"Will you please to give them to me, aunt Caxton," Eleanor said in the same subdued tone.
Mrs. Caxton rose and went to a secretary in the room for one or two papers, which she brought and put in Eleanor's hand. Then folding her arms round her, stooped down and kissed the turned-away face. Eleanor rose up to meet the embrace, and they held each other fast for a little while, neither in any condition to speak.
"The Lord bless you, my child!" said Mrs. Caxton as she released her. "You must make these letters a matter of prayer. And take care that you do the Lord's will in this business—not your own."
"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor presently, "why was this not told me long ago—before Mr. Rhys went away?" She spoke the words with difficulty.
"It is too long a story to tell to-night," Mrs. Caxton said after hesitating. "He was entirely ignorant of what your feeling might be towards him—ignorant too how far you might be willing to do and dare for Christ's sake—and doubtful how far the world and Mr. Carlisle might be able to prevail with you if they had a fair chance. He could not risk taking a wife to Fiji who had not fairly counted the cost."
"He was so doubtful of me, and yet liked me?" said Eleanor.
"My love, there is no accounting for these things," Mrs. Caxton said with a smile.
"And he left these with you to give to me?"
"One was left—the other was sent. One comes from Fiji. I will tell you about them to-morrow. It is too long a story for to-night; and you have quite enough to think about already. My dear Eleanor!"
They parted without more words, only with another speaking embrace, more expressive than words; and without looking at the other each went to her own room. Eleanor's was cosy and bright in winter as well as in summer; a fire of the peculiar fuel used in the region of the neighbourhood, made of cakes of coal and sand, glowed in the grate, and the whole colouring of the drapery and the furniture was of that warm rich cast which comforts the eye and not a little disposes the mind to be comfortable in conformity. The only wood fire used in the house was the one in the sitting parlour. Before her grate-full of glowing coals Eleanor sat down; and looked at the two letters she held in her hand. Looked at the handwriting too, with curious scrutiny, before she ventured to open and read either paper. Wondered too, with an odd side thought, why her fingers should tremble so in handling these, when no letter of Mr. Carlisle's writing had ever reminded her that her fingers had nerves belonging to them. One was a little letter, which Mrs. Caxton had told her was the first to be read; it was addressed, "In the hand of Mrs. Caxton, for Miss Eleanor Powle." That note Eleanor's little fingers opened with as slight tearing of the paper as might be. It was in few words indeed.