He walked beside her bewildered.
'You have taken my breath away—lifted me from Hell to Purgatory anyway,' he said, at last, trying for composure. 'I have no plans for myself—no particular hope—you didn't see and hear her just now! But I leave it all in your hands. What else can I do?'
'No,' she said calmly. 'There is nothing else for you to do.'
He felt a tremor of revolt, so quick and strange was her assumption of power over both his destiny and Lucy's. But he suppressed it; made no reply.
They turned the corner of the house. 'Your carriage can take me up the hill,' said Eleanor. 'You must ask Father Benecke's hospitality a little longer; and you shall hear from me to-night.'
They walked towards the carriage, which was waiting a hundred yards away. On the way Manisty suddenly said, plunging back into some of the perplexities which had assailed him before Eleanor's appearance:
'What on earth does Father Benecke know about it all? Why did he never mention that you were here; and then ask me to pay him a visit? Why did he send me up the hill this morning? I had forgotten all about the convent. He made me go.'
Eleanor started; coloured; and pondered a moment.
'We pledged him to secrecy as to his letters. But all priests are Jesuits, aren't they?—even the good ones. I suppose he thought we had quarrelled, and he would force us for our good to make it up. He is very kind—and—rather romantic.'
Manisty said no more. Here, too, he divined mysteries that were best avoided.