"Mamma—"
"Speak!" the Squire burst out violently—"speak! truth or falsehood, whichever you like. Speak out, and don't go round about. Answer your mother's question."
"Will you please to repeat it, mamma?" Eleanor said, a little faintheartedly.
"If you had never been in a Methodist Chapel, or had anything to do with Methodists,—would you have any difficulty now about being the wife of Mr. Carlisle, and lady of Rythdale?"
Eleanor's colour rose gradually and grew deep before she ceased speaking.
"If I had never had anything to do with Methodists, mamma, I should be so very different from what I am now, that perhaps, it would be as you say."
"That's enough!" said the Squire, in a great state of rage and
determination. "Now, Eleanor Powle, take notice. I am as good as the
Methodists any day, and as well worth your minding. You'll mind me, or
I'll have nothing to do with you. Do you go to their chapels?"
"Sometimes."
"You don't go any more! St. George and the Dragon fly away with all the Methodist Chapels that ever were built! they shall hold no daughter of mine. And hark ye,—you shall give up this foolery altogether and tell me you will marry Mr. Carlisle, or I won't have you in my family. You may go where you like, but you shall not stay with me as long as I live. I give you a month to think of it, Eleanor;—a month? what's to-day?—the tenth? Then I give you till the first of next month. You can think of it and make up your mind to give yourself to Mr. Carlisle by that time; or you shall be no daughter of mine. St. George and the Dragon! I have said it, and you will find I mean it. Now go away."
Eleanor went, wondering whether her ears had served her right; so unnaturally strange seemed this turn of affairs. She had had no time to think of it yet, when passing the drawing-room door a certain impulse prompted her to go in. Mr. Carlisle was there, as something had told her he might be. Eleanor came in, looking white, and advanced towards him with a free steady step eyeing him fully. She was in a mood to meet anything.