"My love," Mrs. Caxton said very tenderly, "I knew this before; I thought I did; but it was best to bring it out openly, for I could not else have executed my commission. I lave a message from Mr. Rhys to you, Eleanor."
"A message to me?" said Eleanor without raising her head.
"Yes. You were not mistaken."
"In what?"
Eleanor looked up; and amidst sorrow and shame and confusion, there was a light of fire, like the touch the summer sun gives to the mountain tops before he gets up. Mrs. Caxton looked at her flushed tearful face, and the hidden light in her eye; and her next words were as gentle as the very fall of the sunbeams themselves.
"My love, it is true."
"What, aunt Caxton?"
"You were not mistaken."
"In what, ma'am?"
"In thinking what you thought that day, when something—a mere nothing—made you think that Mr. Rhys liked you."