CHAPTER XIV. Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father; LONGFELLOW. BEWILDERED her whole soul in a whirlwind of confusion, Eleanor, under that first strong impulse, which leads a delicate mind, in a moment of excitement such as this, to resist inclination, and follow what appears to be the side of honour and duty the more so because it is upon the side of honour and duty that the awful sacrifice of self is demanded Eleanor, in the agonizing alternative, had given her hand to her brother. Everard had placed it roughly under his arm, and had immediately dragged her away. She had cast an imploring look upon Marcus a look in which all the despair of her soul was painted. He had answered it, as men will answer in such cases, by one of rage and disappointment not to be described; and had at once plunged into the thicket, and disappeared. No sooner was he gone than her repentance began. The deep, undying regret the never-dying worm which gnaws the heart began to feed upon hers. Regret, deep, ineffaceable, unceasing regret, that she· had been so hasty regret for a happiness for ever lost, and through her own act. that one and strong support, the conviction that even under our own mistakes when not the result of evil intention a mightier hand impelling the course of things may be detected unable to rest in faith upon a wisdom and goodness which, so long as the heart and will are pure, will finally bring good out of evil. To those unhappy ones wandering thus darkened and deserted through the courses of this world, such regret is indeed a dreadful, dreadful thing. It is an incurable ulceration of the heart, eating away the life. Sweet, gentle, excellent Eleanor! endowed by nature with such generous aspirations after the good and the beautiful in thought and action; of so pure, so docile, so self-sacrificing a temper; possessing such a noble freedom from self-seeking in word or deed; such a tender sympathy in the sorrows of others; such an uncomplaining patience in enduring her own! In her the evils arising from the very imperfect religious training that she had received, had not been exemplified, as they too often are, by the absence of selfrestraint and self-discipline; for, in truth, her character was by nature so harmoniously blended; so filled with impulses for all that was pure and good, that it wanted little of that after-fashioning which we all, more or less, from that higher life receive. What was wanting here, as you will have observed, was moral strength. Strength to inflict as well as to endure pain. There was a weak tampering with the laws of truth and rectitude, instead of the brave resolve to do right, and leave consequences to themselves. Some may, in the pride of their native strength, deem themselves above the necessity of a higher support; but to the susceptible and tender, the poor in spirit, the child-like and lamb - like of this world, great, great is the need of the Good Shepherd's arm. And poor Eleanor felt that need now. In her misery, where should she turn? In her darkness, where seek light? In her helpless despair, where look for support and consolation? "Out of the depths I called upon Thee." Oh misery! to sink into those depths those depths of agony in which the overwhelming waters flow over the soul, and all is darkness and misery, and not to be able to cast an imploring eye upwards! Not be able to believe and to experience that there is a Power that there is an Almighty pity an infinite love, which suffers not the fluttering sparrow to fall unheeded to the ground. An infinite love and sympathy from which no poor trembling sufferer, crushed amid the whirling machinery of circumstance insignificant as he may appear is excluded. Because, though we are small, He is great though we are poor, He is rich. Because He is vast, supreme, measureless, infinite in wisdom, might, and magnificence — though we are poor, weak, and miserable because He is everything, and we are nothing. Those, and those only, who rest upon this Rock know what a stability it gives to the soul those, and those only, who possess this strength, literally experience the truth of the promise, "faith shall move mountains." In the story of Angela that tender, and gentle, and softly susceptible, as poor Eleanor Wharncliffe herself, I have given an instance of the sublime strength thus Ravenscliffe. 1. 15 acquired; in the sweet girl now before us, we must lament a victim of unassisted nature. Fainting, agonising, half-resisting, half-yielding, her poor heart torn in the wild conflict of opposing feelings, Eleanor yielded to the impelling force of superior strength, and suffered herself to be dragged forwards by her brother. Every step she took seemed to lacerate her heart afresh, to rend her, as it were, Her thoughts, distracted between him, the long and truly loved, from whom every step was separating her, and him whose whole desperate soul she knew to be her own, and the hideous agonies of whose despair, if he lost her, were even in this moment pictured. in twain. But regretful or consenting, looking wistfully backwards or fearfully forwards, it was all one; the strong unrelenting arm of her brother was round her waist, and he, half-supporting, half-carrying, was hurrying her impetuously on, giving her scarcely time to breathe. She began, too, to feel bodily ill, dreadfully exhausted and ill. The cold damp ground upon which she had been laid in her faint, seemed to have chilled the very marrow of her bones, and as the wild excitement of the moment subsided, physical suffering claimed its part; she became deathly cold, and shivered fearfully. Everard felt her trembling and shaking, and the whole weight of her body resting upon his arm, as if utterly incapable of supporting herself; but not the less did he keep forcing her pitilessly onwards. His great anxiety was to get her into the house before the Langfords should arrive, and smuggle her, if possible, unperceived by any one, into her own room. Everard was not in general a man of much consi deration, but the obvious necessity of keeping what had passed from the knowledge of Randal, if there was to be any chance of the marriage being celebrated the next morning, was evident. He glanced his eyes upon his sister. Her dress and cloak were almost wringing wet with the showers of water Marcus had thrown upon her in her swoon; they were soiled with mud, and her hat, all shapeless, had fallen back from her head, allowing her hair to escape and fall dishevelled about her shoulders. In such a condition she ought not to be exposed to the eyes of any one. What curiosity such an appearance must excite! what endless questionings there would be! It would be impossible to prevent the secret from, in some degree, escaping, and once put upon the true scent, his jealousy and pride once awakened, the truth would, in all probability, be discovered by Randal Langford, and the consequences would be fatal. I have said that the wood approached the house very closely upon one side. There was, indeed, a little above the carriage-road which traversed it, a small by-path, opening from the Approach, used by the servants, and leading to their apartments. It was masked by a thick shrubbery, and a private back-door led to it. At this time of day there was a good chance of entering the house this way unobserved, and to it Everard dragged his sister. Fortunately he proved right in his expectations; they were met by no one, and reached the house without being seen. Everard laid his hand upon the lock of the small back-door,it yielded, he entered, still dragging his unresisting burden on: but, as she entered the house, her |