut off; and after a little shuffling she was obliged to surrender at discretion. Miss Broadus arose, pleased, and reiterating her thanks to Mr. Carlisle, and walked away; as conscious that her presence was no more needed in that quarter.

      "Will you play with me?" said Mr. Carlisle, taking the chair Miss Broadus had quitted.

      "Yes," said Eleanor, glad of anything to stave off what she dreaded; "but I am not – "

      "I am no match for you," she was going to say. She stopped suddenly and coloured more deeply.

      "What are you not?" asked the gentleman, slowly setting his pawns.

      "I am not a very good player. I shall hardly give you amusement."

      "I am not sorry for that – supposing it true. I do not like to see women good chess-players."

      "Pray why do you not like it?"

      "Chess is a game of planning – scheming – contriving – calculating. Women ought not to be adepts in those arts. I hate women that are."

      He glanced up as he spoke, at the fair, frank lines of the face opposite him. No art to scheme was shewn in them; there might be resolution; he liked that. He liked it too that the fringe of the eyes drooped over them, and that the tint of the cheek was so very rich.

      "But they say, no one can equal a woman in scheming and planning, if she takes to it," said Eleanor.

      "Try your skill," said he. "It is your move."

      The game began, and Eleanor tried to make good play; but she could not bring to it the same coolness or the same acumen that had fought with Miss Broadus. The well-formed, well-knit hand with the coat sleeve belonging to it, which was all of her adversary that came under her observation, distracted Eleanor's thoughts; she could not forget whose it was. Very different from the weak flexile fingers of Miss Broadus, with their hesitating movement and doubtful pauses, these did

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