"He knows he has a home of his own too," said Mrs. Caxton; "though he has not reached it yet. I suppose the thought of that makes him content."
"Of course. But in a heathen land, with heathen desolation and dark faces all around one, you have no idea how at times one's soul longs for a taste of England. Brother Rhys too is a man to feel all such things. He has a good deal of taste, and what you might call sensitiveness to externals."
"A good deal," said Mrs. Caxton quietly. "Then he has some beautiful externals around him."
"So they say. But the humanity is deplorable. Well, they will get their reward when the Master comes. A man leaves everything indeed when he goes to the South Seas as Rhys has done. He would have been very popular in England."
"So he will in the islands."
"Well so it seems," said Mr. Morrison. "He has got the ear of those wild creatures evidently. That's the man."
It was time for evening prayers; and afterwards the party separated; Mrs. Caxton carrying off with her her packet of letters unbroken. The morning brought its own business; the breakfast was somewhat hurried; Mr. Morrison took his departure; and nothing more was said on the subject of South Sea missionaries till the evening. Then the two ladies were again alone together.
"Are you well to-day, Eleanor?" was Mrs. Caxton's first question at the tea-table.
"Some headache, aunt Caxton."
"How is that? And I have noticed that your eyes were heavy all day."