"Not?" said the doctor. "You would prefer a cup of chocolate. Bad taste, Miss Eleanor—wine is better for you, too. Ladies will sup chocolate, I believe; I wonder what they find in it. The thing is, my sister being away to-day, I don't know—"
Eleanor begged he would not mind that, nor her; however the chocolate was ordered and in due time brought.
"Now that will make you dull," said the doctor,—"sleepy. It does not have, even on you, the reviving, brilliant effect of this beverage." And he put the bright glass of wine to his lips. It was not the first filled.
"Before I get dull, dear doctor, I want to talk to you."
"Aye?" said the doctor, looking at her over the wine. "You do? What about? Say on, Miss Eleanor. I am yours doubly now, by the past and the future. You may command me."
"It is about the present, I wish to talk," said Eleanor.
"What is it?"
"My mind is not at rest," said Eleanor, laying her hands in her lap, and looking off again towards the ruins with their green and grey silent reminders,—"about religious subjects."
"Ah?" said Dr. Cairnes. "How is that, Miss Eleanor? Be a little more explicit with me, will you not."
"I will. Dr. Cairnes, I am young now, but by and by decay must come to me, as it has come to that old pile yonder—as it comes to everything. I want security for my head and heart when earthly security fails."