‘You are quite mistaken,’ he interrupted her gravely. ‘What you say shows that you are, indeed, a stranger to your brother and his associates. He has one friend who knows him more intimately and has more influence over him than even Miss Wynter, and that one is——’ ‘Your brother,’ Eleanor almost whispered, again rushing to the right conclusion, and saving Michael the pain of finishing his sentence. ‘Yes,’ he answered, gravely. ‘It is he whom I mean. And as I believe he comes here often——’ ‘He is coming down for Christmas, Otho told me,’ she interposed eagerly. ‘Ask him what you wish to know,’ said Michael, a hardness coming into his tone which was peculiar to him in speaking of Gilbert. ‘He can have no reasons for concealing anything from you, and can tell you all you have asked me, and as much more as you wish to know—that is, if he chooses.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Eleanor unenthusiastically. ‘I will remember what you say.’ ‘Then I will wish you good afternoon,’ said Michael, holding out his hand. Eleanor put hers within it silently. ‘Miss Askam,’ he said, quickly, ‘do not, I say again, make too much of this trouble. Do not battle too hard with it, if you know what I mean. I expect that to you, who have very likely never known a cross, in the real sense of the word, it seems something to be resented bitterly, but——’ ‘No, you are quite mistaken,’ said Eleanor, quickly but softly, lifting her eyes to his face with a steady look in them that struck him very much. ‘I see that it is something I shall have to live with. There is no use in resenting a trouble of that kind. When I came here, I came looking for joy. I have found sorrow. I found it the very day after I got here, though I hardly knew what it was, then. I understand now. I shall not rebel against it.’ ‘That is right,’ he could not help exclaiming heartily, in a very different tone of voice from any which she had yet heard from his lips. And he gave her hand a pressure and a little quick shake. ‘Forgive me if I take the freedom of saying to you, that from the first time I saw you I thought you were made of the right stuff.’ ‘Did you?’ she said, smiling involuntarily, and with a queer look adding, ‘I don’t mean to make fun of serious things, but it always did seem to me that people made, as you say, of the right stuff, meant those who were chosen out to bear a lot of trouble, because their backs were broader or stronger than those of their neighbours.’ ‘That is one view of the case, certainly,’ said Michael, going to the door. ‘Good day!’ And he walked out, having a final impression of her, standing with her hands folded before her, and looking after him with an expression, half anxiety, half relief, on her face.