Eleanor blushed--what made her?--as she set about performing this office. The tea was cold; she had to make fresh, and wait till it was ready; and she stood by the table watching and preparing it, while Mr.
Carlisle sat in his chair observing her. Eleanor"s cheeks flushed more and more. There was something about this little piece of domesticity, and her becoming the servitor in her turn, that brought up things she did not wish to think of. But her neighbour liked what she did not like, for he sat as quiet as a mouse until Eleanor"s trembling hand offered him the cup. She had to take a step or two for it, but he never stirred to abridge them. Eleanor sat down again, and Mr. Carlisle sipped his tea with an appearance of gratification.
"That is a young man of uncommon abilities"--he remarked composedly,--"whom we heard this evening. Do you know who he is, Eleanor?"
Eleanor felt as if the sky was falling. "It is Mr. Rhys--Alfred"s old tutor--" she answered, in a voice which she felt was dry and embarra.s.sed to the quick ears that heard her. "You have seen him."
"I thought I had, somewhere. But that man has power. It is a pity he could not be induced to come into the Church--he would draw better houses than Dr. Cairnes. Do you think we could win him over, Eleanor?"
"I believe--I have heard"--said Eleanor, "that he is going away from England. He is going a missionary to some very far away region." She was quite willing Mr. Carlisle should understand this.
"Just as well," he answered. "If he would not come into his right place, such a man would only work to draw other persons out of theirs.
There is a sort of popular power of speech which wins with the common and uneducated mind. I saw it won upon you, Nellie; how was that?"
The light tone, in which a smile seemed but half concealed, disconcerted Eleanor. She was not ashamed, she thought she was not, but she did not know how to answer.
"You are a little _tete-montee_," he said. "If I had been a little nearer to you to-night, I would have saved you from taking one step; but I did not fancy that you could be so suddenly wrought upon. Pray how happened you to be in that place to-night?"
"I told you," said Eleanor after some hesitation, "that I had an unsatisfied wish of heart which made me uneasy--and you would not believe me."
"If you knew how this man could speak, I do not wonder at your wanting to hear him. Did you ever hear him before?"
"Yes," said Eleanor, feeling that she was getting in a wrong position before her questioner. "I have heard him once--I wanted to hear him again."
"Why did you not tell me your wish, that you might gratify it safely, Eleanor?"
"I supposed--if I did--I should lose my chance of gratifying it at all."
"You are a real _tete-montee_," he said, standing now before her and taking hold lightly and caressingly of Eleanor"s chin as he spoke. "It was well n.o.body saw you to-night but me. Does my little wife think she can safely gratify many of her wishes without her husband"s knowledge?"
Eleanor coloured brightly and drew herself back. "That is the very thing," she said; "now you are coming to the point. I told you I had wishes with which yours would not agree, and it was better for you to know it before it was too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To remedy a great evil."
"There is generally a remedy for everything," said Mr. Carlisle coolly; "and this sort of imaginative fervour which is upon you is sure to find a cold bath of its own in good time. My purpose is simply in future, whenever you wish to hear another specimen of the kind of oratory we have listened to this evening, to be with you that I may protect you."
"Protect me from what?"
"From going too far, further than you know, in your present _exaltee_ state. The Lady of Rythdale must not do anything unworthy of herself, or of me."
"What do you mean, Mr. Carlisle?" Eleanor exclaimed with burning cheeks. But he stood before her quite cool, his arms folded, looking down at her.
"Do you wish me to speak?"
"Certainly! I do."
"I will tell you then. It would not accord with my wishes to have my wife grant whispered consultations in public to any man; especially a young man and one of insinuating talents, which this one well may be. I could have shot that man, as he was talking to you to-night, Eleanor."
Eleanor put up her hands to her face to hide its colour for a moment.
Shame and anger and confusion struggled together. _Had_ she done anything unworthy of her? Others did the same, but they belonged to a different cla.s.s of persons; had she been where Eleanor Powle, or even Eleanor Carlisle, would be out of place? And then there was the contrasted consciousness, how very pleasant and precious that whispered "consultation" had been to her. Mr. Carlisle stooped and took away her hands from her face, holding them in his own.
"Eleanor--had that young man anything to do with those unmanageable wishes you expressed to me?"
"So far as his words and example set me upon thinking," said Eleanor.
"But there was nothing in what was said to-night that all the world might not hear." She rose, for it was an uncomfortable position in which her hands were held.
"All the world did not hear it, you will remember. Eleanor, you are honest, and I am jealous--will you tell me that you have no regard for this young man more than my wife ought to have?"
"Mr. Carlisle, I have never asked myself the question!" exclaimed Eleanor with indignant eyes. "If you doubt me, you cannot wish to have anything more to do with me."
"Call me Macintosh," said he drawing her within his arm.
Eleanor would not. She would have freed herself, but she could not without exerting too much force. She stood silent.
"Will you tell me," he said in a gentle changed tone, "what words did pa.s.s between you and that young man,--that you said all the world might hear?"
Eleanor hesitated. Her head was almost on Mr. Carlisle"s shoulder; his lips were almost at her downcast brow; the brilliant hazel eyes were looking with their powerful light into her face. And she was his affianced wife. Was Eleanor free? Had this man, who loved her, no rights? Along with all other feelings, a keen sense of self-reproach stole in again.
"Macintosh," she said droopingly, "it was entirely about religious matters--that you would laugh at, but would not understand."
"Indulge me--and try me--" he said pressing his lips first on Eleanor"s cheek and then on her mouth. She answered in the same tone as before, drooping in his arms as a weary child.
"He asked me--as I suppose he asked others--what the difficulties in my mind were,--religious difficulties; and I told him my mind was in confusion and I did not see clearly before me. He advised me to do nothing in the dark, but when I saw duty clear, then to do it. That was what pa.s.sed."
"What did all these difficulties and rules of action refer to?"
"Everything, I suppose," said Eleanor drooping more and more inwardly.
"And you do not see, my love, what all this tended to?"
"I do not see what you mean."
"This is artful proselytism, Eleanor. In your brave honesty, in your beautiful enthusiasm, you did not know that the purpose of all this has been, to make a Methodist of Eleanor Powle, and as a necessary preliminary or condition, to break off her promised marriage with me.
If that fellow had succeeded, he should have been made to feel my indignation--as it is, I shall let him go."
"You are entirely mistaken,--" began Eleanor.
"Am I? Have you not been led to doubt whether you could live a right life, and live it with me?"
"But would you be willing in everything to let me do as I think right?"
"Would I let you? You shall do what you will, my darling, except go to whispering conventicles. a.s.suredly I will not let you do that. But when you tell me seriously that you think a thing is wrong, I will never put my will in the way of your conscience. Did you think me a Mahometan?
Hey?"
"No--but--"
"But what?"