"And what could prompt you to go alone, Miss Powle?"
"I wanted to go—" faltered Eleanor. "I knew it would be my last chance. I felt I must go. And I could go no way but alone."
"May I ask what you mean by 'your last chance?'"
"My last chance of hearing what I wanted to hear—what I can't help thinking about lately. Mr. Rhys, I am not happy."
"Did you understand what you heard to-night?"
"In part I did—I understood, Mr. Rhys, that you have something I have not,—and that I want." Eleanor spoke with great emotion.
"The Lord bless you!" he said, with a tenderness of tone that broke her down at once. "Trust Jesus, Miss Powle. He can give it to you. He only can. Go to him for what you want, and for understanding of what you do not understand. Trust the Lord! Make your requests known to him, and believe that he will hear your prayers and answer them, and more than fulfil them. Now where shall I set you down?"
"Anywhere—" Eleanor said as well as she could. "Here, if you please."
"Here is no house. We are just at the entrance of the village."
"This is a good place then," said Eleanor. "I do not want anybody to see me."