LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Rhys?"

      "You must be his servant. And you must trust all your little heart and life to him."

      "I must be his servant?" said Julia.

      "Yes, heart and soul, to obey him. And you must trust him to forgive you and save you for his blood's sake."

      Doubtless there had been something in the speaker himself that had held the child's attention so fast all this while. Her eyes had never wandered from his face; she had stood in docile wise looking at him and answering his questions and listening, won by the commentary she read in his face on what her friend was saying. A strange light kindled in it as he spoke; there were lines of affection and tenderness that came in the play of lips and eyes; and when he named his Master, there had shined in his face as it were the reflection of the glory he alluded to. Julia's eyes were not the only ones that had been held; though it was only Julia's tongue that said anything in reply. Standing now and looking still into the face she had been reading, her words were an unconscious rendering of what she found there.

      "Mr. Rhys, I think he was very good."

      The water filled those clear eyes at that, but he only returned the child's gaze and said nothing.

      "I will take the conditions, Mr. Rhys," Julia went on.

      "The Lord make it so!" he said gravely.

      "But what is the helmet, Mr. Rhys?"

      "When you have taken the conditions, little one, you will know." He rose up.

      "Mr. Rhys," said Eleanor rising also, "I have listened to you, but I do not quite understand you."

      "I recommend you to ask better teaching, Miss Powle."

      "But I would like to know exactly what you mean, and what you meant, by that 'helmet' you speak of so often?"

      He looked steadily now at the fair young face beside him, which told so plainly of the danger lately passed through. Eleanor could not return, though she suffered the examination. His answer was delayed while he made it.

      "Do you ask from a sense of need?" he said.

      Eleanor looked up then and answered, "Yes."

      "To say, 'I know that my Redeemer liveth' – that is it," he said. "Then the head is covered – even from fear of evil."

      It was impossible that Eleanor ever should forget the look that went with the words, and which had prevented her own gaze from seeking the ground again. The look of inward rejoicing and outward fearlessness; the fire and the softness that at once overspread his face. "He was looking at his Master then" – was the secret conclusion of Eleanor's mind. Even while she thought it, he had turned and was gone again with Julia. She stood still some minutes, weak as she was. She was not sure that she perfectly comprehended what that helmet might be, but of its reality there could be no questioning. She had seen its plumes wave over one brow!

      "I know that my Redeemer liveth" – Eleanor sat down and mused over the words. She had heard them before; they were an expression of somebody's faith, she was not sure whose; but what faith was it? Faith that the Redeemer lived? Eleanor did not question that. She had repeated the Apostle's Creed many a time. Yet a vague feeling from the words she could not analyze – or arising perhaps from the look that had interpreted them – floated over her mind, disturbing it with an exceeding sense of want. She felt desolate and forlorn. What was to be done? Julia and Mr. Rhys were gone. The garden was empty. There was no more chance of counsel-taking to-night. Eleanor felt in no mood for gay gossip, and slowly mounted the stairs to her own room, from whence she declined to come down again that night. She would like to find the settlement of this question, before she went back into the business of the world and was swallowed up by it, as she would soon be. Eleanor locked the door, and took up a Bible, and tried to find some good by reading in it. Her eyes and head were tired before her mind received any light. She was weak yet. She found the Bible very unsatisfactory; and gave it up.

      CHAPTER III.

      IN THE DRAWING-ROOM

      "Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;

      And he that might the vantage best have took,

      Found out the remedy."

      "You can come down stairs to-night, Eleanor," said Mrs. Powle the next morning.

      "I was down stairs last night – in the afternoon, I mean – mamma."

      "Yes, but you did not stay. I want you in the drawing-room this evening. You can bear it now."

      "I am in no hurry, mamma."

      "Other people are, however. If you wear a white dress, do put a rose or some pink ribbands somewhere, to give yourself a little colour."

      "Have you invited any one for this evening?"

      "No, but people have promised themselves without being asked. Dr. Cairnes wants to see you; he said he would bring Mrs. Wycherly. Miss Broadus will be here of course; she declared she would; both of them. And Mr. Carlisle desired my permission to present himself."

      "Mr. Rhys is coming," said Julia.

      "I dare say. Mr. Powle wants him here all the time. It is a mercy the man has a little consideration – or some business to keep him at home – or he would be the sauce to every dish. As it is, he really is not obtrusive."

      "Are all these people coming with the hope and intent of seeing me, mamma?"

      "I can only guess at people's hopes, Eleanor. I am guiltless of anything but confessing that you were to make your appearance."

      "Mr. Rhys is not coming to see you," said Julia. "He wants to see the books – that is what he wants."

      There was some promise for Eleanor in the company announced for the evening. If anybody could be useful to her in the matter of her late doubts and wishes, it ought to be Dr. Cairnes, the rector. He at least was the only one she knew whom she could talk to about them; the only friend. Mr. Rhys was a stranger and her brother's tutor; that was all; a chance of speaking to him again was possible, but not to be depended on. Dr. Cairnes was her pastor and old friend; it is true, she knew him best, out of the pulpit, as an antiquarian; then she had never tried him on religious questions. Nor he her, she remembered; it was a doubtful hope altogether; nevertheless the evening offered what another evening might not in many a day. So Eleanor dressed, and with her slow languid step made her way down stairs to the scene of the social gayeties which had been so long interrupted for her.

      Ivy Lodge was a respectable, comfortable, old house; pretty by the combination of those advantages; and pleasant by the fact of making no pretensions beyond what it was worth. It was not disturbed by the rage after new fashions, nor the race after distant greatness. Quiet respectability was the characteristic of the family; Mrs. Powle alone being burdened with the consciousness of higher birth than belonged to the name of Powle generally. She fell into her husband's ways, however, outwardly, well enough; did not dislodge the old furniture, nor introduce new extravagances; and the Lodge was a pleasant place. "A most enjoyable house, my dear," – as Miss Broadus expressed it. So the gentry of the neighbourhood found it universally.

      The drawing-room was a pretty, spacious apartment; light and bright; opening upon the lawn directly without intervention of piazza or terrace. Windows, or rather glass doors, in deep recesses, stood open; the company seemed to be half in and half out. Dr. Cairnes was there, talking with the squire. In another place Mrs. Powle was engaged with Mr. Carlisle. Further than those two groups, Eleanor's eye had no chance to go; those who composed the latter greeted her instantly. Mrs. Powle's exclamation was of doubtful pleasure at Eleanor's appearance; there was no question of her companion's gratification. He came forward to Eleanor, gave her his chair; brought her a cup of tea, and then sat down to see her drink it; with a manner which bespoke pleasure in every step of the proceedings. A manner which had rather the effect of a barrier to Eleanor's vision. It was gratifying certainly; Eleanor felt it; only she felt it a little too gratifying. Mr. Carlisle was getting on somewhat too fast for her. She drank her tea and kept very quiet; while Mrs. Powle sat by and fanned herself, as contentedly as a mother duck swims that sees all her young ones taking to the water kindly.

      Now and then Eleanor's

Скачать книгу