Produced by Daniel Fromont
[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), The Old Helmet (1864),
Tauchnitz edition 1864, volume 2]
1864.
"Let no one ask me how it came to pass;
It seems that I am happy, that to me
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,
A purer sapphire melts into the sea."
Eleanor could not stay away from the Wednesday meetings at Mrs.Powlis's house. In vain she had thought she would; she determined shewould; when the day came round she found herself drawn with a kind offascination towards the place. She went; and after that second timenever questioned at all about it. She went every week.
It was with no relief to her mental troubles however. She was sometimestouched and moved; often. At other times she felt dull and hopeless.Yet it soothed her to go; and she came away generally feelinginspirited with hope by something she had heard, or feeling at leastthe comfort that she had taken a step in the right direction. It didnot seem to bring her much more comfort. Eleanor did not see how shecould be a Christian while her heart was so hard and so full of its ownwill. She found it perverse, even now, when she was wishing so much tobe different. What hope for her?
It was a great help, that during all this time Mrs. Caxton left herunquestioned and uncounselled. She made no remarks about Eleanor'sgoing to class-meeting; she took it as a perfectly natural thing; neverasked her anything about it or about her liking it. A contrary coursewould have greatly embarrassed Eleanor's action; as it was she feltperfectly free; unwatched, and at ease.
The spring was flushing into mature beauty and waking up all theflowers on the hills and in the dales, when Eleanor one afternoon cameout to her aunt in the garden. A notable change had come over thegarden by this time; its comparatively barren-looking beds were allrejoicing in gay bloom and sending up a gush of sweetness to the housewith every stir of the air that way. From the house to the river,terrace below terrace sloped down, brimfull already of blossoms andfragrance. The roses were making great preparations for their comingseason of festival; the mats which had covered some tender plants werelong gone. Tulips and hyacinths and polyanthuses and primroses were ina flush of spring glory now; violets breathed everywhere; thesnowy-flowered gooseberry and the red-flowered currant, and berberrywith its luxuriant yellow bloom, and the almond, and a magnificentmagnolia blossoming out in the arms of its evergreen sister, with manyanother flower less known to Eleanor, made the garden terraces a littlewilderness of loveliness and sweetness. Near the house some very fineauriculas in pots were displaying themselves. In the midst of all thisMrs. Caxton was busy, with one or two people to help her and work underdirection. Planting and training and seed-sowing were going on; and themistress of the place moved about among her floral subjects a verypleasant representation of a rural queen, her niece thought. Few queenshave a more queenly presence than Mrs. Caxton had; an