“I was about to say that Sarah was more to blame for Hagar’s conduct than she was herself, when Mr. Lee observed ’that Abraham was more to be pitied than either of them, for he was unable or unwilling to protect either of the women whom he loved,—­his wife from the contempt of her bondmaid, or the bondmaid from the fury of his wife.’

“I fancied Eleanor did not exactly like this remark, for she turned to the next print hastily and began commenting upon it.

“May 6.—­The groves and fields are beautiful with the fresh beauty of the early spring.  We have given up our winter occupations for long rambles on the hills and in the woods.  I sometimes decline being a third in the lovers’ walks; but Eleanor seems so dissatisfied, if I refuse to accompany them, that I consent, lagging behind often, and have learned to be both blind and deaf as occasion requires.  I think, too, that Mr. Lee is not sorry to have me with them.  He and Eleanor have been separated for three years, and I sometimes wonder if they have not grown away from each other in that time.  A long absence is a dangerous experiment even for friends, much more for lovers.  Besides, no life is long enough to allow such great gaps in it.

“June 1.—­We were sitting yesterday under the ash-trees on the lawn,—­Eleanor netting, Mr. Lee reading Dante aloud, and I making myself rings and bracelets out of the shining blades of grass, and pretending to listen, when a servant brought Eleanor a letter.  It was very short, for she did not turn the leaf.  When she had read it she drew out her watch.

“’I have an hour before the express-train starts.  Tell Mrs. Bickford to pack my trunk for a journey.  Harness the black horse to drive to the station.’

“She put the letter into Mr. Lee’s hands.  ’My brother is very ill, and I shall go to him at once.  Elizabeth, I am sorry to leave you here alone, but while I am gone I hope Thornton will consider you under his charge and protection.’

“She rose, as she spoke, and went towards the house, followed by Thornton.

“In a few minutes she appeared again, dressed in a gray travelling-dress,—­kissed me lightly on the check, and bade me good-bye.  All her preparations for this long journey had been made without any hurry or confusion, and she did not apparently feel so agitated or nervous at the thought of travelling this distance alone as I should to have gone by myself to the nearest town.  Why Thornton did not accompany her, whether he could not or she did not wish it, I do not know; but he parted from her at the station, and soon returned for his horse.