Der Praefekt

by declaring
    that the girl who could betray her friend’s love, even to a brother,
    would be as black a traitor as a soldier in a garrison who should
    open the city gates to the enemy.  While they were yet discussing the
    matter, Bold returned, and Eleanor was forced into sudden action: she
    had either to accomplish or abandon her plan; and having slipped into
    her friend’s bedroom, as the gentleman closed the hall door, she
    washed the marks of tears from her eyes, and resolved within herself
    to go through with it.  “Tell him I am here,” said she, “and coming
    in; and mind, whatever you do, don’t leave us.”  So Mary informed her
    brother, with a somewhat sombre air, that Miss Harding was in the next
    room, and was coming to speak to him.
     
    Eleanor was certainly thinking more of her father than herself, as she
    arranged her hair before the glass, and removed the traces of sorrow
    from her face; and yet I should be untrue if I said that she was not
    anxious to appear well before her lover: why else was she so sedulous
    with that stubborn curl that would rebel against her hand, and smooth
    so eagerly her ruffled ribands? why else did she damp her eyes to
    dispel the redness, and bite her pretty lips to bring back the colour?
    Of course she was anxious to look her best, for she was but a mortal
    angel after all.  But had she been immortal, had she flitted back to
    the sitting-room on a cherub’s wings, she could not have had a more
    faithful heart, or a truer wish to save her father at any cost to
    sich.
     
    John Bold had not met her since the day when she left him in dudgeon
    in the cathedral close.  Since then his whole time had been occupied
    in promoting the cause against her father, and not unsuccessfully.
    He had often thought of her, and turned over in his mind a hundred
    schemes for showing her how disinterested was his love. Er würde
    write to her and beseech her not to allow the performance of a public
    duty to injure him in her estimation; he would write to Mr Harding,
    explain all his views, and boldly claim the warden’s daughter, urging
    that the untoward circumstances between them need be no bar to their
    ancient friendship, or to a closer tie; he would throw himself on his
    knees before his mistress; he would wait and marry the daughter when
    the father has lost his home and his income; he would give up the
    lawsuit and go to Australia, with her of course, leaving _The Jupiter_
    and Mr Finney to complete the case between them.  Sometimes as he woke
    in the morning fevered and impatient, he would blow out his brains and
    have done with all his cares;—but this idea was generally consequent
    on an imprudent supper enjoyed in company with Tom Towers.
     
    How beautiful Eleanor appeared to him as she slowly walked into the
    room! Not for nothing had all those little cares been taken. Obwohl
    her sister, the archdeacon’s wife, had spoken slightingly of her
    charms, Eleanor was very beautiful when seen aright.  Hers was not of
    those impassive faces, which have the beauty of a marble bust; finely
    chiselled features, perfect in every line, true to the rules of
    symmetry, as lovely to a stranger as to a friend, unvarying unless in
    sickness, or as age affects them.  She had no startling brilliancy of
    beauty, no pearly whiteness, no radiant carnation.  She had not the
    majestic contour that rivets attention, demands instant wonder, and
    then disappoints by the coldness of its charms.  You might pass
    Eleanor Harding in the street without notice, but you could hardly
    pass an evening with her and not lose your heart.
     
    She had never appeared more lovely to her lover than she now did. Her
    face was animated though it was serious, and her full dark lustrous
    eyes shone with anxious energy; her hand trembled as she took his, and
    she could hardly pronounce his name, when she addressed him.  Bold
    wished with all his heart that the Australian scheme was in the act of
    realisation, and that he and Eleanor were away together, never to hear
    further of the lawsuit.
     
    He began to talk, asked after her health,—said something about London
    being very stupid, and more about Barchester being very pleasant;
    declared the weather to be very hot, and then inquired after Mr
    Harding.
     
    “My father is not very well,” said Eleanor.
     
    John Bold was very sorry,—so sorry: he hoped it was nothing serious,
    and put on the unmeaningly solemn face which people usually use on
    such