Eleanor's "yes" got out, with nothing distinguishable except the last letter.
"I have a waggon here," said he. "Come with me."
The speaker waited for no answer to the words which were not a request; and acting as decidedly as he had spoken, took hold of Eleanor's arm and led her forward to a little vehicle which had just drawn up. He helped her into it, took his place beside her, and drove away; but he said not another word.
It was Mr. Rhys, and Eleanor knew that he had recognized her. She sat in a stupor of confusion and shame. What would he think of her! and what could she make him think? Must she be a bold, wild girl in his estimation for ever? Why would he not speak? He drove on in perfect silence. Eleanor must say something to break it. And it was extremely difficult, and she had to be bold to do that.
"I see you recognize me, Mr. Rhys," she said.
"I recognized you in the meeting," he answered in perfect gravity.
Eleanor felt it. She was checked. She was punished.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked after a little more time.
"I will take you wherever you tell me you desire."
Grave and short. Eleanor could not bear it.
"You think very hardly of me, Mr. Rhys," she said; "but I was spending the night at a poor girl's house in the village—she is ill, and I was going to sit up with her—and I knew you were to preach at that place—and—" Eleanor's voice choked and faltered.