"You will, if you cannot help it. Eleanor I wouldn't try him too far.
He is very fond of you—but he will be your husband in a few days; and
he is not the sort of man I should like to have displeased with me, if
I were you."
"He never will, mamma, unless he waits three months for it."
"Now I will tell you one thing," said Mrs. Powle rising in great anger—"I can put down my foot too. I am tired of this sort of thing, and I cannot manage you, and I will give you over to one who can. To-day is Tuesday—the twenty-first is exactly one fortnight off. Well my young lady, I will change the day. Next Monday I will give you to Mr. Carlisle, and he will be your master; and I fancy he is not at all afraid to assume the responsibility. He may take you to as quiet a place as he likes; and you may think at your leisure, and more properly than in the way you propose. So, Eleanor, you shall be married o' Monday."
Mrs. Powle flourished out with her bonnet in her hand. Eleanor's first movement was to go after her and turn the key in the door securely; then she threw up the window and flung herself on her face on the bed. Her mother was quite capable of doing as she had said, for her fair features covered a not very tender heart. Mr. Carlisle would second her, no doubt, all the more eagerly for the last night's adventures. Could Eleanor make head against those two? And between Tuesday and Monday was very little time to mature plans or organize resistance. Her head felt like splitting now indeed, for very confusion.
"Eleanor," said Julia's voice gravely and anxiously, "you will take cold—mayn't I shut the window?"
"There's no danger. I am in a fever."
"Is your head no better?"
"I hardly think I have a head. There is nothing there but pain and snapping."
"Poor Eleanor!" said her little sister, standing by the bedside like a powerless guardian angel. "Mr. Carlisle isn't good, if he wouldn't do what you want him."
"Do not open the door, Julia, if anybody knocks!"