"What sort of a clergyman have you at home?" Mrs. Caxton asked. She had not spoken till then.
"He is a kind old man—he is a good man," Eleanor said, picking for words; "I like him. He is not a very interesting preacher."
"Did you ever hold any talk with him on your thoughts of hope, and fear?"
"I could not, ma'am. I have tried; but I could not bring him to the point. He referred me to confirmation and to doing my duty; he did not help me."
"It is not a happy circumstance, that his public teaching should raise questions which his private teaching cannot answer."
"O it did not!" said Eleanor. "Dr. Cairnes never raised a question in anybody's mind, I am sure; never in mine."
"The light that sprung up in your mind then, came you do not know whence?"
"Yes, ma'am, I do," said Eleanor with a little difficulty. "It came from the words and teaching of a living example. But in me it seems to be only darkness."
Mrs. Caxton said no more, and Eleanor added no more. The servants came in to family prayer; and then they took their candies and bade each other an affectionate good night. And Eleanor slept that night without dreaming.