"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 passed."
"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?"