"What do you suppose will become of it then?"
"What the Lord pleases. I do not know," said Eleanor with a pang at her heart. "I have done my part—all I could—so far."
"I suppose you expect Mr. Carlisle will take it up as his own cause, after it has ceased to be yours?"
Eleanor understood this, and was silent. She took up the paper again to find where to read.
"Put that down, Eleanor Powle," said her father who was evidently in a very bad humour, as he had cause, poor old gentleman; there is nobody so bad to be out of humour with as yourself;—"put that down! until we know whether you are going to read to me any more or no. I should like to know your decision."
Eleanor hesitated, for it was difficult to speak.
"Come!—out with it. Time's up. Now for your answer. Are you going to be an obedient child, and give Mr. Carlisle a good wife? Hey? Speak!"
"An obedient child, sir, in everything but this. I can give Mr.
Carlisle nothing, any more than he has."
"Any more than he has? What is that?"
"A certain degree of esteem and regard, sir—and perhaps, forgiveness."