CHAPTER XI.
IN CHANGES.
"But never light and shade
Coursed one another more on open ground,
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale
Across the face of Enid hearing her."
Various letters were written that day. In the evening the two ladies came together again cheerfully. The time between had not all been spent in letter-writing, for the world does not stand still for love matters. Eleanor had been out the whole afternoon on visits of kindness and help to sick and poor people. Mrs. Caxton had been obliged to attend to the less interesting company of one or two cheese-factors. At the tea-table the subject of the morning came back.
"You posted your letter and mine, Eleanor?"
"Yes, ma'am. But I cannot think mamma's answer will be favourable. I cannot fancy it."
"Well, we shall see. The world is a curious world; and the wind does not always blow from the quarter whence we expect it. We must wait and pray."
"I am puzzled to imagine, aunt Caxton," Eleanor said after some pause, "how you came to know all about this matter in the first place. How came you to know what I never knew?"
"That is my story," said Mrs. Caxton. "We will let the table be cleared first, my dear."
So it was done. But Eleanor left her work by her side to-night, and looked into her aunt's face to listen.