"She says that when we love Jesus Christ it is easy to please him."
"And do you love him, Elfie?" Mr Carleton asked after a minute.
Her answer was a very quiet and sober "Yes."
He doubted still whether she were not unconsciously using a form of speech the spirit of which she did not quite realize. That one might "not see and yet believe," he could understand; but for _affection_ to go forth towards an unseen object was another matter. His question was grave and acute.
"By what do you judge that you do, Elfie?"
"Why, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with an instant look of appeal, "who else _should_ I love?"
"If not him "--her eye and her voice made sufficiently plain. Mr. Carleton was obliged to confess to himself that she spoke intelligently, with deeper intelligence than he could follow. He asked no more questions. Yet truth shines by its own light, like the sun. He had not perfectly comprehended her answers, but they struck him as something that deserved to be understood, and he resolved to make the truth of them his own.
The rest of the voyage was perfectly quiet. Following the earnest advice of his friend Capt. Beebee, Thorn had given up trying to push Mr. Carleton to extremity; who on his part did not seem conscious of Thorn's existence.
There the most daintie paradise on ground Itselfe doth offer to his sober eye,-- -----The painted flowres, the trees upshooting hye, The dales for shade, the hills for breathing space, The trembling groves, the christall running by; And that, which all faire works doth most aggrace, The art which all that wrought appeared in no place.
They had taken ship for London, as Mr. and Mrs. Carleton wished to visit home for a day or two before going on to Paris. So leaving Charlton to carry news of them to the French capital, so soon as he could persuade himself to leave the English one, they with little Fleda in company posted down to Carleton, in ----shire.
It was a time of great delight to Fleda, that is, as soon as Mr. Carleton had made her feel at home in England; and somehow he had contrived to do that and to scatter some clouds of remembrance that seemed to gather about her, before they had reached the end of their first day's journey. To be out of the ship was itself a comfort, and to be alone with kind friends was much more. With great joy Fleda put her cousin Charlton and Mr. Thorn at once out of sight and out of mind; and gave herself with even more than her usual happy readiness to everything the way and the end of the way had for her. Those days were to be painted days in Fleda's memory.