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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Beatrice
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 5, 2006 [EBook #3096]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+BEATRICE
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+First Published in 1893.
+
+
+
+                                       TO
+
+                                    BEATRICE
+
+
+
+             "Oh, kind is Death that Life's long trouble closes,
+              Yet at Death's coming Life shrinks back affright;
+              It sees the dark hand,--not that it encloses
+                  A cup of light.
+
+              So oft the Spirit seeing Love draw nigh
+              As 'neath the shadow of destruction, quakes,
+              For Self, dark tyrant of the Soul, must die,
+                  When Love awakes.
+
+              Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,--
+              Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!"
+
+              Rückert. Translated by F. W. B.
+
+
+
+
+BEATRICE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A MIST WRAITH
+
+The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy
+weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost
+in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It
+seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide.
+The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon
+the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown
+weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took
+their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay like
+a woman's hair upon the green depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was growing
+dense and soft upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from the west,
+it simply grew like the twilight, making the silence yet more silent and
+blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the
+seaweed and watched the gathering of these fleecy hosts.
+
+"What a curious evening," she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low
+full voice. "I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that
+is seven years ago. I've grown since then, grown every way," and she
+laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet
+water.
+
+She could not have looked at anything more charming, for it would have
+been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as on this
+her twenty-second birthday, she stood and gazed into that misty sea.
+
+Of rather more than middle height, and modelled like a statue, strength
+and health seemed to radiate from her form. But it was her face with the
+stamp of intellect and power shadowing its woman's loveliness that must
+have made her remarkable among women even more beautiful than herself.
+There are many girls who have rich brown hair, like some autumn leaf
+here and there just yellowing into gold, girls whose deep grey eyes can
+grow tender as a dove's, or flash like the stirred waters of a northern
+sea, and whose bloom can bear comparison with the wilding rose. But few
+can show a face like that which upon this day first dawned on Geoffrey
+Bingham to his sorrow and his hope. It was strong and pure and sweet as
+the keen sea breath, and looking on it one must know that beneath this
+fair cloak lay a wit as fair. And yet it was all womanly; here was not
+the hard sexless stamp of the "cultured" female. She who owned it was
+capable of many things. She could love and she could suffer, and if need
+be, she could dare or die. It was to be read upon that lovely brow and
+face, and in the depths of those grey eyes--that is, by those to whom
+the book of character is open, and who wish to study it.
+
+But Beatrice was not thinking of her loveliness as she gazed into the
+water. She knew that she was beautiful of course; her beauty was too
+obvious to be overlooked, and besides it had been brought home to her in
+several more or less disagreeable ways.
+
+"Seven years," she was thinking, "since the night of the 'death fog;'
+that was what old Edward called it, and so it was. I was only so high
+then," and following her thoughts she touched herself upon the breast.
+"And I was happy too in my own way. Why can't one always be fifteen,
+and believe everything one is told?" and she sighed. "Seven years and
+nothing done yet. Work, work, and nothing coming out of the work, and
+everything fading away. I think that life is very dreary when one has
+lost everything, and found nothing, and loves nobody. I wonder what it
+will be like in another seven years."
+
+She covered her eyes with her hands, and then taking them away, once
+more looked at the water. Such light as struggled through the fog
+was behind her, and the mist was thickening. At first she had some
+difficulty in tracing her own likeness upon the glassy surface, but
+gradually she marked its outline. It stretched away from her, and its
+appearance was as though she herself were lying on her back in the water
+wrapped about with the fleecy mist. "How curious it seems," she thought;
+"what is it that reflection reminds me of with the white all round it?"
+
+Next instant she gave a little cry and turned sharply away. She knew
+now. It recalled her mother as she had last seen her seven years ago.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+AT THE BELL ROCK
+
+A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and
+further up the coast-line, a second group of rocks, known from their
+colour as the Red Rocks, or sometimes, for another reason, as the Bell
+Rocks, juts out between half and three-quarters of a mile into the
+waters of the Welsh Bay that lies behind Rumball Point. At low tide
+these rocks are bare, so that a man may walk or wade to their extremity,
+but when the flood is full only one or two of the very largest can from
+time to time be seen projecting their weed-wreathed heads through the
+wash of the shore-bound waves. In certain sets of the wind and tide this
+is a terrible and most dangerous spot in rough weather, as more than
+one vessel have learnt to their cost. So long ago as 1780 a three-decker
+man-of-war went ashore there in a furious winter gale, and, with one
+exception, every living soul on board of her, to the number of seven
+hundred, was drowned. The one exception was a man in irons, who came
+safely and serenely ashore seated upon a piece of wreckage. Nobody ever
+knew how the shipwreck happened, least of all the survivor in irons, but
+the tradition of the terror of the scene yet lives in the district, and
+the spot where the bones of the drowned men still peep grimly through
+the sand is not unnaturally supposed to be haunted. Ever since this
+catastrophe a large bell (it was originally the bell of the ill-fated
+vessel itself, and still bears her name, "H.M.S. Thunder," stamped upon
+its metal) has been fixed upon the highest rock, and in times of storm
+and at high tide sends its solemn note of warning booming across the
+deep.
+
+But the bell was quiet now, and just beneath it, in the shadow of the
+rock whereon it was placed, a man half hidden in seaweed, with which he
+appeared to have purposely covered himself, was seated upon a piece of
+wreck. In appearance he was a very fine man, big-shouldered and broad
+limbed, and his age might have been thirty-five or a little more. Of his
+frame, however, what between the mist and the unpleasantly damp seaweed
+with which he was wreathed, not much was to be seen. But such light as
+there was fell upon his face as he peered eagerly over and round the
+rock, and glinted down the barrels of the double ten-bore gun which he
+held across his knee. It was a striking countenance, with its brownish
+eyes, dark peaked beard and strong features, very powerful and very
+able. And yet there was a certain softness in the face, which hovered
+round the region of the mouth like light at the edge of a dark cloud,
+hinting at gentle sunshine. But little of this was visible now. Geoffrey
+Bingham, barrister-at-law of the Inner Temple, M.A., was engaged with
+a very serious occupation. He was trying to shoot curlew as they passed
+over his hiding-place on their way to the mud banks where they feed
+further along the coast.
+
+Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of
+man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may
+wait for an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an
+oyster-catcher. Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call
+of curlew on the wing. He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but
+nothing can he see. At last, seventy yards or more to the right, he
+catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and, like a flash, they
+are gone. Again a call--the curlew are flighting. He looks and looks, in
+his excitement struggling to his feet and raising his head incautiously
+far above the sheltering rock. There they come, a great flock of
+thirty or more, bearing straight down on him, a hundred yards
+off--eighty--sixty--now. Up goes the gun, but alas and alas! they catch
+a glimpse of the light glinting on the barrels, and perhaps of the head
+behind them, and in another second they have broken and scattered this
+way and that way, twisting off like a wisp of gigantic snipe, to vanish
+with melancholy cries into the depth of mist.
+
+This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and waits,
+listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue is
+rewarded. First of all two wild duck come over, cleaving the air like
+arrows. The mallard is missed, but the left barrel reaches the duck,
+and down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have the
+cartridges been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once more
+heard--quite close this time. There they are, looming large against the
+fog. Bang! down goes the first and lies flapping among the rocks. Like
+a flash the second is away to the left. Bang! after him, and caught
+him too! Hark to the splash as he falls into the deep water fifty yards
+away. And then the mist closes in so densely that shooting is done with
+for the day. Well, that right and left has been worth three hours' wait
+in the wet seaweed and the violent cold that may follow--that is, to any
+man who has a soul for true sport.
+
+Just such an experience as this had befallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had
+bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew--that is, he had bagged one
+of them, for the other was floating in the sea--when a sudden increase
+in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations. He shook
+the wet seaweed off his rough clothes, and, having lit a short briar
+pipe, set to work to hunt for the duck and the first curfew. He found
+them easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of the rocks, up the
+sides of which the tide was gradually creeping, peered into the mist to
+see if he could find the other. Presently the fog lifted a little, and
+he discovered the bird floating on the oily water about fifty yards
+away. A little to the left the rocks ran out in a peak, and he knew
+from experience that the tide setting towards the shore would carry the
+curlew past this peak. So he went to its extremity, sat down upon a
+big stone and waited. All this while the tide was rising fast, though,
+intent as he was upon bringing the curlew to bag, he did not pay much
+heed to it, forgetting that it was cutting him off from the land. At
+last, after more than half-an-hour of waiting, he caught sight of the
+curlew again, but, as bad luck would have it, it was still twenty yards
+or more from him and in deep water. He was determined, however, to get
+the bird if he could, for Geoffrey hated leaving his game, so he pulled
+up his trousers and set to work to wade towards it. For the first few
+steps all went well, but the fourth or fifth landed him in a hole that
+wet his right leg nearly up to the thigh and gave his ankle a severe
+twist. Reflecting that it would be very awkward if he sprained his ankle
+in such a lonely place, he beat a retreat, and bethought him, unless
+the curlew was to become food for the dog-fish, that he had better
+strip bodily and swim for it. This--for Geoffrey was a man of determined
+mind--he decided to do, and had already taken off his coat and waistcoat
+to that end, when suddenly some sort of a boat--he judged it to be a
+canoe from the slightness of its shape--loomed up in the mist before
+him. An idea struck him: the canoe or its occupant, if anybody could be
+insane enough to come out canoeing in such water, might fetch the curlew
+and save him a swim.
+
+"Hi!" he shouted in stentorian tones. "Hullo there!"
+
+"Yes," answered a woman's gentle voice across the waters.
+
+"Oh," he replied, struggling to get into his waistcoat again, for the
+voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, "I'm sure
+I beg your pardon, but would you do me a favour? There is a dead curlew
+floating about, not ten yards from your boat. If you wouldn't mind----"
+
+A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on towards the bird.
+Presently the hand plunged downwards into the misty waters and the
+curlew was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with his
+waistcoat, the canoe sped towards him like a dream boat, and in another
+moment it was beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was looking up into
+his own.
+
+
+
+Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be peculiar
+to the recorder of things done), and see how it came about that Beatrice
+Granger was present to retrieve Geoffrey Bingham's dead curlew.
+
+Immediately after the unpleasant idea recorded in the last, or, to be
+more accurate, in the first chapter of this comedy, had impressed itself
+upon Beatrice's mind, she came to the conclusion that she had seen
+enough of the Dog Rocks for one afternoon. Thereon, like a sensible
+person, she set herself to quit them in the same way that she had
+reached them, namely by means of a canoe. She got into her canoe safely
+enough, and paddled a little way out to sea, with a view of returning
+to the place whence she came. But the further she went out, and it was
+necessary that she should go some way on account of the rocks and the
+currents, the denser grew the fog. Sounds came through it indeed, but
+she could not clearly distinguish whence they came, till at last, well
+as she knew the coast, she grew confused as to whither she was heading.
+In this dilemma, while she rested on her paddle staring into the dense
+surrounding mist and keeping her grey eyes as wide open as nature would
+allow, and that was very wide, she heard the report of a gun behind her
+to the right. Arguing to herself that some wild-fowler on the water
+must have fired it who would be able to direct her, she turned the
+canoe round and paddled swiftly in the direction whence the sound came.
+Presently she heard the gun again; both barrels were fired, in there to
+the right, but some way off. She paddled on vigorously, but now no more
+shots came to guide her, therefore for a while her search was fruitless.
+At last, however, she saw something looming through the mist ahead; it
+was the Red Rocks, though she did not know it, and she drew near with
+caution till Geoffrey's shout broke upon her ears.
+
+She picked up the dead bird and paddled towards the dim figure who was
+evidently wrestling with something, she could not see what.
+
+"Here is the curlew, sir," she said.
+
+"Oh, thank you," answered the figure on the rock. "I am infinitely
+obliged to you. I was just going to swim for it, I can't bear losing my
+game. It seems so cruel to shoot birds for nothing."
+
+"I dare say that you will not make much use of it now that you have
+got it," said the gentle voice in the canoe. "Curlew are not very good
+eating."
+
+"That is scarcely the point," replied the Crusoe on the rock. "The point
+is to bring them home. _Après cela----_"
+
+"The birdstuffer?" said the voice.
+
+"No," answered Crusoe, "the cook----"
+
+A laugh came back from the canoe--and then a question.
+
+"Pray, Mr. Bingham, can you tell me where I am? I have quite lost my
+reckoning in the mist."
+
+He started. How did this mysterious young lady in a boat know his name?
+
+"You are at the Red Rocks; there is the bell, that grey thing,
+Miss--Miss----"
+
+"Beatrice Granger," she put in hastily. "My father is the clergyman of
+Bryngelly. I saw you when you and Lady Honoria Bingham looked into the
+school yesterday. I teach in the school." She did not tell him, however,
+that his face had interested her so much that she had asked his name.
+
+Again he started. He had heard of this young lady. Somebody had told him
+that she was the prettiest girl in Wales, and the cleverest, but that
+her father was not a gentleman.
+
+"Oh," he said, taking off his hat in the direction of the canoe. "Isn't
+it a little risky, Miss Granger, for you to be canoeing alone in this
+mist?"
+
+"Yes," she answered frankly, "but I am used to it; I go out canoeing in
+all possible weathers. It is my amusement, and after all the risk does
+not matter much," she added, more to herself than to him.
+
+While he was wondering what she meant by that dark saying, she went on
+quickly:
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Bingham, I think that you are in more danger than I
+am. It must be getting near seven o'clock, and the tide is high at a
+quarter to eight. Unless I am mistaken there is by now nearly half a
+mile of deep water between you and the shore."
+
+"My word!" he said. "I forgot all about the tide. What between the
+shooting and looking for that curlew, and the mist, it never occurred to
+me that it was getting late. I suppose I must swim for it, that is all."
+
+"No, no," she answered earnestly, "it is very dangerous swimming here;
+the place is full of sharp rocks, and there is a tremendous current."
+
+"Well, then, what is to be done? Will your canoe carry two? If so,
+perhaps you would kindly put me ashore?"
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is a double canoe. But I dare not take you ashore
+here; there are too many rocks, and it is impossible to see the ripple
+on them in this mist. We should sink the canoe. No, you must get in and
+I must paddle you home to Bryngelly, that's all. Now that I know where I
+am I think that I can find the way."
+
+"Really," he said, "you are very good."
+
+"Not at all," she answered, "you see I must go myself anyhow, so I shall
+be glad of your help. It is nearly five miles by water, you know, and
+not a pleasant night."
+
+There was truth in this. Geoffrey was perfectly prepared to risk a swim
+to the shore on his own account, but he did not at all like the idea of
+leaving this young lady to find her own way back to Bryngelly through
+the mist and gathering darkness, and in that frail canoe. He would not
+have liked it if she had been a man, for he knew that there was great
+risk in such a voyage. So after making one more fruitless suggestion
+that they should try and reach the shore, taking the chance of rocks,
+sunken or otherwise, and then walk home, to which Beatrice would not
+consent, he accepted her offer.
+
+"At the least you will allow me to paddle," he said, as she skilfully
+brought the canoe right under his rock, which the tide was now high
+enough to allow her to do.
+
+"If you like," she answered doubtfully. "My hands are a little sore,
+and, of course," with a glance at his broad shoulders, "you are much
+stronger. But if you are not used to it I dare say that I should get on
+as well as you."
+
+"Nonsense," he said sharply. "I will not allow you to paddle me for five
+miles."
+
+She yielded without another word, and very gingerly shifted her seat so
+that her back was towards the bow of the canoe, leaving him to occupy
+the paddling place opposite to her.
+
+Then he handed her his gun, which, together with the dead birds, she
+carefully stowed in the bottom of the frail craft. Next, with great
+caution, he slid down the rock till his feet rested in the canoe.
+
+"Be careful or you will upset us," she said, leaning forward and
+stretching out her hand for him to support himself by.
+
+Then it was, as he took it, that he for the first time really saw her
+face, with the mist drops hanging to the bent eyelashes, and knew how
+beautiful it was.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+A CONFESSION OF FAITH
+
+"Are you ready?" he said, recovering himself from the pleasing shock of
+this serge-draped vision of the mist.
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice. "You must head straight out to sea for a
+little--not too far, for if we get beyond the shelter of Rumball Point
+we might founder in the rollers--there are always rollers there--then
+steer to the left. I will tell you when. And, Mr. Bingham, please be
+careful of the paddle; it has been spliced, and won't bear rough usage."
+
+"All right," he answered, and they started gaily enough, the light canoe
+gliding swiftly forward beneath his sturdy strokes.
+
+Beatrice was leaning back with her head bent a little forward, so that
+he could only see her chin and the sweet curve of the lips above it. But
+she could see all his face as it swayed towards her with each motion of
+the paddle, and she watched it with interest. It was a new type of face
+to her, so strong and manly, and yet so gentle about the mouth--almost
+too gentle she thought. What made him marry Lady Honoria? Beatrice
+wondered; she did not look particularly gentle, though she was such a
+graceful woman.
+
+And thus they went on for some time, each wondering about the other and
+at heart admiring the other, which was not strange, for they were a very
+proper pair, but saying no word till at last, after about a quarter of
+an hour's hard paddling, Geoffrey paused to rest.
+
+"Do you do much of this kind of thing, Miss Granger?" he said with a
+gasp, "because it is rather hard work."
+
+She laughed. "Ah," she said, "I thought you would scarcely go on
+paddling at that rate. Yes, I canoe a great deal in the summer time. It
+is my way of taking exercise, and I can swim well, so I am not afraid
+of an upset. At least it has been my way for the last two years since a
+lady who was staying here gave me the canoe when she went away. Before
+that I used to row in a boat--that is, before I went to college."
+
+"College? What college? Girton?"
+
+"Oh, no, nothing half so grand. It was a college where you get
+certificates that you are qualified to be a mistress in a Board school.
+I wish it had been Girton."
+
+"Do you?"--you are too good for that, he was going to add, but changed
+it to--"I think you were as well away. I don't care about the Girton
+stamp; those of them whom I have known are so hard."
+
+"So much the better for them," she answered. "I should like to be hard
+as a stone; a stone cannot feel. Don't you think that women ought to
+learn, then?"
+
+"Do you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, certainly."
+
+"Have you learnt anything?"
+
+"I have taught myself a little and picked up something at the college.
+But I have no real knowledge, only a smattering of things."
+
+"What do you know--French and German?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Latin?"
+
+"Yes, I know something of it."
+
+"Greek?"
+
+"I can read it fairly, but I am not a Greek scholar."
+
+"Mathematics?"
+
+"No, I gave them up. There is no human nature about mathematics. They
+work everything to a fixed conclusion that must result. Life is not like
+that; what ought to be a square comes out a right angle, and _x_ always
+equals an unknown quantity, which is never ascertained till you are
+dead."
+
+"Good gracious!" thought Geoffrey to himself between the strokes of the
+paddle, "what an extraordinary girl. A flesh-and-blood blue-stocking,
+and a lovely one into the bargain. At any rate I will bowl her out this
+time."
+
+"Perhaps you have read law too?" he said with suppressed sarcasm.
+
+"I have read some," she answered calmly. "I like law, especially Equity
+law; it is so subtle, and there is such a mass of it built upon such
+a small foundation. It is like an overgrown mushroom, and the top will
+fall off one day, however hard the lawyers try to prop it up. Perhaps
+you can tell me----"
+
+"No, I'm sure I cannot," he answered. "I'm not a Chancery man. I am
+Common law, and _I_ don't take all knowledge for _my_ province. You
+positively alarm me, Miss Granger. I wonder that the canoe does not sink
+beneath so much learning."
+
+"Do I?" she answered sweetly. "I am glad that I have lived to frighten
+somebody. I meant that I like Equity to study; but if I were a
+barrister, I would be Common law, because there is so much more life
+and struggle about it. Existence is not worth having unless one is
+struggling with something and trying to overcome it."
+
+"Dear me, what a reposeful prospect," said Geoffrey, aghast. He had
+certainly never met such a woman as this before.
+
+"Repose is only good when it is earned," went on the fair philosopher,
+"and in order to fit one to earn some more, otherwise it becomes
+idleness, and that is misery. Fancy being idle when one has such a
+little time to live. The only thing to do is to work and stifle thought.
+I suppose that you have a large practice, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"You should not ask a barrister that question," he answered, laughing;
+"it is like looking at the pictures which an artist has turned to the
+wall. No, to be frank, I have not. I have only taken to practising in
+earnest during the last two years. Before I was a barrister in name, and
+that is all."
+
+"Then why did you suddenly begin to work?"
+
+"Because I lost my prospects, Miss Granger--from necessity, in short."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said, with a blush, which of course he
+could not see. "I did not mean to be rude. But it is very lucky for you,
+is it not?"
+
+"Indeed! Some people don't think so. Why is it lucky?"
+
+"Because you will now rise and become a great man, and that is more than
+being a rich man."
+
+"And why do you think that I shall become a great man?" he asked,
+stopping paddling in his astonishment and looking at the dim form before
+him.
+
+"Oh! because it is written on your face," she answered simply.
+
+Her words rang true; there was no flattery or artifice in them. Geoffrey
+felt that the girl was saying just what she thought.
+
+"So you study physiognomy as well," he said. "Well, Miss Granger, it is
+rather odd, considering all things, but I will say to you what I have
+never said to any one before. I believe that you are right. I shall
+rise. If I live I feel that I have it in me."
+
+At this point it possibly occurred to Beatrice that, considering
+the exceeding brevity of their acquaintance, they were drifting into
+somewhat confidential conversation. At any rate, she quickly changed the
+topic.
+
+"I am afraid you are growing tired," she said; "but we must be getting
+on. It will soon be quite dark and we have still a long way to go. Look
+there," and she pointed seaward.
+
+He looked. The whole bank of mist was breaking up and bearing down on
+them in enormous billows of vapour. Presently, these were rolling over
+them, so darkening the heavy air that, though the pair were within four
+feet of each other, they could scarcely see one another's faces. As yet
+they felt no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen, impelling
+air.
+
+"I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm," said
+Beatrice, a little anxiously.
+
+Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away from
+them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of it was
+left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their faces. Far
+in the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the foam. A great
+red ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the awakened waters, like a
+path of fire. The ominous light fell full upon the little boat and full
+upon Beatrice's lips. Then it passed on and lost itself in the deep
+mists which still swathed the coast.
+
+"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she cried, raising herself and pointing to
+the glory of the dying sun.
+
+"It is beautiful indeed!" he answered, but he looked, not at the sunset,
+but at the woman's face before him, glowing like a saint's in its golden
+aureole. For this also was most beautiful--so beautiful that it stirred
+him strangely.
+
+"It is like----" she began, and broke off suddenly.
+
+"What is it like?" he asked.
+
+"It is like finding truth at last," she answered, speaking as much to
+herself as to him. "Why, one might make an allegory out of it. We wander
+in mist and darkness shaping a vague course for home. And then suddenly
+the mists are blown away, glory fills the air, and there is no more
+doubt, only before us is a splendour making all things clear and
+lighting us over a deathless sea. It sounds rather too grand," she
+added, with a charming little laugh; "but there is something in it
+somewhere, if only I could express myself. Oh, look!"
+
+As she spoke a heavy storm-cloud rolled over the vanishing rim of the
+sun. For a moment the light struggled with the eclipsing cloud, turning
+its dull edge to the hue of copper, but the cloud was too strong and the
+light vanished, leaving the sea in darkness.
+
+"Well," he said, "your allegory would have a dismal end if you worked it
+out. It is getting as dark as pitch, and there's a good deal in _that_,
+if only _I_ could express myself."
+
+Beatrice dropped poetry, and came down to facts in a way that was very
+commendable.
+
+"There is a squall coming up, Mr. Bingham," she said; "you must paddle
+as hard as you can. I do not think we are more than two miles from
+Bryngelly, and if we are lucky we may get there before the weather
+breaks."
+
+"Yes, _if_ we are lucky," he said grimly, as he bent himself to the
+work. "But the question is where to paddle to--it's so dark. Had not we
+better run for the shore?"
+
+"We are in the middle of the bay now," she answered, "and almost as far
+from the nearest land as we are from Bryngelly, besides it is all rocks.
+No, you must go straight on. You will see the Poise light beyond Coed
+presently. You know Coed is four miles on the other side of Bryngelly,
+so when you see it head to the left."
+
+He obeyed her, and they neither of them spoke any more for some time.
+Indeed the rising wind made conversation difficult, and so far as
+Geoffrey was concerned he had little breath left to spare for words. He
+was a strong man, but the unaccustomed labour was beginning to tell on
+him, and his hands were blistering. For ten minutes or so he paddled on
+through a darkness which was now almost total, wondering where on earth
+he was wending, for it was quite impossible to see. For all he knew
+to the contrary, he might be circling round and round. He had only one
+thing to direct him, the sweep of the continually rising wind and the
+wash of the gathering waves. So long as these struck the canoe, which
+now began to roll ominously, on the starboard side, he must, he thought,
+be keeping a right course. But in the turmoil of the rising gale and the
+confusion of the night, this was no very satisfactory guide. At length,
+however, a broad and brilliant flash sprung out across the sea, almost
+straight ahead of him. It was the Poise light.
+
+He altered his course a little and paddled steadily on. And now the
+squall was breaking. Fortunately, it was not a very heavy one, or their
+frail craft must have sunk and they with it. But it was quite serious
+enough to put them in great danger. The canoe rose to the waves like a
+feather, but she was broadside on, and rise as she would they began to
+ship a little water. And they had not seen the worst of it. The weather
+was still thickening.
+
+Still he held on, though his heart sank within him, while Beatrice said
+nothing. Presently a big wave came; he could just see its white crest
+gleaming through the gloom, then it was on them. The canoe rose to it
+gallantly; it seemed to curl right over her, making the craft roll
+till Geoffrey thought that the end had come. But she rode it out, not,
+however, without shipping more than a bucket of water. Without saying
+a word, Beatrice took the cloth cap from her head and, leaning forward,
+began to bale as best she could, and that was not very well.
+
+"This will not do," he called. "I must keep her head to the sea or we
+shall be swamped."
+
+"Yes," she answered, "keep her head up. We are in great danger."
+
+He glanced to his right; another white sea was heaving down on him;
+he could just see its glittering crest. With all his force he dug the
+paddle into the water; the canoe answered to it; she came round just in
+time to ride out the wave with safety, but the paddle _snapped_. It was
+already sprung, and the weight he put upon it was more than it could
+bear. Right in two it broke, some nine inches above that blade which at
+the moment was buried in the water. He felt it go, and despair took hold
+of him.
+
+"Great heavens!" he cried, "the paddle is broken."
+
+Beatrice gasped.
+
+"You must use the other blade," she said; "paddle first one side and
+then on the other, and keep her head on."
+
+"Till we sink," he answered.
+
+"No, till we are saved--never talk of sinking."
+
+The girl's courage shamed him, and he obeyed her instructions as best he
+could. By dint of continually shifting what remained of the paddle from
+one side of the canoe to the other, he did manage to keep her head on to
+the waves that were now rolling in apace. But in their hearts they both
+wondered how long this would last.
+
+"Have you got any cartridges?" she asked presently.
+
+"Yes, in my coat pocket," he answered.
+
+"Give me two, if you can manage it," she said.
+
+In an interval between the coming of two seas he contrived to slip his
+hand into a pocket and transfer the cartridges. Apparently she knew
+something of the working of a gun, for presently there was a flash and a
+report, quickly followed by another.
+
+"Give me some more cartridges," she cried. He did so, but nothing
+followed.
+
+"It is no use," she said at length, "the cartridges are wet. I cannot
+get the empty cases out. But perhaps they may have seen or heard them.
+Old Edward is sure to be watching for me. You had better throw the rest
+into the sea if you can manage it," she added by way of an afterthought;
+"we may have to swim presently."
+
+To Geoffrey this seemed very probable, and whenever he got a chance he
+acted on the hint till at length he was rid of all his cartridges.
+Just then it began to rain in torrents. Though it was not warm the
+perspiration was streaming from him at every pore, and the rain beating
+on his face refreshed him somewhat; also with the rain the wind dropped
+a little.
+
+But he was becoming tired out and he knew it. Soon he would no longer be
+able to keep the canoe straight, and then they must be swamped, and in
+all human probability drowned. So this was to be the end of his life
+and its ambitions. Before another hour had run its course, he would be
+rolling to and fro in the arms of that angry sea. What would his wife
+Honoria say when she heard the news, he wondered? Perhaps it would shock
+her into some show of feeling. And Effie, his dear little six-year-old
+daughter? Well, thank God, she was too young to feel his loss for long.
+By the time that she was a woman she would almost have forgotten that
+she ever had a father. But how would she get on without him to guide
+her? Her mother did not love children, and a growing girl would
+continually remind her of her growing years. He could not tell; he could
+only hope for the best.
+
+And for himself! What would become of him after the short sharp struggle
+for life? Should he find endless sleep, or what? He was a Christian, and
+his life had not been worse than that of other men. Indeed, though he
+would have been the last to think it, he had some redeeming virtues. But
+now at the end the spiritual horizon was as dark as it had been at the
+beginning. There before him were the Gates of Death, but not yet would
+they roll aside and show the traveller what lay beyond their frowning
+face. How could he tell? Perhaps they would not open at all. Perhaps he
+now bade his last farewell to consciousness, to earth and sky and sea
+and love and all lovely things. Well, that might be better than some
+prospects. At that moment Geoffrey Bingham, in the last agony of doubt,
+would gladly have exchanged his hopes of life beyond for a certainty of
+eternal sleep. That faith which enables some of us to tread this awful
+way with an utter confidence is not a wide prerogative, and, as yet,
+at any rate, it was not his, though the time might come when he would
+attain it. There are not very many, even among those without reproach,
+who can lay them down in the arms of Death, knowing most certainly that
+when the veil is rent away the countenance that they shall see will
+be that of the blessed Guardian of Mankind. Alas! he could not be
+altogether sure, and where doubt exists, hope is but a pin-pricked
+bladder. He sighed heavily, murmured a little formula of prayer that had
+been on his lips most nights during thirty years--he had learnt it as
+a child at his mother's knee--and then, while the tempest roared around
+him, gathered up his strength to meet the end which seemed inevitable.
+At any rate he would die like a man.
+
+Then came a reaction. His vital forces rose again. He no longer felt
+fearful, he only wondered with a strange impersonal wonder, as a man
+wonders about the vital affairs of another. Then from wondering about
+himself he began to wonder about the girl who sat opposite to him. With
+the rain came a little lightning, and by the first flash he saw her
+clearly. Her beautiful face was set, and as she bent forward searching
+the darkness with her wide eyes, it wore, he thought, an almost defiant
+air.
+
+The canoe twisted round somewhat. He dug his broken paddle into the
+water and once more brought her head on to the sea. Then he spoke.
+
+"Are you afraid?" he asked of Beatrice.
+
+"No," she answered, "I am not afraid."
+
+"Do you know that we shall probably be drowned?"
+
+"Yes, I know it. They say the death is easy. I brought you here. Forgive
+me that. I should have tried to row you ashore as you said."
+
+"Never mind me; a man must meet his fate some day. Do not think of
+me. But I can't keep her head on much longer. You had better say your
+prayers."
+
+Beatrice bent forward till her head was quite near his own. The wind had
+blown some of her hair loose, and though he did not seem to notice it at
+the time, he remembered afterwards that a lock of it struck him on the
+face.
+
+"I cannot pray," she said; "I have nothing to pray to. I am not a
+Christian."
+
+The words struck him like a blow. It seemed so awful to think of
+this proud and brilliant woman, now balanced on the verge of what she
+believed to be utter annihilation. Even the courage that induced her at
+such a moment to confess her hopeless state seemed awful.
+
+"Try," he said with a gasp.
+
+"No," she answered, "I do not fear to die. Death cannot be worse than
+life is for most of us. I have not prayed for years, not since--well,
+never mind. I am not a coward. It would be cowardly to pray now because
+I may be wrong. If there is a God who knows all, He will understand
+that."
+
+Geoffrey said no more, but laboured at the broken paddle gallantly and
+with an ever-failing strength. The lightning had passed away and the
+darkness was very great, for the hurrying clouds hid the starlight.
+Presently a sound arose above the turmoil of the storm, a crashing
+thunderous sound towards which the send of the sea gradually bore them.
+The sound came from the waves that beat upon the Bryngelly reef.
+
+"Where are we drifting to?" he cried.
+
+"Into the breakers, where we shall be lost," she answered calmly. "Give
+up paddling, it is of no use, and try to take off your coat. I have
+loosened my skirt. Perhaps we can swim ashore."
+
+He thought to himself that in the dark and breakers such an event was
+not probable, but he said nothing, and addressed himself to the task
+of getting rid of his coat and waistcoat--no easy one in that confined
+space. Meanwhile the canoe was whirling round and round like a walnut
+shell upon a flooded gutter. For some distance before the waves broke
+upon the reef and rocks they swept in towards them with a steady
+foamless swell. On reaching the shallows, however, they pushed their
+white shoulders high into the air, curved up and fell in thunder on the
+reef.
+
+The canoe rode towards the breakers, sucked upon its course by a
+swelling sea.
+
+"Good-bye," called Geoffrey to Beatrice, as stretching out his wet hand
+he found her own and took it, for companionship makes death a little
+easier.
+
+"Good-bye," she cried, clinging to his hand. "Oh, why did I bring you
+into this?"
+
+For in their last extremity this woman thought rather of her companion
+in peril than of herself.
+
+One more turn, then suddenly the canoe beneath them was lifted like a
+straw and tossed high into the air. A mighty mass of water boiled up
+beneath it and around it. Then the foam rushed in, and vaguely Geoffrey
+knew that they were wrapped in the curve of a billow.
+
+A swift and mighty rush of water. Crash!--and his senses left him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE WATCHER AT THE DOOR
+
+This was what had happened. Just about the centre of the reef is a large
+flat-topped rock--it may be twenty feet in the square--known to the
+Bryngelly fishermen as Table Rock. In ordinary weather, even at high
+tide, the waters scarcely cover this rock, but when there is any sea
+they wash over it with great violence. On to this rock Geoffrey and
+Beatrice had been hurled by the breaker. Fortunately for them it was
+thickly overgrown with seaweed, which to some slight extent broke the
+violence of their fall. As it chanced, Geoffrey was knocked senseless by
+the shock; but Beatrice, whose hand he still held, fell on to him and,
+with the exception of a few bruises and a shake, escaped unhurt.
+
+She struggled to her knees, gasping. The water had run off the rock, and
+her companion lay quiet at her side. She put down her face and called
+into his ear, but no answer came, and then she knew that he was either
+dead or senseless.
+
+At this second Beatrice caught a glimpse of something white gleaming in
+the darkness. Instinctively she flung herself upon her face, gripping
+the long tough seaweed with one hand. The other she passed round the
+body of the helpless man beside her, straining him with all her strength
+against her side.
+
+Then came a wild long rush of foam. The water lifted her from the rock,
+but the seaweed held, and when at length the sea had gone boiling by,
+Beatrice found herself and the senseless form of Geoffrey once more
+lying side by side. She was half choked. Desperately she struggled up
+and round, looking shoreward through the darkness. Heavens! there, not
+a hundred yards away, a light shone upon the waters. It was a boat's
+light, for it moved up and down. She filled her lungs with air and sent
+one long cry for help ringing across the sea. A moment passed and she
+thought that she heard an answer, but because of the wind and the roar
+of the breakers she could not be sure. Then she turned and glanced
+seaward. Again the foaming terror was rushing down upon them; again she
+flung herself upon the rock and grasping the slippery seaweed twined her
+left arm about the helpless Geoffrey.
+
+It was on them.
+
+Oh, horror! Even in the turmoil of the boiling waters Beatrice felt the
+seaweed give. Now they were being swept along with the rushing wave, and
+Death drew very near. But still she clung to Geoffrey. Once more the air
+touched her face. She had risen to the surface and was floating on the
+stormy water. The wave had passed. Loosing her hold of Geoffrey she
+slipped her hand upwards, and as he began to sink clutched him by the
+hair. Then treading water with her feet, for happily for them both she
+was as good a swimmer as could be found upon that coast, she managed to
+open her eyes. There, not sixty yards away, was the boat's light. Oh, if
+only she could reach it. She spat the salt water from her mouth and once
+more cried aloud. The light seemed to move on.
+
+Then another wave rolled forward and once more she was pushed down into
+the cruel depths, for with that dead weight hanging to her she could
+not keep above them. It flashed into her mind that if she let him go she
+might even now save herself, but even in that last terror this Beatrice
+would not do. If he went, she would go with him.
+
+It would have been better if she had let him go.
+
+Down she went--down, down! "I will hold him," Beatrice said in her
+heart; "I will hold him till I die." Then came waves of light and a
+sound as of wind whispering through the trees, and--all grew dark.
+
+* * * * *
+
+"I tell yer it ain't no good, Eddard," shouted a man in the boat to
+an old sailor who was leaning forward in the bows peering into the
+darkness. "We shall be right on to the Table Rocks in a minute and all
+drown together. Put about, mate--put about."
+
+"Damn yer," screamed the old man, turning so that the light from the
+lantern fell on his furrowed, fiercely anxious face and long white hair
+streaming in the wind. "Damn yer, ye cowards. I tells yer I heard her
+voice--I heard it twice screaming for help. If you put the boat about,
+by Goad when I get ashore I'll kill yer, ye lubbers--old man as I am
+I'll kill yer, if I swing for it!"
+
+This determined sentiment produced a marked effect upon the boat's crew;
+there were eight of them altogether. They did not put the boat about,
+they only lay upon their oars and kept her head to the seas.
+
+The old man in the bow peered out into the gloom. He was shaking, not
+with cold but with agitation.
+
+Presently he turned his head with a yell.
+
+"Give way--give way! there's something on the wave."
+
+The men obeyed with a will.
+
+"Back," he roared again--"back water!"
+
+They backed, and the boat answered, but nothing was to be seen.
+
+"She's gone! Oh, Goad, she's gone!" groaned the old man. "You may put
+about now, lads, and the Lord's will be done."
+
+The light from the lantern fell in a little ring upon the seething
+water. Suddenly something white appeared in the centre of this
+illuminated ring. Edward stared at it. It was floating upwards. It
+vanished--it appeared again. It was a woman's face. With a yell he
+plunged his arms into the sea.
+
+"I have her--lend an hand, lads."
+
+Another man scrambled forward and together they clutched the object in
+the water.
+
+"Look out, don't pull so hard, you fool. Blow me if there ain't another
+and she's got him by the hair. So, _steady, steady!_"
+
+A long heave from strong arms and the senseless form of Beatrice was on
+the gunwale. Then they pulled up Geoffrey beside her, for they could not
+loose her desperate grip of his dark hair, and together rolled them into
+the boat.
+
+"They're dead, I doubt," said the second man.
+
+"Help turn 'em on their faces over the seat, so--let the water drain
+from their innards. It's the only chance. Now give me that sail to cover
+them--so. You'll live yet, Miss Beatrice, you ain't dead, I swear. Old
+Eddard has saved you, Old Eddard and the good Goad together!"
+
+Meanwhile the boat had been got round, and the men were rowing for
+Bryngelly as warm-hearted sailors will when life is at stake. They all
+knew Beatrice and loved her, and they remembered it as they rowed. The
+gloom was little hindrance to them for they could almost have navigated
+the coast blindfold. Besides here they were sheltered by the reef and
+shore.
+
+In five minutes they were round a little headland, and the lights of
+Bryngelly were close before them. On the beach people were moving about
+with lanterns.
+
+Presently they were there, hanging on their oars for a favourable wave
+to beach with. At last it came, and they gave way together, running the
+large boat half out of the surf. A dozen men plunged into the water and
+dragged her on. They were safe ashore.
+
+"Have you got Miss Beatrice?" shouted a voice.
+
+"Ay, we've got her and another too, but I doubt they're gone. Where's
+doctor?"
+
+"Here, here!" answered a voice. "Bring the stretchers."
+
+A stout thick-set man, who had been listening, wrapped up in a dark
+cloak, turned his face away and uttered a groan. Then he followed the
+others as they went to work, not offering to help, but merely following.
+
+The stretchers were brought and the two bodies laid upon them, face
+downwards and covered over.
+
+"Where to?" said the bearers as they seized the poles.
+
+"The Vicarage," answered the doctor. "I told them to get things ready
+there in case they should find her. Run forward one of you and say that
+we are coming."
+
+The men started at a trot and the crowd ran after them.
+
+"Who is the other?" somebody asked.
+
+"Mr. Bingham--the tall lawyer who came down from London the other day.
+Tell policeman--run to his wife. She's at Mrs. Jones's, and thinks he
+has lost his way in the fog coming home from Bell Rock."
+
+The policeman departed on his melancholy errand and the procession moved
+swiftly across the sandy beach and up the stone-paved way by which boats
+were dragged down the cliff to the sea. The village of Bryngelly lay to
+the right. It had grown away from the church, which stood dangerously
+near the edge of the cliff. On the further side of the church, and a
+little behind it, partly sheltered from the sea gales by a group of
+stunted firs, was the Vicarage, a low single-storied stone-roofed
+building, tenanted for twenty-five years past and more by Beatrice's
+father, the Rev. Joseph Granger. The best approach to it from the
+Bryngelly side was by the churchyard, through which the men with the
+stretchers were now winding, followed by the crowd of sightseers.
+
+"Might as well leave them here at once," said one of the bearers to the
+other in Welsh. "I doubt they are both dead enough."
+
+The person addressed assented, and the thick-set man wrapped in a dark
+cloak, who was striding along by Beatrice's stretcher, groaned again.
+Clearly, he understood the Welsh tongue. A few seconds more and they
+were passing through the stunted firs up to the Vicarage door. In the
+doorway stood a group of people. The light from a lamp in the hall
+struck upon them, throwing them into strong relief. Foremost, holding
+a lantern in his hand, was a man of about sixty, with snow-white hair
+which fell in confusion over his rugged forehead. He was of middle
+height and carried himself with something of a stoop. The eyes were
+small and shifting, and the mouth hard. He wore short whiskers which,
+together with the eyebrows, were still tinged with yellow. The face was
+ruddy and healthy looking, indeed, had it not been for the dirty white
+tie and shabby black coat, one would have taken him to be what he was in
+heart, a farmer of the harder sort, somewhat weather-beaten and anxious
+about the times--a man who would take advantage of every drop in the
+rate of wages. In fact he was Beatrice's father, and a clergyman.
+
+By his side, and leaning over him, was Elizabeth, her elder sister.
+There was five years between them. She was a poor copy of Beatrice, or,
+to be more accurate, Beatrice was a grand development of Elizabeth. They
+both had brown hair, but Elizabeth's was straighter and faint-coloured,
+not rich and ruddying into gold. Elizabeth's eyes were also grey, but
+it was a cold washed-out grey like that of a February sky. And so with
+feature after feature, and with the expression also. Beatrice's was
+noble and open, if at times defiant. Looking at her you knew that she
+might be a mistaken woman, or a headstrong woman, or both, but she
+could never be a mean woman. Whichever of the ten commandments she might
+choose to break, it would not be that which forbids us to bear false
+witness against our neighbour. Anybody might read it in her eyes. But in
+her sister's, he might discern her father's shifty hardness watered by
+woman's weaker will into something like cunning. For the rest Elizabeth
+had a very fair figure, but lacked her sister's rounded loveliness,
+though the two were so curiously alike that at a distance you might well
+mistake the one for the other. One might almost fancy that nature had
+experimented upon Elizabeth before she made up her mind to produce
+Beatrice, just to get the lines and distances. The elder sister was
+to the other what the pale unfinished model of clay is to the polished
+statue in ivory and gold.
+
+"Oh, my God! my God!" groaned the old man; "look, they have got them
+on the stretchers. They are both dead. Oh, Beatrice! Beatrice! and only
+this morning I spoke harshly to her."
+
+"Don't be so foolish, father," said Elizabeth sharply. "They may only be
+insensible."
+
+"Ah, ah," he answered; "it does not matter to you, _you_ don't care
+about your sister. You are jealous of her. But I love her, though we do
+not understand each other. Here they come. Don't stand staring there. Go
+and see that the blankets and things are hot. Stop, doctor, tell me, is
+she dead?"
+
+"How can I tell till I have seen her?" the doctor answered, roughly
+shaking him off, and passing through the door.
+
+Bryngelly Vicarage was a very simply constructed house. On entering the
+visitor found himself in a passage with doors to the right and left.
+That to the right led to the sitting-room, that to the left to the
+dining-room, both of them long, low and narrow chambers. Following the
+passage down for some seven paces, it terminated in another which ran
+at right angles to it for the entire length of the house. On the further
+side of this passage were several bedroom doors and a room at each end.
+That at the end to the right was occupied by Beatrice and her sister,
+the next was empty, the third was Mr. Granger's, and the fourth the
+spare room. This, with the exception of the kitchens and servants'
+sleeping place, which were beyond the dining-room, made up the house.
+
+Fires had been lit in both of the principal rooms. Geoffrey was taken
+into the dining-room and attended by the doctor's assistant, and
+Beatrice into the sitting-room, and attended by the doctor himself. In
+a few seconds the place had been cleared of all except the helpers, and
+the work began. The doctor looked at Beatrice's cold shrunken form, and
+at the foam upon her lips. He lifted the eyelid, and held a light before
+the contracted pupil. Then he shook his head and set to work with a
+will. We need not follow him through the course of his dreadful labours,
+with which most people will have some acquaintance. Hopeless as they
+seemed, he continued them for hour after hour.
+
+Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service
+for Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man,
+occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how
+things were getting on. Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water the
+longer, his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed he
+was already insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard
+to drown. It is your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is
+soonest made an end of in deep waters. Therefore it came to pass that
+when the scrubbing with hot cloths and the artificial respiration had
+gone on for somewhere about twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked
+a finger. The doctor's assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the
+hospitals, gave a yell of exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away with
+ever-increasing energy. Presently the subject coughed, and a minute
+later, as the agony of returning life made itself felt, he swore most
+heartily.
+
+"He's all right now!" called the assistant to his employer. "He's
+swearing beautifully."
+
+Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the
+other room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the
+treatment, which he did with much vigour.
+
+Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments. The
+first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was standing
+over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half horrified air.
+Vaguely he wondered who it might be. The tall form and cold handsome
+face were so familiar to him, and yet he could not recall the name.
+It was not till she spoke that his numbed brain realized that he was
+looking on his own wife.
+
+"Well, dear," she said, "I am so glad that you are better. You
+frightened me out of my wits. I thought you were drowned."
+
+"Thank you, Honoria," he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh
+attack of tingling pain shook him through and through.
+
+"I hope nobody said anything to Effie," Geoffrey said presently.
+
+"Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and when
+the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were drowned,
+and she has been almost in a fit ever since. They had to hold her to
+prevent her from running here."
+
+Geoffrey's white face assumed an air of the deepest distress. "How could
+you frighten the child so?" he murmured. "Please go and tell her that I
+am all right."
+
+"It was not my fault," said Lady Honoria with a shrug of her shapely
+shoulders. "Besides, I can do nothing with Effie. She goes on like a
+wild thing about you."
+
+"Please go and tell her, Honoria," said her husband.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'll go," she answered. "Really I shall not be sorry to get
+out of this; I begin to feel as though I had been drowned myself;" and
+she looked at the steaming cloths and shuddered. "Good-bye, Geoffrey. It
+is an immense relief to find you all right. The policeman made me feel
+quite queer. I can't get down to give you a kiss or I would. Well,
+good-bye for the present, my dear."
+
+"Good-bye, Honoria," said her husband with a faint smile.
+
+The medical assistant looked a little surprised. He had never, it is
+true, happened to be present at a meeting between husband and wife, when
+one of the pair had just been rescued by a hair's-breadth from a violent
+and sudden death, and therefore wanted experience to go on. But it
+struck him that there was something missing. The lady did not seem to
+him quite to fill the part of the Heaven-thanking spouse. It puzzled
+him very much. Perhaps he showed this in his face. At any rate, Lady
+Honoria, who was quick enough, read something there.
+
+"He is safe now, is he not?" she asked. "It will not matter if I go
+away."
+
+"No, my lady," answered the assistant, "he is out of danger, I think; it
+will not matter at all."
+
+Lady Honoria hesitated a little; she was standing in the passage.
+Then she glanced through the door into the opposite room, and caught a
+glimpse of Beatrice's rigid form and of the doctor bending over it. Her
+head was thrown back and the beautiful brown hair, which was now almost
+dry again, streamed in masses to the ground, while on her face was
+stamped the terrifying seal of Death.
+
+Lady Honoria shuddered. She could not bear such sights. "Will it be
+necessary for me to come back to-night?" she said.
+
+"I do not think so," he answered, "unless you care to hear whether Miss
+Granger recovers?"
+
+"I shall hear that in the morning," she said. "Poor thing, I cannot help
+her."
+
+"No, Lady Honoria, you cannot help her. She saved your husband's life,
+they say."
+
+"She must be a brave girl. Will she recover?"
+
+The assistant shook his head. "She may, possibly. It is not likely now."
+
+"Poor thing, and so young and beautiful! What a lovely face, and what
+an arm! It is very awful for her," and Lady Honoria shuddered again and
+went.
+
+Outside the door a small knot of sympathisers was still gathered,
+notwithstanding the late hour and the badness of the weather.
+
+"That's his wife," said one, and they opened to let her pass.
+
+"Then why don't she stop with him?" asked a woman audibly. "If it had
+been my husband I'd have sat and hugged him for an hour."
+
+"Ay, you'd have killed him with your hugging, you would," somebody
+answered.
+
+Lady Honoria passed on. Suddenly a thick-set man emerged from the shadow
+of the pines. She could not see his face, but he was wrapped in a large
+cloak.
+
+"Forgive me," he said in the hoarse voice of one struggling with
+emotions which he was unable to conceal, "but you can tell me. Does she
+still live?"
+
+"Do you mean Miss Granger?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, of course. Beatrice--Miss Granger?"
+
+"They do not know, but they think----"
+
+"Yes, yes--they think----"
+
+"That she is dead."
+
+The man said never a word. He dropped his head upon his breast and,
+turning, vanished again into the shadow of the pines.
+
+"How very odd," thought Lady Honoria as she walked rapidly along the
+cliff towards her lodging. "I suppose that man must be in love with her.
+Well, I do not wonder at it. I never saw such a face and arm. What a
+picture that scene in the room would make! She saved Geoffrey and now
+she's dead. If he had saved her I should not have wondered. It is like a
+scene in a novel."
+
+From all of which it will be seen that Lady Honoria was not wanting in
+certain romantic and artistical perceptions.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ELIZABETH IS THANKFUL
+
+Geoffrey, lying before the fire, newly hatched from death, had caught
+some of the conversation between his wife and the assistant who had
+recovered him to life. So she was gone, that brave, beautiful atheist
+girl--gone to test the truth. And she had saved his life!
+
+For some minutes the assistant did not enter. He was helping in another
+room. At last he came.
+
+"What did you say to Lady Honoria?" Geoffrey asked feebly. "Did you say
+that Miss Granger had saved me?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham; at least they tell me so. At any rate, when they
+pulled her out of the water they pulled you after her. She had hold of
+your hair."
+
+"Great heavens!" he groaned, "and my weight must have dragged her down.
+Is she dead, then?"
+
+"We cannot quite say yet, not for certain. We think that she is."
+
+"Pray God she is not dead," he said more to himself than to the other.
+Then aloud--"Leave me; I am all right. Go and help with her. But stop,
+come and tell me sometimes how it goes with her."
+
+"Very well. I will send a woman to watch you," and he went.
+
+Meanwhile in the other room the treatment of the drowned went slowly on.
+Two hours had passed, and as yet Beatrice showed no signs of recovery.
+The heart did not beat, no pulse stirred; but, as the doctor knew, life
+might still linger in the tissues. Slowly, very slowly, the body was
+turned to and fro, the head swaying, and the long hair falling now this
+way and now that, but still no sign. Every resource known to medical
+skill, such as hot air, rubbing, artificial respiration, electricity,
+was applied and applied in vain, but still no sign!
+
+Elizabeth, pale and pinched, stood by handing what might be required.
+She did not greatly love her sister, they were antagonistic and their
+interests clashed, or she thought they did, but this sudden death was
+awful. In a corner, pitiful to see, offering groans and ejaculated
+prayers to heaven, sat the old clergymen, their father, his white hair
+about his eyes. He was a weak, coarse-grained man, but in his own way
+his clever and beautiful girl was dear to him, and this sight wrung his
+soul as it had not been wrung for years.
+
+"She's gone," he said continually, "she's gone; the Lord's will be done.
+There must be another mistress at the school now. Seventy pounds a year
+she will cost--seventy pounds a year!"
+
+"Do be quiet, father," said Elizabeth sharply.
+
+"Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet. You are quiet
+because you don't care. You never loved your sister. But I have loved
+her since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor
+mother. 'Beatrice' was the last word she spoke."
+
+"Be quiet, father!" said Elizabeth, still more sharply. The old man,
+making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and
+fro upon his chair.
+
+Meanwhile without intermission the work went on.
+
+"It is no use," said the assistant at last, as he straightened his weary
+frame and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "She must be dead; we
+have been at it nearly three hours now."
+
+"Patience," said the doctor. "If necessary I shall go on for four--or
+till I drop," he added.
+
+Ten minutes more passed. Everybody knew that the task was hopeless, but
+still they hoped.
+
+"Great Heavens!" said the assistant presently, starting back from the
+body and pointing at its face. "Did you see that?"
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger sprang to their feet, crying, "What, what?"
+
+"Sit still, sir," said the doctor, waving them back. Then addressing his
+helper, and speaking in a constrained voice: "I thought I saw the right
+eyelid quiver, Williams. Pass the battery."
+
+"So did I," answered Williams as he obeyed.
+
+"Full power," said the doctor again. "It is kill or cure now."
+
+The shock was applied for some seconds without result. Then suddenly a
+long shudder ran up the limbs, and a hand stirred. Next moment the eyes
+were opened, and with pain and agony Beatrice drew a first breath of
+returning life. Ten minutes more and she had passed through the gates of
+Death back to this warm and living world.
+
+"Let me die," she gasped faintly. "I cannot bear it. Oh, let me die!"
+
+"Hush," said the doctor; "you will be better presently."
+
+Ten minutes more passed, when the doctor saw by her eyes that Beatrice
+wished to say something. He bent his head till it nearly touched her
+lips.
+
+"Dr. Chambers," she whispered, "was he drowned?"
+
+"No, he is safe; he has been brought round."
+
+She sighed--a long-drawn sigh, half of pain, half of relief. Then she
+spoke again.
+
+"Was he washed ashore?"
+
+"No, no. You saved his life. You had hold of him when they pulled you
+out. Now drink this and go to sleep."
+
+Beatrice smiled sweetly, but said nothing. Then she drank as much of the
+draught as she could, and shortly afterwards obeyed the last injunction
+also, and went to sleep.
+
+Meanwhile a rumour of this wonderful recovery had escaped to without the
+house--passing from one watcher to the other till at length it reached
+the ears of the solitary man crouched in the shadow of the pines. He
+heard, and starting as though he had been shot, strode to the door of
+the Vicarage. Here his courage seemed to desert him, for he hesitated.
+
+"Knock, squire, knock, and ask if it is true," said a woman, the same
+who had declared that she would have hugged her husband back to life.
+
+This remark seemed to encourage the man, at any rate he did knock.
+Presently the door was opened by Elizabeth.
+
+"Go away," she said in her sharp voice; "the house must be kept quiet."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," said the visitor, in a tone of deep
+humiliation. "I only wanted to know if it was true that Miss Beatrice
+lives."
+
+"Why," said Elizabeth with a start, "is it you, Mr. Davies? I am sure I
+had no idea. Step into the passage and I will shut the door. There! How
+long have you been outside?"
+
+"Oh, since they brought them up. But is it true?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is true. She will recover now. And you have stood all this
+time in the wet night. I am sure that Beatrice ought to be flattered."
+
+"Not at all. It seemed so awful, and--I--I take such an interest----"
+and he broke off.
+
+"Such an interest in Beatrice," said Elizabeth drily, supplying the
+hiatus. "Yes, so it seems," and suddenly, as though by chance, she moved
+the candle which she held, in such fashion that the light fell full
+upon Owen Davies' face. It was a slow heavy countenance, but not without
+comeliness. The skin was fresh as a child's, the eyes were large, blue,
+and mild, and the brown hair grew in waves that many a woman might have
+envied. Indeed had it not been for a short but strongly growing beard,
+it would have been easy to believe that the countenance was that of a
+boy of nineteen rather than of a man over thirty. Neither time nor care
+had drawn a single line upon it; it told of perfect and robust health
+and yet bore the bloom of childhood. It was the face of a man who might
+live to a hundred and still look young, nor did the form belie it.
+
+Mr. Davies blushed up to his eyes, blushed like a girl beneath
+Elizabeth's scrutiny. "Naturally I take an interest in a neighbour's
+fate," he said, in his slow deliberate way. "She is quite safe, then?"
+
+"I believe so," answered Elizabeth.
+
+"Thank God!" he said, or rather it seemed to break from him in a sigh of
+relief. "How did the gentleman, Mr. Bingham, come to be found with her?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered with a shrug. "Beatrice saved his life
+somehow, clung fast to him even after she was insensible."
+
+"It is very wonderful. I never heard of such a thing. What is he like?"
+
+"He is one of the finest-looking men I ever saw," answered Elizabeth,
+always watching him.
+
+"Ah. But he is married, I think, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he is married to the daughter of a peer, very much
+married--and very little, I should say."
+
+"I do not quite understand, Miss Granger."
+
+"Don't you, Mr. Davies? then use your eyes when you see them together."
+
+"I should not see anything. I am not quick like you," he added.
+
+"How do you mean to get back to the Castle to-night, Mr. Davies? You
+cannot row back in this wind, and the seas will be breaking over the
+causeway."
+
+"Oh, I shall manage. I am wet already. An extra ducking won't hurt me,
+and I have had a chain put up to prevent anybody from being washed away.
+And now I must be going. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Davies."
+
+He hesitated a moment and then added: "Would you--would you mind telling
+your sister--of course I mean when she is stronger--that I came to
+inquire after her?"
+
+"I think that you can do that for yourself, Mr. Davies," Elizabeth said
+almost roughly. "I mean it will be more appreciated," and she turned
+upon her heel.
+
+Owen Davies ventured no further remarks. He felt that Elizabeth's manner
+was a little crushing, and he was afraid of her as well. "I suppose that
+she does not think I am good enough to pay attention to her sister," he
+thought to himself as he plunged into the night and rain. "Well, she is
+quite right--I am not fit to black her boots. Oh, God, I thank Thee
+that Thou hast saved her life. I thank Thee--I thank Thee!" he went on,
+speaking aloud to the wild winds as he made his way along the cliff. "If
+she had been dead, I think that I must have died too. Oh, God, I thank
+Thee--I thank Thee!"
+
+The idea that Owen Davies, Esq., J.P., D.L., of Bryngelly Castle,
+absolute owner of that rising little watering-place, and of one of
+the largest and most prosperous slate quarries in Wales, worth in all
+somewhere between seven and ten thousand a year, was unfit to black
+her beautiful sister's boots, was not an idea that had struck Elizabeth
+Granger. Had it struck her, indeed, it would have moved her to laughter,
+for Elizabeth had a practical mind.
+
+What did strike her, as she turned and watched the rich squire's sturdy
+form vanish through the doorway into the dark beyond, was a certain
+sense of wonder. Supposing she had never seen that shiver of returning
+life run up those white limbs, supposing that they had grown colder
+and colder, till at length it was evident that death was so firmly
+citadelled within the silent heart, that no human skill could beat his
+empire back? What then? Owen Davies loved her sister; this she knew and
+had known for years. But would he not have got over it in time? Would
+he not in time have been overpowered by the sense of his own utter
+loneliness and given his hand, if not his heart, to some other woman?
+And could not she who held his hand learn to reach his heart? And to
+whom would that hand have been given, the hand and all that went
+with it? What woman would this shy Welsh hermit, without friends or
+relations, have ever been thrown in with except herself--Elizabeth--who
+loved him as much as she could love anybody, which, perhaps, was not
+very much; who, at any rate, desired sorely to be his wife. Would not
+all this have come about if she had never seen that eyelid tremble,
+and that slight quiver run up her sister's limbs? It would--she knew it
+would.
+
+Elizabeth thought of it as for a moment she stood in the passage, and a
+cold hungry light came into her neutral tinted eyes and shone upon her
+pale face. But she choked back the thought; she was scarcely wicked
+enough to wish that her sister had not been brought back to life. She
+only speculated on what might have happened if this had come about, just
+as one works out a game of chess from a given hypothetical situation of
+the pieces.
+
+Perhaps, too, the same end might be gained in some other way. Perhaps
+Mr. Davies might still be weaned from his infatuation. The wall was
+difficult, but it would have to be very difficult if she could not find
+a way to climb it. It never occurred to Elizabeth that there might be
+an open gate. She could not conceive it possible that a woman might
+positively reject Owen Davies and his seven or ten thousand a year, and
+that woman a person in an unsatisfactory and uncongenial, almost in
+a menial position. Reject Bryngelly Castle with all its luxury and
+opportunities of wealth and leisure? No, the sun would set in the east
+before such a thing happened. The plan was to prevent the occasion from
+arising. The hungry light died on Elizabeth's face, and she turned to
+enter the sick room when suddenly she met her father coming out.
+
+"Who was that at the front?" he asked, carefully closing the door.
+
+"Mr. Davies of Bryngelly Castle, father."
+
+"And what did Mr. Davies want at this time of night? To know about
+Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes," she answered slowly, "he came to ask after Beatrice, or to be
+more correct he has been waiting outside for three hours in the rain to
+learn if she recovered."
+
+"Waiting outside for three hours in the rain," said the clergyman
+astonished--"Squire Davies standing outside the house! What for?"
+
+"Because he was so anxious about Beatrice and did not like to come in, I
+suppose."
+
+"So anxious about Beatrice--ah, so anxious about Beatrice! Do you
+think, Elizabeth--um--you know there is no doubt Beatrice is very well
+favoured--very handsome they say----"
+
+"I do not think anything about it, father," she answered, "and as for
+Beatrice's looks they are a matter of opinion. I have mine. And now
+don't you think we had better go to bed? The doctors and Betty are going
+to stop up all night with Mr. Bingham and Beatrice."
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, I suppose that we had better go. I am sure we have much
+to be thankful for to-night. What a merciful deliverance! And if poor
+Beatrice had gone the parish must have found another schoolmistress, and
+it would have meant that we lost the salary. We have a great deal to be
+thankful for, Elizabeth."
+
+"Yes," said Elizabeth, very deliberately, "we have."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+OWEN DAVIES AT HOME
+
+Owen Davies tramped along the cliff with a light heart. The wild lashing
+of the rain and the roaring of the wind did not disturb him in the
+least. They were disagreeable, but he accepted them as he accepted
+existence and all its vanities, without remark or mental comment. There
+is a class of mind of which this is the prevailing attitude. Very
+early in their span of life, those endowed with such a mind come to the
+conclusion that the world is too much for them. They cannot understand
+it, so they abandon the attempt, and, as a consequence, in their own
+torpid way they are among the happiest and most contented of men.
+Problems, on which persons of keener intelligence and more aspiring soul
+fret and foam their lives away as rushing water round a rock, do not
+even break the placid surface of their days. Such men slip past them.
+They look out upon the stars and read of the mystery of the universe
+speeding on for ever through the limitless wastes of space, and are not
+astonished. In their childhood they were taught that God made the sun
+and the stars to give light on the earth; that is enough for them. And
+so it is with everything. Poverty and suffering; war, pestilence, and
+the inequalities of fate; madness, life and death, and the spiritual
+wonders that hedge in our being, are things not to be inquired into but
+accepted. So they accept them as they do their dinner or a tradesman's
+circular.
+
+In some cases this mental state has its root in deep and simple
+religious convictions, and in some it springs from a preponderance
+of healthful animal instincts over the higher but more troublesome
+spiritual parts. The ox chewing the cud in the fresh meadow does not
+muse upon the past and future, and the gull blown like a foam-flake out
+against the sunset, does not know the splendour of the sky and sea.
+Even the savage is not much troubled about the scheme of things. In the
+beginning he was "torn out of the reeds," and in the end he melts into
+the Unknown, and for the rest, there are beef and wives, and foes to
+conquer. But then oxen and gulls are not, so far as we know, troubled
+with any spiritual parts at all, and in the noble savage such things are
+not cultivated. They come with civilization.
+
+But perhaps in the majority this condition, so necessary to the more
+placid forms of happiness, is born of a conjunction of physical and
+religious developments. So it was, at least, with the rich and fortunate
+man whom we have seen trudging along the wind-swept cliff. By nature and
+education he was of a strongly and simply religious mind, as he was in
+body powerful, placid, and healthy to an exasperating degree. It may be
+said that it is easy to be religious and placid on ten thousand a year,
+but Owen Davies had not always enjoyed ten thousand a year and one of
+the most romantic and beautiful seats in Wales. From the time he was
+seventeen, when his mother's death left him an orphan, till he reached
+the age of thirty, some six years from the date of the opening of this
+history, he led about as hard a life as fate could find for any man.
+Some people may have heard of sugar drogers, or sailing brigs, which
+trade between this country and the West Indies, carrying coal outwards
+and sugar home.
+
+On board one of these, Owen Davies worked in various capacities for
+thirteen long years. He did his drudgery well; but he made no friends,
+and always remained the same shy, silent, and pious man. Then suddenly
+a relation died without a will, and he found himself heir-in-law to
+Bryngelly Castle and all its revenues. Owen expressed no surprise, and
+to all appearance felt none. He had never seen his relation, and never
+dreamed of this romantic devolution of great estates upon himself.
+But he accepted the good fortune as he had accepted the ill, and said
+nothing. The only people who knew him were his shipmates, and they could
+scarcely be held to know him. They were acquainted with his appearance
+and the sound of his voice, and his method of doing his duty. Also, they
+were aware, although he never spoke of religion, that he read a chapter
+of the Bible every evening, and went to church whenever they touched at
+a port. But of his internal self they were in total ignorance. This
+did not, however, prevent them from prophesying that Davies was a "deep
+one," who, now that he had got the cash, would "blue it" in a way which
+would astonish them.
+
+But Davies did not "excel in azure feats." The news of his good
+fortune reached him just as the brig, on which he was going to sail as
+first-mate, was taking in her cargo for the West Indies. He had signed
+his contract for the voyage, and, to the utter astonishment of the
+lawyer who managed the estates, he announced that he should carry it
+out. In vain did the man of affairs point out to his client that with
+the help of a cheque of £100 he could arrange the matter for him in
+ten minutes. Mr. Davies merely replied that the property could wait,
+he should go the voyage and retire afterwards. The lawyer held up his
+hands, and then suddenly remembered that there are women in the West
+Indies as in other parts of the world. Doubtless his queer client had an
+object in this voyage. As a matter of fact, he was totally wrong. Owen
+Davies had never interchanged a tender word with a woman in his life; he
+was a creature of routine, and it was part of his routine to carry out
+his agreements to the letter. That was all.
+
+As a last resource, the lawyer suggested that Mr. Davies should make a
+will.
+
+"I do not think it necessary," was the slow and measured answer. "The
+property has come to me by chance. If I die, it may as well go to
+somebody else in the same way."
+
+The lawyer stared. "Very well," he said; "it is against my advice, but
+you must please yourself. Do you want any money?"
+
+Owen thought for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I think I should like
+to have ten pounds. They are building a theatre there, and I want to
+subscribe to it."
+
+The lawyer gave him the ten pounds without a word; he was struck
+speechless, and in this condition he remained for some minutes after
+the door had closed behind his client. Then he sprung up with a single
+ejaculation, "Mad, mad! like his great uncle!"
+
+But Owen Davies was not in the least mad, at any rate not then; he was
+only a creature of habit. In due course, his agreement fulfilled, he
+sailed his brig home from the West Indies (for the captain was drowned
+in a gale). Then he took a second-class ticket to Bryngelly, where he
+had never been in his life before, and asked his way to the Castle. He
+was told to go to the beach, and he would see it. He did so, leaving his
+sea-chest behind him, and there, about two hundred paces from the land,
+and built upon a solitary mountain of rock, measuring half a mile or
+so round the base, he perceived a vast mediæval pile of fortified
+buildings, with turrets towering three hundred feet into the air, and
+edged with fire by the setting sun. He gazed on it with perplexity.
+Could it be that this enormous island fortress belonged to him, and, if
+so, how on earth did one get to it? For some little time he walked
+up and down, wondering, too shy to go to the village for information.
+Meanwhile, though he did not notice her, a well-grown girl of about
+fifteen, remarkable for her great grey eyes and the promise of her
+beauty, was watching his evident perplexity from a seat beneath a rock,
+not without amusement. At last she rose, and, with the confidence of
+bold fifteen, walked straight up to him.
+
+"Do you want to get the Castle, sir?" she asked in a low sweet voice,
+the echoes of which Owen Davies never forgot.
+
+"Yes--oh, I beg your pardon," for now for the first time he saw that he
+was talking to a young lady.
+
+"Then I am afraid that you are too late--Mrs. Thomas will not show
+people over after four o'clock. She is the housekeeper, you know."
+
+"Ah, well, the fact is I did not come to see over the place. I came to
+live there. I am Owen Davies, and the place was left to me."
+
+Beatrice, for of course it was she, stared at him in amazement. So this
+was the mysterious sailor about whom there had been so much talk in
+Bryngelly.
+
+"Oh!" she said, with embarrassing frankness. "What an odd way to come
+home. Well, it is high tide, and you will have to take a boat. I will
+show you where you can get one. Old Edward will row you across for
+sixpence," and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where old
+Edward sat, from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his biggest
+boat, seeking those whom he might row.
+
+"Edward," said the young lady, "here is the new squire, Mr. Owen Davies,
+who wants to be rowed across to the Castle." Edward, a gnarled and
+twisted specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face that
+reminded the observer of one of those quaint countenances on the handle
+of a walking stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then cast a look
+of suspicion on the visitor.
+
+"Have he got papers of identification about him, miss?" he asked in a
+stage whisper.
+
+"I don't know," she answered laughing. "He says that he is Mr. Owen
+Davies."
+
+"Well, praps he is and praps he ain't; anyway, it isn't my affair, and
+sixpence is sixpence."
+
+All of this the unfortunate Mr. Davies overheard, and it did not add to
+his equanimity.
+
+"Now, sir, if you please," said Edward sternly, as he pulled the little
+boat up to the edge of the breakwater. A vision of Mrs. Thomas shot into
+Owen's mind. If the boatman did not believe in him, what chance had he
+with the housekeeper? He wished he had brought the lawyer down with him,
+and then he wished that he was back in the sugar brig.
+
+"Now, sir," said Edward still more sternly, putting down his hesitation
+to an impostor's consciousness of guilt.
+
+"Um!" said Owen to the young lady, "I beg your pardon. I don't even know
+your name, and I am sure I have no right to ask it, but would you mind
+rowing across with me? It would be so kind of you; you might introduce
+me to the housekeeper."
+
+Again Beatrice laughed the merry laugh of girlhood; she was too young to
+be conscious of any impropriety in the situation, and indeed there was
+none. But her sense of humour told her that it was funny, and she became
+possessed with a not unnatural curiosity to see the thing out.
+
+"Oh, very well," she said, "I will come."
+
+The boat was pushed off and very soon they reached the stone quay that
+bordered the harbour of the Castle, about which a little village of
+retainers had grown up. Seeing the boat arrive, some of these people
+sauntered out of the cottages, and then, thinking that a visitor had
+come, under the guidance of Miss Beatrice, to look at the antiquities
+of the Castle, which was the show place of the neighbourhood, sauntered
+back again. Then the pair began the zigzag ascent of the rock mountain,
+till at last they stood beneath the mighty mass of building, which,
+although it was hoary with antiquity, was by no means lacking in the
+comforts of modern civilization, the water, for instance, being brought
+in pipes laid beneath the sea from a mountain top two miles away on the
+mainland.
+
+"Isn't there a view here?" said Beatrice, pointing to the vast stretch
+of land and sea. "I think, Mr. Davies, that you have the most beautiful
+house in the whole world. Your great-uncle, who died a year ago, spent
+more than fifty thousand pounds on repairing and refurbishing it, they
+say. He built the big drawing-room there, where the stone is a little
+lighter; it is fifty-five feet long. Just think, fifty thousand pounds!"
+
+"It is a large sum," said Owen, in an unimaginative sort of way, while
+in his heart he wondered what on earth he should do with this white
+elephant of a mediæval castle, and its drawing room fifty-five feet
+long.
+
+"He does not seem much impressed," thought Beatrice to herself, as she
+tugged away at the postern bell; "I think he must be stupid. He looks
+stupid."
+
+Presently the door was opened by an active-looking little old woman with
+a high voice.
+
+"Mrs. Thomas," thought Owen to himself; "she is even worse than I
+expected."
+
+"Now you must please to go away," began the formidable housekeeper in
+her shrillest key; "it is too late to show visitors over. Why, bless us,
+it's you, Miss Beatrice, with a strange man! What do you want?"
+
+Beatrice looked at her companion as a hint that he should explain
+himself, but he said nothing.
+
+"This is your new squire," she said, not without a certain pride. "I
+found him wandering about the beach. He did not know how to get here, so
+I brought him over."
+
+"Lord, Miss Beatrice, and how do you know it's him?" said Mrs. Thomas.
+"How do you know it ain't a housebreaker?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure he cannot be," answered Beatrice aside, "because he isn't
+clever enough."
+
+Then followed a long discussion. Mrs. Thomas stoutly refused to admit
+the stranger without evidence of identity, and Beatrice, embracing his
+cause, as stoutly pressed his claims. As for the lawful owner, he made
+occasional feeble attempts to prove that he was himself, but Mrs. Thomas
+was not to be imposed upon in this way. At last they came to a dead
+lock.
+
+"Y'd better go back to the inn, sir," said Mrs. Thomas with scathing
+sarcasm, "and come up to-morrow with proofs and your luggage."
+
+"Haven't you got any letters with you?" suggested Beatrice as a last
+resource.
+
+As it happened Owen had a letter, one from the lawyer to himself about
+the property, and mentioning Mrs. Thomas's name as being in charge
+of the Castle. He had forgotten all about it, but at this interesting
+juncture it was produced and read aloud by Beatrice. Mrs. Thomas took
+it, and having examined it carefully through her horn-rimmed spectacles,
+was constrained to admit its authenticity.
+
+"I'm sure I apologise, sir," she said with a half-doubtful courtesy
+and much tact, "but one can't be too careful with all these trampseses
+about; I never should have thought from the look of you, sir, how as you
+was the new squire."
+
+This might be candid, but it was not flattering, and it caused Beatrice
+to snigger behind her handkerchief in true school-girl fashion. However,
+they entered, and were led by Mrs. Thomas with solemn pomp through
+the great and little halls, the stone parlour and the oak parlour, the
+library and the huge drawing-room, in which the white heads of marble
+statues protruded from the bags of brown holland wherewith they were
+wrapped about in a manner ghastly to behold. At length they reached a
+small octagon-shaped room that, facing south, commanded a most glorious
+view of sea and land. It was called the Lady's Boudoir, and joined
+another of about the same size, which in its former owner's time had
+been used as a smoking-room.
+
+"If you don't mind, madam," said the lord of all this magnificence, "I
+should like to stop here, I am getting tired of walking." And there he
+stopped for many years. The rest of the Castle was shut up; he scarcely
+ever visited it except occasionally to see that the rooms were properly
+aired, for he was a methodical man.
+
+As for Beatrice, she went home, still chuckling, to receive a severe
+reproof from Elizabeth for her "forwardness." But Owen Davies never
+forgot the debt of gratitude he owed her. In his heart he felt convinced
+that had it not been for her, he would have fled before Mrs. Thomas and
+her horn-rimmed eyeglasses, to return no more. The truth of the matter
+was, however, that young as was Beatrice, he fell in love with her then
+and there, only to fall deeper and deeper into that drear abyss as years
+went on. He never said anything about it, he scarcely even gave a hint
+of his hopeless condition, though of course Beatrice divined something
+of it as soon as she came to years of discretion. But there grew up in
+Owen's silent, lonely breast a great and overmastering desire to make
+this grey-eyed girl his wife. He measured time by the intervals that
+elapsed between his visions of her. No period in his life was so
+wretched and utterly purposeless as those two years which passed while
+she was at her Training College. He was a very passive lover, as yet his
+gathering passion did not urge him to extremes, and he could never make
+up his mind to declare it. The box was in his hand, but he feared to
+throw the dice.
+
+But he drew as near to her as he dared. Once he gave Beatrice a flower,
+it was when she was seventeen, and awkwardly expressed a hope that she
+would wear it for his sake. The words were not much and the flower was
+not much, but there was a look about the man's eyes, and a suppressed
+passion and energy in his voice, which told their tale to the
+keen-witted girl. After this he found that she avoided him, and bitterly
+regretted his boldness. For Beatrice did not like him in that way. To
+a girl of her curious stamp his wealth was nothing. She did not covet
+wealth, she coveted independence, and had the sense to know that
+marriage with such a man would not bring it. A cage is a cage, whether
+the bars are of iron or gold. He bored her, she despised him for his
+want of intelligence and enterprise. That a man with all this wealth and
+endless opportunity should waste his life in such fashion was to her a
+thing intolerable. She knew if she had half his chance, that she would
+make her name ring from one end of Europe to the other. In short,
+Beatrice held Owen as deeply in contempt as her sister Elizabeth,
+studying him from another point of view, held him in reverence. And
+putting aside any human predilections, Beatrice would never have married
+a man whom she despised. She respected herself too much.
+
+Owen Davies saw all this as through a glass darkly, and in his own slow
+way cast about for a means of drawing near. He discovered that Beatrice
+was passionately fond of learning, and also that she had no means to
+obtain the necessary books. So he threw open his library to her; it
+was one of the best in Wales. He did more; he gave orders to a London
+bookseller to forward him every new book of importance that appeared
+in certain classes of literature, and all of these he placed at her
+disposal, having first carefully cut the leaves with his own hand. This
+was a bait Beatrice could not resist. She might dread or even detest Mr.
+Davies, but she loved his books, and if she quarrelled with him her
+well of knowledge would simply run dry, for there were no circulating
+libraries at Bryngelly, and if there had been she could not have
+afforded to subscribe to them. So she remained on good terms with him,
+and even smiled at his futile attempts to keep pace with her studies.
+Poor man, reading did not come naturally to him; he was much better at
+cutting leaves. He studied the _Times_ and certain religious works, that
+was all. But he wrestled manfully with many a detested tome, in order to
+be able to say something to Beatrice about it, and the worst of it was
+that Beatrice always saw through it, and showed him that she did. It was
+not kind, perhaps, but youth is cruel.
+
+And so the years wore on, till at length Beatrice knew that a crisis
+was at hand. Even the tardiest and most retiring lover must come to the
+point at last, if he is in earnest, and Owen Davies was very much in
+earnest. Of late, to her dismay, he had so far come out of his shell
+as to allow himself to be nominated a member of the school council. Of
+course she knew that this was only to give him more opportunities of
+seeing her. As a member of the council, he could visit the school of
+which she was mistress as often as he chose, and indeed he soon learned
+to take a lively interest in village education. About twice a week he
+would come in just as the school was breaking up and offer to walk home
+with her, seeking for a favourable opportunity to propose. Hitherto she
+had always warded off this last event, but she knew that it must happen.
+Not that she was actually afraid of the man himself; he was too much
+afraid of her for that. What she did fear was the outburst of wrath
+from her father and sister when they learned that she had refused Owen
+Davies. It never occurred to her that Elizabeth might be playing a hand
+of her own in the matter.
+
+From all of which it will be clear, if indeed it has not become so
+already, that Beatrice Granger was a somewhat ill-regulated young woman,
+born to bring trouble on herself and all connected with her. Had she
+been otherwise, she would have taken her good fortune and married Owen
+Davies, in which case her history need never have been written.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+A MATRIMONIAL TALE
+
+Before Geoffrey Bingham dropped off into a troubled sleep on that
+eventful night of storm, he learned that the girl who had saved his life
+at the risk and almost at the cost of her own was out of danger, and in
+his own and more reticent way he thanked Providence as heartily as did
+Owen Davies. Then he went to sleep.
+
+When he woke, feeling very sick and so stiff and sore that he could
+scarcely move, the broad daylight was streaming through the blinds. The
+place was perfectly quiet, for the doctor's assistant who had brought
+him back to life, and who lay upon a couch at the further end of
+the room, slept the sleep of youth and complete exhaustion. Only an
+eight-day clock on the mantelpiece ticked in that solemn and aggressive
+way which clocks affect in the stillness. Geoffrey strained his eyes to
+make out the time, and finally discovered that it wanted a few minutes
+to six o'clock. Then he fell to wondering how Miss Granger was, and to
+repeating in his own mind every scene of their adventure, till the
+last, when they were whirled out of the canoe in the embrace of that
+white-crested billow.
+
+He remembered nothing after that, nothing but a rushing sound and a
+vision of foam. He shuddered a little as he thought of it, for his
+nerves were shaken; it is not pleasant to have been so very near the End
+and the Beginning; and then his heart went out with renewed gratitude
+towards the girl who had restored him to life and light and hope. Just
+at this moment he thought that he heard a sound of sobbing outside the
+window. He listened; the sound went on. He tried to rise, only to find
+that he was too stiff to manage it. So, as a last resource, he called
+the doctor.
+
+"What is the matter?" answered that young gentleman, jumping up with the
+alacrity of one accustomed to be suddenly awakened. "Do you feel queer?"
+
+"Yes, I do rather," answered Geoffrey, "but it isn't that. There is
+somebody crying outside here."
+
+The doctor put on his coat, and, going to the window, drew the blind.
+
+"Why, so there is," he said. "It's a little girl with yellow hair and
+without a hat."
+
+"A little girl," answered Geoffrey. "Why, it must be Effie, my daughter.
+Please let her in."
+
+"All right. Cover yourself up, and I can do that through the window; it
+isn't five feet from the ground." Accordingly he opened the window, and
+addressing the little girl, asked her what her name was.
+
+"Effie," she sobbed in answer, "Effie Bingham. I've come to look for
+daddie."
+
+"All right, my dear, don't cry so; your daddie is here. Come and let me
+lift you in."
+
+Another moment and there appeared through the open window the very
+sweetest little face and form that ever a girl of six was blessed with.
+For the face was pink and white, and in it were set two beautiful dark
+eyes, which, contrasting with the golden hair, made the child a sight
+to see. But alas! just now the cheeks were stained with tears, and round
+the large dark eyes were rings almost as dark. Nor was this all. The
+little dress was hooked awry, on one tiny foot all drenched with dew
+there was no boot, and on the yellow curls no hat.
+
+"Oh! daddie, daddie," cried the child, catching sight of him and
+struggling to reach her father's arms, "you isn't dead, is you, daddie?"
+
+"No, my love, no," answered her father, kissing her. "Why should you
+think that I was dead? Didn't your mother tell you that I was safe?"
+
+"Oh! daddie," she answered, "they came and said that you was drownded,
+and I cried and wished that I was drownded too. Then mother came home at
+last and said that you were better, and was cross with me because I went
+on crying and wanted to come to you. But I did go on crying. I cried
+nearly all night, and when it got light I did dress myself, all but one
+shoe and my hat, which I could not find, and I got out of the house to
+look for you."
+
+"And how did you find me, my poor little dear?"
+
+"Oh, I heard mother say you was at the Vicarage, so I waited till I saw
+a man, and asked him which way to go, and he did tell me to walk along
+the cliff till I saw a long white house, and then when he saw that I had
+no shoe he wanted to take me home, but I ran away till I got here. But
+the blinds were down, so I did think that you were dead, daddie dear,
+and I cried till that gentleman opened the window."
+
+After that Geoffrey began to scold her for running away, but she did not
+seem to mind it much, for she sat upon the edge of the couch, her little
+face resting against his own, a very pretty sight to see.
+
+"You must go back to Mrs. Jones, Effie, and tell your mother where you
+have been."
+
+"I can't, daddie, I've only got one shoe," she answered, pouting.
+
+"But you came with only one shoe."
+
+"Yes, daddie, but I wanted to come and I don't want to go back. Tell me
+how you was drownded."
+
+He laughed at her logic and gave way to her, for this little daughter
+was very near to his heart, nearer than anything else in the world. So
+he told her how he was "drownded" and how a lady had saved his life.
+
+Effie listened with wide set eyes, and then said that she wanted to see
+the lady, which she presently did. At that moment there came a knock at
+the door, and Mr. Granger entered, accompanied by Dr. Chambers.
+
+"How do you do, sir?" said the former. "I must introduce myself, seeing
+that you are not likely to remember me. When last I saw you, you looked
+as dead as a beached dog-fish. My name's Granger, the Reverend J.
+Granger, Vicar of Bryngelly, one of the very worst livings on this
+coast, and that's saying a great deal."
+
+"I am sure, Mr. Granger, I'm under a deep debt of gratitude to you for
+your hospitality, and under a still deeper one to your daughter, but I
+hope to thank her personally for that."
+
+"Never speak of it," said the clergyman. "Hot water and blankets don't
+cost much, and you will have to pay for the brandy and the doctor. How
+is he, doctor?"
+
+"He is getting on very well indeed, Mr. Granger. But I daresay you find
+yourself rather stiff, Mr. Bingham. I see your head is pretty badly
+bruised."
+
+"Yes," he answered, laughing, "and so is my body. Shall I be able to go
+home to-day?"
+
+"I think so," said the doctor, "but not before this evening. You had
+better keep quiet till then. You will be glad to hear that Miss Beatrice
+is getting on very well. Hers was a wonderful recovery, the most
+wonderful I ever saw. I had quite given her up, though I should have
+kept on the treatment for another hour. You ought to be grateful to Miss
+Beatrice, Mr. Bingham. But for her you would not have been here."
+
+"I am most grateful," he answered earnestly. "Shall I be able to see her
+to-day?"
+
+"Yes, I think so, some time this afternoon, say at three o'clock. Is
+that your little daughter? What a lovely child she is. Well, I will look
+in again about twelve. All that you require to do now is to keep quiet
+and rub in some arnica."
+
+About an hour afterwards the servant girl brought Geoffrey some
+breakfast of tea and toast. He felt quite hungry, but when it came to
+the pinch he could not eat much. Effie, who was starving, made up for
+this deficiency, however; she ate all the toast and a couple of slices
+of bread and butter after it. Scarcely had they finished, when her
+father observed a shade of anxiety come upon his little daughter's face.
+
+"What is it, Effie?" he asked.
+
+"I think," replied Effie in evident trepidation, "I think that I hear
+mother outside and Anne too."
+
+"Well, dear, they have come to see me."
+
+"Yes, and to scold me because I ran away," and the child drew nearer to
+her father in a fashion which would have made it clear to any observer
+that the relations between her and her mother were somewhat strained.
+
+Effie was right. Presently there was a knock at the door and Lady
+Honoria entered, calm and pale and elegant as ever. She was followed by
+a dark-eyed somewhat impertinent-looking French _bonne_, who held up her
+hands and ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" as she appeared.
+
+"I thought so," said Lady Honoria, speaking in French to the _bonne_.
+"There she is," and she pointed at the runaway Effie with her parasol.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" said the woman again. "Vous voilà enfin, et moi, qui suis
+accablée de peur, et votre chère mère aussi; oh, mais que c'est méchant;
+et regardez donc, avec un soulier seulement. Mais c'est affreux!"
+
+"Hold your tongue," said Geoffrey sharply, "and leave Miss Effie alone.
+She came to see me."
+
+Anne ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" once more and collapsed.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey," said his wife, "the way you spoil that child is
+something shocking. She is wilful as can be, and you make her worse. It
+is very naughty of her to run away like that and give us such a hunt.
+How are we to get her home, I wonder, with only one shoe."
+
+Her husband bit his lip, and his forehead contracted itself above the
+dark eyes. It was not the first time that he and Lady Honoria had come
+to words about the child, with whom his wife was not in sympathy. Indeed
+she had never forgiven Effie for appearing in this world at all. Lady
+Honoria did not belong to that class of women who think maternity is a
+joy.
+
+"Anne," he said, "take Miss Effie and carry her till you can find a
+donkey. She can ride back to the lodgings." The nurse murmured something
+in French about the child being as heavy as lead.
+
+"Do as I bid you," he said sharply, in the same language. "Effie, my
+love, give me a kiss and go home. Thank you for coming to see me."
+
+The child obeyed and went. Lady Honoria stood and watched her go,
+tapping her little foot upon the floor, and with a look upon her cold,
+handsome face that was not altogether agreeable to see.
+
+
+
+It had sometimes happened that, in the course of his married life,
+Geoffrey returned home with a little of that added fondness which
+absence is fabled to beget. On these occasions he was commonly so
+unfortunate as to find that Lady Honoria belied the saying, that she
+greeted him with arrears of grievances and was, if possible, more frigid
+than ever.
+
+Was this to be repeated now that he had come back from what was so
+near to being the longest absence of all? It looked like it. He noted
+symptoms of the rising storm, symptoms with which he was but too well
+acquainted, and both for his own sake and for hers--for above all things
+Geoffrey dreaded these bitter matrimonial bickerings--tried to think of
+something kind to say. It must be owned that he did not show much tact
+in the subject he selected, though it was one which might have stirred
+the sympathies of some women. It is so difficult to remember that one is
+dealing with a Lady Honoria.
+
+"If ever we have another child----" he began gently.
+
+"Excuse me interrupting you," said the lady, with a suavity which did
+not however convey any idea of the speaker's inward peace, "but it is
+a kindness to prevent you from going on in that line. _One_ darling is
+ample for me."
+
+"Well," said the miserable Geoffrey, with an effort, "even if you don't
+care much about the child yourself, it is a little unreasonable to
+object because she cares for me and was sorry when she thought that I
+was dead. Really, Honoria, sometimes I wonder if you have any heart at
+all. Why should you be put out because Effie got up early to come and
+see me?--an example which I must admit you did not set her. And as to
+her shoe----" he added smiling.
+
+"You may laugh about her shoe, Geoffrey," she interrupted, "but you
+forget that even little things like that are no laughing matter now to
+us. The child's shoes keep me awake at night sometimes. Defoy has
+not been paid for I don't know how long. I have a mind to get her
+_sabots_--and as to heart----"
+
+"Well," broke in Geoffrey, reflecting that bad as was the emotional side
+of the question, it was better than the commercial--"as to 'heart?'"
+
+"You are scarcely the person to talk of it, that is all. I wonder how
+much of yours you gave _me_?"
+
+"Really, Honoria," he answered, not without eagerness, and his mind
+filled with wonder. Was it possible that his wife had experienced some
+kind of "call," and was about to concern herself with his heart one
+way or the other? If so it was strange, for she had never shown the
+slightest interest in it before.
+
+"Yes," she went on rapidly and with gathering vehemence, "you speak
+about your heart"--which he had not done--"and yet you know as well as I
+do that if I had been a girl of no position you would never have offered
+me the organ on which you pretend to set so high a value. Or did your
+heart run wildly away with you, and drag us into love and a cottage--a
+flat, I mean? If so, _I_ should prefer a little less heart and a little
+more common sense."
+
+Geoffrey winced, twice indeed, feeling that her ladyship had hit him as
+it were with both barrels. For, as a matter of fact, he had not begun
+with any passionate devotion, and again Lady Honoria and he were now
+just as poor as though they had really married for love.
+
+"It is hardly fair to go back on bygones and talk like this," he said,
+"even if your position had something to do with it; only at first of
+course, you must remember that when we married mine was not without
+attractions. Two thousand a year to start on and a baronetcy and eight
+thousand a year in the near future were not--but I hate talking about
+that kind of thing. Why do you force me to it? Nobody could know that my
+uncle, who was so anxious that I should marry you, would marry himself
+at his age, and have a son and heir. It was not my fault, Honoria.
+Perhaps you would not have married me if you could have foreseen it."
+
+"Very probably not," she answered calmly, "and it is not _my_ fault that
+I have not yet learned to live with peace of mind and comfort on seven
+hundred a year. It was hard enough to exist on two thousand till your
+uncle died, and now----"
+
+"Well, and now, Honoria, if you will only have patience and put up with
+things for a while, you shall be rich enough; I will make money for you,
+as much money as you want. I have many friends. I have not done so badly
+at the Bar this year."
+
+"Two hundred pounds, nineteen shillings and sevenpence, minus
+ninety-seven pounds rent of chambers and clerk," said Lady Honoria, with
+a disparaging accent on the sevenpence.
+
+"I shall double it next year, and double that again the next, and so on.
+I work from morning till night to get on, that you may have--what you
+live for," he said bitterly.
+
+"Ah, I shall be sixty before that happy day comes, and want nothing but
+scandal and a bath chair. I know the Bar and its moaning," she added,
+with acid wit. "You dream, you imagine what you would like to come true,
+but you are deceiving me and yourself. It will be like the story of Sir
+Robert Bingham's property once again. We shall be beggars all our days.
+I tell you, Geoffrey, that you had no right to marry me."
+
+Then at length he lost his temper. This was not the first of these
+scenes--they had grown frequent of late, and this bitter water was
+constantly dropping.
+
+"Right?" he said, "and may I ask what right you had to marry me when you
+don't even pretend you ever cared one straw for me, but just accepted me
+as you would have accepted any other man who was a tolerably good match?
+I grant that I first thought of proposing to you because my uncle wished
+it, but if I did not love you I meant to be a good husband to you, and I
+should have loved you if you would let me. But you are cold and selfish;
+you looked upon a husband merely as a stepping-stone to luxury; you have
+never loved anybody except yourself. If I had died last night I believe
+that you would have cared more about having to go into mourning than for
+the fact of my disappearance from your life. You showed no more
+feeling for me when you came in than you would have if I had been a
+stranger--not so much as some women might have for a stranger. I wonder
+sometimes if you have any feeling left in you at all. I should think
+that you treat me as you do because you do not care for me and do care
+for some other person did I not know you to be utterly incapable of
+caring for anybody. Do you want to make me hate you, Honoria?"
+
+Geoffrey's low concentrated voice and earnest manner told his wife, who
+was watching him with something like a smile upon her clear-cut lips,
+how deeply he was moved. He had lost his self-control, and exposed his
+heart to her--a thing he rarely did, and that in itself was a triumph
+which she did not wish to pursue at the moment. Geoffrey was not a man
+to push too far.
+
+"If you have quite finished, Geoffrey, there is something I should like
+to say----"
+
+"Oh, curse it all!" he broke in.
+
+"Yes?" she said calmly and interrogatively, and made a pause, but as
+he did not specially apply his remark to anybody or anything, she
+continued: "If these flowers of rhetoric are over, what I have to say
+is this: I do not intend to stay in this horrid place any longer. I am
+going to-morrow to my brother Garsington. They asked us both, you may
+remember, but for reasons best known to yourself, you would not go."
+
+"You know my reasons very well, Honoria."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I have not the slightest idea what they were," said
+Lady Honoria with conviction. "May I hear them?"
+
+"Well, if you wish to know, I will not go to the house of a man who
+has--well, left my club as Garsington left it, and who, had it not
+been for my efforts, would have left it in an even more unpleasant and
+conspicuous fashion. And his wife is worse than he is----"
+
+"I think you are mistaken," Lady Honoria said coldly, and with the air
+of a person who shuts the door of a room into which she does not wish to
+look. "And, any way, it all happened years ago and has blown over. But
+I do not see the necessity of discussing the subject further. I suppose
+that we shall meet at dinner to-night. I shall take the early train
+to-morrow."
+
+"Do what suits you, Honoria. Perhaps you would prefer not returning at
+all."
+
+"Thank you, no. I will not lay myself open to imputations. I shall join
+you in London, and will make the best of a bad business. Thank Heaven,
+I have learned how to bear my misfortunes," and with this Parthian shot
+she left the room.
+
+For a minute or two her husband felt as though he almost hated her. Then
+he thrust his face into the pillow and groaned.
+
+"She is right," he said to himself; "we must make the best of a bad
+business. But, somehow, I seem to have made a mess of my life. And yet I
+loved her once--for a month or two."
+
+This was not an agreeable scene, and it may be said that Lady Honoria
+was a vulgar person. But not even the advantage of having been brought
+up "on the knees of marchionesses" is a specific against vulgarity, if
+a lady happens, unfortunately, to set her heart, what there is of it,
+meanly on mean things.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+EXPLANATORY
+
+About two o'clock Geoffrey rose, and with some slight assistance from
+his reverend host, struggled into his clothes. Then he lunched, and
+while he did so Mr. Granger poured his troubles into his sympathetic
+ear.
+
+"My father was a Herefordshire farmer, Mr. Bingham," he said, "and I was
+bred up to that line of life myself. He did well, my father did, as
+in those days a careful man might. What is more, he made some money by
+cattle-dealing, and I think that turned his head a little; anyway, he
+was minded to make 'a gentleman of me,' as he called it. So when I was
+eighteen I was packed off to be made a parson of, whether I liked it or
+no. Well, I became a parson, and for four years I had a curacy at a
+town called Kingston, in Herefordshire, not a bad sort of little
+town--perhaps you happen to know it. While I was there, my father,
+who was getting beyond himself, took to speculating. He built a row of
+villas at Leominster, or at least he lent a lawyer the money to build
+them, and when they were built nobody would hire them. It broke my
+father; he was ruined over those villas. I have always hated the sight
+of a villa ever since, Mr. Bingham. And shortly afterwards he died, as
+near bankruptcy as a man's nose is to his mouth.
+
+"After that I was offered this living, £150 a year it was at the best,
+and like a fool I took it. The old parson who was here before me left
+an only daughter behind him. The living had ruined him, as it ruins me,
+and, as I say, he left his daughter, my wife that was, behind him, and
+a pretty good bill for dilapidations I had against the estate. But there
+wasn't any estate, so I made the best of a bad business and married
+the daughter, and a sweet pretty woman she was, poor dear, very like
+my Beatrice, only without the brains. I can't make out where Beatrice's
+brains come from indeed, for I am sure I don't set up for having any.
+She was well born, too, my wife was, of an old Cornish family, but she
+had nowhere to go to, and I think she married me because she didn't know
+what else to do, and was fond of the old place. She took me on with it,
+as it were. Well, it turned out pretty well, till some eleven years ago,
+when our boy was born, though I don't think we ever quite understood
+each other. She never got her health back after that, and seven years
+ago she died. I remember it was on a night wonderfully like last
+night--mist first, then storm. The boy died a few years afterwards. I
+thought it would have broken Beatrice's heart; she has never been the
+same girl since, but always full of queer ideas I don't pretend to
+follow.
+
+"And as for the life I've had of it here, Mr. Bingham, you wouldn't
+believe it if I was to tell you. The living is small enough, but the
+place is as full of dissent as a mackerel-boat of fish, and as for
+getting the tithes--well, I cannot, that's all. If it wasn't for a bit
+of farming that I do, not but what the prices are down to nothing, and
+for what the visitors give in the season, and for the help of Beatrice's
+salary as certificated mistress, I should have been in the poor-house
+long ago, and shall be yet, I often think. I have had to take in a
+border before now to make both ends meet, and shall again, I expect.
+
+"And now I must be off up to my bit of a farm; the old sow is due to
+litter, and I want to see how she is getting on. Please God she'll
+have thirteen again and do well. I'll order the fly to be here at five,
+though I shall be back before then--that is, I told Elizabeth to do so.
+She has gone out to do some visiting for me, and to see if she can't
+get in two pounds five of tithe that has been due for three months. If
+anybody can get it it's Elizabeth. Well, good-bye; if you are dull and
+want to talk to Beatrice, she is up and in there. I daresay you will
+suit one another. She's a very queer girl, Beatrice, quite beyond me
+with her ideas, and it was a funny thing her holding you so tight, but
+I suppose Providence arranged that. Good-bye for the present, Mr.
+Bingham," and this curious specimen of a clergyman vanished, leaving
+Geoffrey quite breathless.
+
+It was half-past two o'clock, and the doctor had told him that he could
+see Miss Granger at three. He wished that it was three, for he was tired
+of his own thoughts and company, and naturally anxious to renew his
+acquaintance with the strange girl who had begun by impressing him so
+deeply and ended by saving his life. There was complete quiet in the
+house; Betty, the maid-of-all-work, was employed in the kitchen, both
+the doctors had gone, and Elizabeth and her father were out. To-day
+there was no wind, it had blown itself away during the night, and the
+sight of the sunbeams streaming through the windows made Geoffrey long
+to be in the open air. He had no book at hand to read, and whenever he
+tried to think his mind flew back to that hateful matrimonial quarrel.
+
+It was hard on him, Geoffrey thought, that he should be called upon
+to endure such scenes. He could no longer disguise the truth from
+himself--he had buried his happiness on his wedding-day. Looking
+back across the years, he well remembered how different a life he had
+imagined for himself. In those days he was tired of knocking about
+and of youthful escapades; even that kind of social success which must
+attend a young man who was handsome, clever, a good fellow, and blessed
+with large expectations, had, at the age of six-and-twenty, entirely
+lost its attractiveness. Therefore he had turned no deaf ear to his
+uncle, Sir Robert Bingham, who was then going on for seventy, when he
+suggested that it might be well of Geoffrey settled down, and introduced
+him to Lady Honoria.
+
+Lady Honoria was eighteen then, and a beauty of the rather thin but
+statuesque type, which attracts men up to five or six and twenty and
+then frequently bores, if it does not repel them. Moreover, she was
+clever and well read, and pretended to be intellectually and poetically
+inclined, as ladies not specially favoured by Apollo sometimes
+do--before they marry. Cold she always was; nobody ever heard of Lady
+Honoria stretching the bounds of propriety; but Geoffrey put this down
+to a sweet and becoming modesty, which would vanish or be transmuted
+in its season. Also she affected a charming innocence of all vulgar
+business matters, which both deceived and enchanted him. Never but once
+did she allude to ways and means before marriage, and then it was to say
+that she was glad that they should be so poor till dear Sir Robert died
+(he had promised to allow them fifteen hundred a year, and they had
+seven more between them), as this would enable them to see so much more
+of each other.
+
+At last came the happy day, and this white virgin soul passed into
+Geoffrey's keeping. For a week or so things went fairly well, and then
+disenchantment began. He learned by slow but sure degrees that his wife
+was vain, selfish and extravagant, and, worst of all, that she cared
+very little about him. The first shock was when he accidentally
+discovered, four or five days after marriage, that Honoria was
+intimately acquainted with every detail of Sir Robert Bingham's
+property, and, young as she was, had already formed a scheme to make it
+more productive after the old man's death.
+
+They went to live in London, and there he found that Lady Honoria,
+although by far too cold and prudent a woman to do anything that could
+bring a breath of scandal upon her name, was as fond of admiration as
+she was heartless. It seemed to Geoffrey that he could never be free
+from the collection of young men who hung about her skirts. Some of them
+were very good fellows whom he liked exceedingly; still, on the whole he
+would have preferred to remain unmarried and associate with them at the
+club. Also the continual round of society and going out brought heavier
+expenses on him that he could well support. And thus, little by little,
+poor Geoffrey's dream of matrimonial bliss faded into thin air. But,
+fortunately for himself, he possessed a certain share of logic and
+sweet reasonableness. In time he learnt to see that the fault was not
+altogether with his wife, who was by no means a bad sort of woman in
+her degree. But her degree differed from his degree. She had married for
+freedom and wealth and to gain a larger scope wherein to exercise those
+tastes which inherited disposition and education had given to her, as
+she believed that he had married her because she was the daughter of a
+peer.
+
+Lady Honoria, like many another woman of her stamp, was the overbred, or
+sometimes the underbred, product of a too civilized age and class. Those
+primitive passions and virtues on which her husband had relied to make
+the happiness of their married life simply did not exist for her. The
+passions had been bred and educated out of her; for many generations
+they have been found inconvenient and disquieting attributes in woman.
+As for the old virtues, such as love of children and the ordinary round
+of domestic duty, they simply bored her. On the whole, though sharp of
+tongue, she rarely lost her temper, for her vices, like her virtues,
+were of a somewhat negative order; but the fury which seized her when
+she learned for certain that she was to become a mother was a thing that
+her unfortunate husband never forgot and never wished to see again. At
+length the child was born, a fact for which Geoffrey, at least, was very
+thankful.
+
+"Take it away. I do not want to see it!" said Lady Honoria to the
+scandalised nurse when the little creature was brought to her, wrapped
+in its long robes.
+
+"Give it to me, nurse--I do," said her husband.
+
+
+
+From that moment Geoffrey gave all the pent-up affection of his bruised
+soul to this little daughter, and as the years went on they grew very
+dear to each other. But an active-minded, strong-hearted, able-bodied
+man cannot take a babe as the sole companion of his existence. Probably
+Geoffrey would have found this out in time, and might have drifted into
+some mode of life more or less undesirable, had not an accident occurred
+to prevent it. In his dotage, Geoffrey's old uncle Sir Robert Bingham
+fell a victim to the wiles of an adventuress and married her. Then he
+promptly died, and eight months afterwards a posthumous son was born.
+
+To Geoffrey this meant ruin. His allowance stopped and his expectations
+vanished at one fell swoop. He pulled himself together, however, as
+a brave-hearted man does under such a shock, and going to his wife he
+explained to her that he must now work for his living, begging her to
+break down the barrier that was between them and give him her sympathy
+and help. She met him with tears and reproaches. The one thing that
+touched her keenly, the one thing which she feared and hated was
+poverty, and all that poverty means to women of her rank and nature. But
+there was no help for it; the charming house in Bolton Steet had to be
+given up, and purgatory must be faced, in a flat, near the Edgware Road.
+Lady Honoria was miserable, indeed had it not been that fortunately for
+herself she possessed plenty of relations more or less grand, whom she
+might continually visit for weeks and even for months at a stretch, she
+could scarcely have endured her altered life.
+
+But strangely enough Geoffrey soon found that he was happier than he had
+been since his marriage. To begin with, he set to work like a man, and
+work is a great source of happiness to all vigorous-minded folk. It is
+not, in truth, a particularly cheerful occupation to pass endless days
+in hanging about law-courts amongst a crowd of unbriefed Juniors, and
+many nights in reading up the law one has forgotten and threading the
+many intricacies of the Judicature Act. But it happened that his father,
+a younger brother of Sir Robert's, had been a solicitor, and though he
+was dead, and all direct interest with the firm was severed, yet another
+uncle remained in it, and the partners did not forget Geoffrey in his
+difficulties.
+
+They sent him what work they could without offending their standing
+counsel, and he did it well. Then by degrees he built up quite a large
+general practice of the kind known as deviling. Now there are few things
+more unsatisfactory than doing another man's work for nothing, but
+every case fought means knowledge gained, and what is more it is
+advertisement. So it came to pass that within less than two years from
+the date of his money misfortunes, Geoffrey Bingham's dark handsome face
+and square strong form became very well known in the Courts.
+
+"What is that man's name?" said one well-known Q.C. to another still
+more well known, as they sat waiting for their chops in the Bar Grill
+Room, and saw Geoffrey, his wig pushed back from his forehead, striding
+through the doorway on the last day of the sitting which preceded the
+commencement of this history.
+
+"Bingham," answered the other. "He's only begun to practise lately,
+but he'll be at the top of the tree before he has done. He married
+very well, you know, old Garsington's daughter, a charming woman, and
+handsome too."
+
+"He looks like it," grunted the first, and as a matter of fact such was
+the general opinion.
+
+For, as Beatrice had said, Geoffrey Bingham was a man who had success
+written on his forehead. It would have been almost impossible for him to
+fail in whatever he undertook.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED
+
+Geoffrey lay upon his back, watching the still patch of sunshine and
+listening to the ticking of the clock, as he passed all these and many
+other events in solemn review, till the series culminated in his vivid
+recollection of the scene of that very morning.
+
+"I am sick of it," he said at last aloud, "sick and tired. She makes my
+life wretched. If it wasn't for Effie upon my word I'd . . . By Jove, it
+is three o'clock; I will go and see Miss Granger. She's a woman, not a
+female ghost at any rate, though she is a freethinker--which," he added
+as he slowly struggled off the couch, "is a very foolish thing to be."
+
+Very shakily, for he was sadly knocked about, Geoffrey hobbled down the
+long narrow room and through the door, which was ajar. The opposite door
+was also set half open. He knocked softly, and getting no answer pushed
+it wide and looked in, thinking that he had, perhaps, made some mistake
+as to the room. On a sofa placed about two-thirds down its length, lay
+Beatrice asleep. She was wrapped in a kind of dressing-gown of some
+simple blue stuff, and all about her breast and shoulders streamed her
+lovely curling hair. Her sweet face was towards him, its pallor relieved
+only by the long shadow of the dark lashes and the bent bow of the lips.
+One white wrist and hand hung down almost to the floor, and beneath the
+spread curtain of the sunlit hair her bosom heaved softly in her sleep.
+She looked so wondrously beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost
+awed, and gazed, and gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and
+power were stilling his heart to silence. It is dangerous to look upon
+such quiet loveliness, and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the
+heart. A truly wise man feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds
+sown in such silences may live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed
+their fruit into the waters of desolation. But Geoffrey was not
+wise--who would have been? He still stood and gazed till the sight
+stamped itself so deeply on the tablets of his heart that through all
+the years to come no heats of passion, no frosts of doubt, and no sense
+of loss could ever dull its memory.
+
+The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the
+watcher gazed. And as he looked a great fear, a prescience of evil that
+should come, entered into Geoffrey and took possession of him. A cloud
+without crossed the ray of sunlight and turned it. It wavered, for a
+second it rested on his breast, flashed back to hers, then went out; and
+as it flashed and died, he seemed to know that henceforth, for life till
+death, ay! and beyond, his fate and that sleeping woman's were one
+fate. It was but a momentary knowledge; the fear shook him, and was gone
+almost before he understood its foolishness. But it had been with him,
+and in after days he remembered it.
+
+Just then Beatrice woke, opening her grey eyes. Their dreamy glance fell
+upon him, looking through him and beyond him, rather than at him. Then
+she raised herself a little and stretching out both her arms towards
+him, spoke aloud.
+
+"So have you have come back to me at last," she said. "I knew that you
+would come and I have waited."
+
+He made no answer, he did not know what to say; indeed he began to think
+that he also must be dreaming. For a little while Beatrice still looked
+at him in the same absent manner, then suddenly started up, the red
+blood streaming to her brow.
+
+"Why, Mr. Bingham," she said, "is it really you? What was it that I
+said? Oh, pray forgive me, whatever it was. I have been asleep dreaming
+such a curious dream, and talking in my sleep."
+
+"Do not alarm yourself, Miss Granger," he answered, recovering himself
+with a jerk; "you did not say anything dreadful, only that you were glad
+to see me. What were you dreaming about?"
+
+Beatrice looked at him doubtfully; perhaps his words did not ring quite
+true.
+
+"I think that I had better tell you as I have said so much," she
+answered. "Besides, it was a very curious dream, and if I believed in
+dreams it would rather frighten me, only fortunately I do not. Sit down
+and I will tell it to you before I forget it. It is not very long."
+
+He took the chair to which she pointed, and she began, speaking in the
+voice of one yet laden with the memories of sleep.
+
+"I dreamed that I stood in space. Far to my right was a great globe of
+light, and to my left was another globe, and I knew that the globes were
+named Life and Death. From the globe on the right to the globe on the
+left, and back again, a golden shuttle, in which two flaming eyes were
+set, was shot continually, and I knew also that this was the shuttle of
+Destiny, weaving the web of Fate. Presently the shuttle flew, leaving
+behind it a long silver thread, and the eyes in the shuttle were such as
+your eyes. Again the shuttle sped through space, and this time its eyes
+were like my eyes, and the thread it left behind it was twisted from a
+woman's hair. Half way between the globes of Life and Death my thread
+was broken, but the shuttle flew on and vanished. For a moment the
+thread hung in air, then a wind rose and blew it, so that it floated
+away like a spider's web, till it struck upon your silver thread of life
+and began to twist round and round it. As it twisted it grew larger and
+heavier, till at last it was thick as a great tress of hair, and the
+silver line bent beneath the weight so that I saw it soon must break.
+Then while I wondered what would happen, a white hand holding a knife
+slid slowly down the silver line, and with the knife severed the
+wrappings of woman's hair, which fell and floated slowly away, like a
+little cloud touched with sunlight, till they were lost in darkness. But
+the thread of silver that was your line of life, sprang up quivering and
+making a sound like sighs, till at last it sighed itself to silence.
+
+"Then I seemed to sleep, and when I woke I was floating upon such a
+misty sea as we saw last night. I had lost all sight of land, and I
+could not remember what the stars were like, nor how I had been taught
+to steer, nor understand where I must go. I called to the sea, and asked
+it of the stars, and the sea answered me thus:
+
+"'Hope has rent her raiment, and the stars are set.'
+
+"I called again, and asked of the land where I should go, and the land
+did not answer, but the sea answered me a second time:
+
+"'Child of the mist, wander in the mist, and in darkness seek for
+light.'
+
+"Then I wept because Hope had rent her starry garment and in darkness I
+must seek for light. And while I still wept, _you_ rose out of the sea
+and sat before me in the boat. I had never seen you before, and still
+I felt that I had known you always. You did not speak, and I did not
+speak, but you looked into my heart and saw its trouble. Then I looked
+into your heart, and read what was written. And this was written:
+
+"'Woman whom I knew before the Past began, and whom I shall know when
+the Future is ended, why do you weep?'
+
+"And my heart answered, 'I weep because I am lost upon the waters of
+the earth, because Hope has rent her starry robes, and in everlasting
+darkness I must seek for light that is not.' Then your heart said, '_I_
+will show you light,' and bending forward you touched me on the breast.
+
+"And suddenly an agony shook me like the agonies of birth and death,
+and the sky was full of great-winged angels who rolled up the mist as
+a cloth, and drew the veils from the eyes of Night, and there, her feet
+upon the globe, and her star-set head piercing the firmament of heaven,
+stood Hope breathing peace and beauty. She looked north and south and
+east and west, then she looked upwards through the arching vaults of
+heaven, and wherever she set her eyes, bright with holy tears, the
+darkness shrivelled and sorrow ceased, and from corruption arose the
+Incorruptible. I gazed and worshipped, and as I did so, again the sea
+spoke unquestioned:
+
+"'In darkness thou hast found light, in Death seek for wisdom.'
+
+"Then once more Hope rent her starry robes, and the angels drew down a
+veil over the eyes of Night, and the sea swallowed me, and I sank till I
+reached the deep foundations of mortal death. And there in the Halls of
+Death I sat for ages upon ages, till at last I saw you come, and on your
+lips was the word of wisdom that makes all things clear, but what it was
+I cannot remember. Then I stretched out my hand to greet you, and woke,
+and that is all my dream."
+
+
+
+Beatrice ceased, her grey eyes set wide, as though they still strove to
+trace their spiritual vision upon the air of earth, her breast heaving,
+and her lips apart.
+
+"Great heaven!" he said, "what an imagination you must have to dream
+such a dream as that."
+
+"Imagination," she answered, returning to her natural manner. "I have
+none, Mr. Bingham. I used to have, but I lost it when I lost--everything
+else. Can you interpret my dream? Of course you cannot; it is nothing
+but nonsense--such stuff as dreams are made of, that is all."
+
+"It may be nonsense, I daresay it is, but it is beautiful nonsense," he
+answered. "I wish ladies had more of such stuff to give the world."
+
+"Ah, well, dreams may be wiser than wakings, and nonsense than learned
+talk, for all we know. But there's an end of it. I do not know why I
+repeated it to you. I am sorry that I did repeat it, but it seemed so
+real it shook me out of myself. This is what comes of breaking in upon
+the routine of life by being three parts drowned. One finds queer things
+at the bottom of the sea, you know. By the way I hope that you are
+recovering. I do not think that you will care to go canoeing again with
+me, Mr. Bingham."
+
+There was an opening for a compliment here, but Geoffrey felt that it
+would be too much in earnest if spoken, so he resisted the temptation.
+
+"What, Miss Granger," he said, "should a man say to a lady who but last
+night saved his life, at the risk, indeed almost at the cost, of her
+own?"
+
+"It was nothing," she answered, colouring; "I clung to you, that was
+all, more by instinct than from any motive. I think I had a vague idea
+that you might float and support me."
+
+"Miss Granger, the occasion is too serious for polite fibs. I know how
+you saved my life. I do not know how to thank you for it."
+
+"Then don't thank me at all, Mr. Bingham. Why should you thank me? I
+only did what I was bound to do. I would far rather die than desert a
+companion in distress, of any sort; we all must die, but it would be
+dreadful to die ashamed. You know what they say, that if you save a
+person from drowning you will do them an injury afterwards. That is how
+they put it here; in some parts the saying is the other way about, but I
+am not likely ever to do you an injury, so it does not make me unhappy.
+It was an awful experience: you were senseless, so you cannot know how
+strange it felt lying upon the slippery rock, and seeing those great
+white waves rush upon us through the gloom, with nothing but the night
+above, and the sea around, and death between the two. I have been lonely
+for many years, but I do not think that I ever quite understood what
+loneliness really meant before. You see," she added by way of an
+afterthought, "I thought that you were dead, and there is not much
+company in a corpse."
+
+"Well," he said, "one thing is, it would have been lonelier if we had
+gone."
+
+"Do you think so?" she answered, looking at him inquiringly. "I don't
+quite see how you make that out. If you believe in what we have been
+taught, as I think you do, wherever it was you found yourself there
+would be plenty of company, and if, like me, you do not believe in
+anything, why, then, you would have slept, and sleep asks for nothing."
+
+"Did you believe in nothing when you lay upon the rock waiting to be
+drowned, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Nothing!" she answered; "only weak people find revelation in the
+extremities of fear. If revelation comes at all, surely it must be born
+in the heart and not in the senses. I believed in nothing, and I dreaded
+nothing, except the agony of death. Why should I be afraid? Supposing
+that I am mistaken, and there is something beyond, is it my fault that
+I cannot believe? What have I done that I should be afraid? I have never
+harmed anybody that I know of, and if I could believe I would. I wish
+I had died," she went on, passionately; "it would be all over now. I am
+tired of the world, tired of work and helplessness, and all the little
+worries which wear one out. I am not wanted here, I have nothing to live
+for, and I wish that I had died!"
+
+"Some day you will think differently, Miss Granger. There are many
+things that a woman like yourself can live for--at the least, there is
+your work."
+
+She laughed drearily. "My work! If you only knew what it is like you
+would not talk to me about it. Every day I roll my stone up the hill,
+and every night it seems to roll down again. But you have never taught
+in a village school. How can you know? I work all day, and in the
+evening perhaps I have to mend the tablecloths, or--what do you
+think?--write my father's sermons. It sounds curious, does it not, that
+I should write sermons? But I do. I wrote the one he is going to preach
+next Sunday. It makes very little difference to him what it is so long
+as he can read it, and, of course, I never say anything which can offend
+anybody, and I do not think that they listen much. Very few people go to
+church in Bryngelly."
+
+"Don't you ever get any time to yourself, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sometimes I do, and then I go out in my canoe, or read, and am
+almost happy. After all, Mr. Bingham, it is very wrong and ungrateful
+of me to speak like this. I have more advantages than nine-tenths of
+the world, and I ought to make the best of them. I don't know why I have
+been speaking as I have, and to you, whom I never saw till yesterday.
+I never did it before to any living soul, I assure you. It is just like
+the story of the man who came here last year with the divining rod.
+There is a cottage down on the cliff--it belongs to Mr. Davies, who
+lives in the Castle. Well, they have no drinking water near, and the new
+tenant made a great fuss about it. So Mr. Davies hired men, and they dug
+and dug and spent no end of money, but could not come to water. At last
+the tenant fetched an old man from some parish a long way off, who said
+that he could find springs with a divining rod. He was a curious old man
+with a crutch, and he came with his rod, and hobbled about till at last
+the rod twitched just at the tenant's back door--at least the diviner
+said it did. At any rate, they dug there, and in ten minutes struck a
+spring of water, which bubbled up so strongly that it rushed into the
+house and flooded it. And what do you think? After all, the water was
+brackish. You are the man with the divining rod, Mr. Bingham, and you
+have made me talk a great deal too much, and, after all, you see it is
+not nice talk. You must think me a very disagreeable and wicked young
+woman, and I daresay I am. But somehow it is a relief to open one's
+mind. I do hope, Mr. Bingham, that you will see--in short, that you will
+not misunderstand me."
+
+"Miss Granger," he answered, "there is between us that which will always
+entitle us to mutual respect and confidence--the link of life and
+death. Had it not been for you, I should not sit here to listen to your
+confidence to-day. You may tell me that a mere natural impulse prompted
+you to do what you did. I know better. It was your will that triumphed
+over your natural impulse towards self-preservation. Well, I will say no
+more about it, except this: If ever a man was bound to a woman by ties
+of gratitude and respect, I am bound to you. You need not fear that I
+shall take advantage of or misinterpret your confidence." Here he rose
+and stood before her, his dark handsome face bowed in proud humility.
+"Miss Granger, I look upon it as an honour done to me by one whom
+henceforth I must reverence among all women. The life you gave back to
+me, and the intelligence which directs it, are in duty bound to you, and
+I shall not forget the debt."
+
+Beatrice listened to his words, spoken in that deep and earnest voice,
+which in after years became so familiar to Her Majesty's judges and to
+Parliament--listened with a new sense of pleasure rising in her heart.
+She was this man's equal; what he could dare, she could dare; where he
+could climb, she could follow--ay, and if need be, show the path, and
+she felt that he acknowledged it. In his sight she was something more
+than a handsome girl to be admired and deferred to for her beauty's
+sake. He had placed her on another level--one, perhaps, that few women
+would have wished to occupy. But Beatrice was thankful to him. It was
+the first taste of supremacy that she had ever known.
+
+It is something to stir the proud heart of such a woman as Beatrice,
+in that moment when for the first time she feels herself a conqueror,
+victorious, not through the vulgar advantage of her sex, not by the
+submission of man's coarser sense, but rather by the overbalancing
+weight of mind.
+
+"Do you know," she said, suddenly looking up, "you make me very proud,"
+and she stretched out her hand to him.
+
+He took it, and, bending, touched it with his lips. There was no
+possibility of misinterpreting the action, and though she coloured
+a little--for, till then, no man had even kissed the tip of her
+finger--she did not misinterpret it. It was an act of homage, and that
+was all.
+
+And so they sealed the compact of their perfect friendship for ever and
+a day.
+
+Then came a moment's silence. It was Geoffrey who broke it.
+
+"Miss Granger," he said, "will you allow me to preach you a lecture, a
+very short one?"
+
+"Go on," she said.
+
+"Very well. Do not blame me if you don't like it, and do not set me down
+as a prig, though I am going to tell you your faults as I read them in
+your own words. You are proud and ambitious, and the cramped lines in
+which you are forced to live seem to strangle you. You have suffered,
+and have not learned the lesson of suffering--humility. You have set
+yourself up against Fate, and Fate sweeps you along like spray upon
+the gale, yet you go unwilling. In your impatience you have flown to
+learning for refuge, and it has completed your overthrow, for it has
+induced you to reject as non-existent all that you cannot understand.
+Because your finite mind cannot search infinity, because no answer has
+come to all your prayers, because you see misery and cannot read its
+purpose, because you suffer and have not found rest, you have said there
+is naught but chance, and become an atheist, as many have done before
+you. Is it not true?"
+
+"Go on," she answered, bowing her head to her breast so that the long
+rippling hair almost hid her face.
+
+"It seems a little odd," Geoffrey said with a short laugh, "that I,
+with all my imperfections heaped upon me, should presume to preach to
+you--but you will know best how near or how far I am from the truth. So
+I want to say something. I have lived for thirty-five years, and seen a
+good deal and tried to learn from it, and I know this. In the long run,
+unless we of our own act put away the opportunity, the world gives us
+our due, which generally is not much. So much for things temporal.
+If you are fit to rule, in time you will rule; if you do not, then
+be content and acknowledge your own incapacity. And as for things
+spiritual, I am sure of this--though of course one does not like to talk
+much of these matters--if you only seek for them long enough in some
+shape you will find them, though the shape may not be that which is
+generally recognised by any particular religion. But to build a wall
+deliberately between oneself and the unseen, and then complain that the
+way is barred, is simply childish."
+
+"And what if one's wall is built, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Most of us have done something in that line at different times," he
+answered, "and found a way round it."
+
+"And if it stretches from horizon to horizon, and is higher than the
+clouds, what then?"
+
+"Then you must find wings and fly over it."
+
+"And where can any earthly woman find those spiritual wings?" she
+asked, and then sank her head still deeper on her breast to cover her
+confusion. For she remembered that she had heard of wanderers in the
+dusky groves of human passion, yes, even Mænad wanderers, who had
+suddenly come face to face with their own soul; and that the cruel paths
+of earthly love may yet lead the feet which tread them to the ivory
+gates of heaven.
+
+And remembering these beautiful myths, though she had no experience of
+love, and knew little of its ways, Beatrice grew suddenly silent. Nor
+did Geoffrey give her an answer, though he need scarcely have feared to
+do so.
+
+For were they not discussing a purely abstract question?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+LADY HONORIA MAKES ARRANGEMENTS
+
+In another moment somebody entered the room; it was Elizabeth. She had
+returned from her tithe collecting expedition--with the tithe. The door
+of the sitting-room was still ajar, and Geoffrey had his back towards
+it. So it happened that nobody heard Elizabeth's rather cat-like step,
+and for some seconds she stood in the doorway without being perceived.
+She stood quite still, taking in the whole scene at a glance. She
+noticed that her sister held her head down, so that her hair shadowed
+her, and guessed that she did so for some reason--probably because she
+did not wish her face to be seen. Or was it to show off her lovely hair?
+She noticed also the half shy, half amused, and altogether interested
+expression upon Geoffrey's countenance--she could see that in the little
+gilt-edged looking-glass which hung over the fire-place, nor did she
+overlook the general air of embarrassment that pervaded them both.
+
+When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of
+what might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back
+into her sister's veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had thought
+of it all day; even in the excitement of extracting the back tithe from
+the recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer, with strong
+views on the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely forgotten. The
+farmer was a tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called her a "parson in
+petticoats, and wus," and went on, in delicate reference to her powers
+of extracting cash, to liken her to a "two-legged corkscrew only
+screwier," she perhaps not unnaturally reflected, that if ever--_pace_
+Beatrice--certain things should come about, she would remember that
+farmer. For Elizabeth was blessed with a very long memory, as some
+people had learnt to their cost, and generally, sooner or later, she
+paid her debts in full, not forgetting the overdue interest.
+
+And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
+something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea,
+which, like ideas in general, had many side issues. At any rate a look
+of quick intelligence shone for a moment in her light eyes, like a
+sickly sunbeam on a faint December mist; then she moved forward, and
+when she was close behind Geoffrey, spoke suddenly.
+
+"What are you both thinking about?" she said in her clear thin voice;
+"you seem to have exhausted your conversation."
+
+Geoffrey made an exclamation and fairly jumped from his chair, a feat
+which in his bruised condition really hurt him very much. Beatrice too
+started violently; she recovered herself almost instantly, however.
+
+"How quietly you move, Elizabeth," she said.
+
+"Not more quietly than you sit, Beatrice. I have been wondering when
+anybody was going to say anything, or if you were both asleep."
+
+For her part Beatrice speculated how long her sister had been in the
+room. Their conversation had been innocent enough, but it was not one
+that she would wish Elizabeth to have overheard. And somehow Elizabeth
+had a knack of overhearing things.
+
+"You see, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey coming to the rescue, "both our
+brains are still rather waterlogged, and that does not tend to a flow of
+ideas."
+
+"Quite so," said Elizabeth. "My dear Beatrice, why don't you tie up your
+hair? You look like a crazy Jane. Not but what you have very nice hair,"
+she added critically. "Do you admire good hair, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Of course I do," he answered gallantly, "but it is not common."
+
+Only Beatrice bit her lip with vexation. "I had almost forgotten about
+my hair," she said; "I must apologise for appearing in such a state. I
+would have done it up after dinner only I was too stiff, and while I was
+waiting for Betty, I went to sleep."
+
+"I think there is a bit of ribbon in that drawer. I saw you put it there
+yesterday," answered the precise Elizabeth. "Yes, here it is. If you
+like, and Mr. Bingham will excuse it, I can tie it back for you," and
+without waiting for an answer she passed behind Beatrice, and gathering
+up the dense masses of her sister's locks, tied them round in such
+fashion that they could not fall forward, though they still rolled down
+her back.
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his visit to the farm. He was in
+high good humour. The pig had even surpassed her former efforts, and
+increased in a surprising manner, to the number of fifteen indeed.
+Elizabeth thereon produced the two pounds odd shillings which she had
+"corkscrewed" out of the recalcitrant dissenting farmer, and the sight
+added to Mr. Granger's satisfaction.
+
+"Would you believe it, Mr. Bingham," he said, "in this miserably paid
+parish I have nearly a hundred pounds owing to me, a hundred pounds in
+tithe. There is old Jones who lives out towards the Bell Rock, he owes
+three years' tithe--thirty-four pounds eleven and fourpence. He can pay
+and he won't pay--says he's a Baptist and is not going to pay parson's
+dues--though for the matter of that he is nothing but an old beer tub of
+a heathen."
+
+"Why don't you proceed against him, then, Mr. Granger?"
+
+"Proceed, I have proceeded. I've got judgment, and I mean to issue
+execution in a few days. I won't stand it any longer," he went on,
+working himself up and shaking his head as he spoke till his thin white
+hair fell about his eyes. "I will have the law of him and the others
+too. You are a lawyer and you can help me. I tell you there's a spirit
+abroad which just comes to just--no man isn't to pay his lawful debts,
+except of course the parson and the squire. They must pay or go to the
+court. But there is law left, and I'll have it, before they play the
+Irish game on us here." And he brought down his fist with a bang upon
+the table.
+
+Geoffrey listened with some amusement. So this was the weak old man's
+sore point--money. He was clearly very strong about that--as strong as
+Lady Honoria indeed, but with more excuse. Elizabeth also listened with
+evident approval, but Beatrice looked pained.
+
+"Don't get angry, father," she said; "perhaps he will pay after all.
+It is bad to take the law if you can manage any other way--it breeds so
+much ill blood."
+
+"Nonsense, Beatrice," said her sister sharply. "Father is quite right.
+There's only one way to deal with them, and that is to seize their
+goods. I believe you are socialist about property, as you are about
+everything else. You want to pull everything down, from the Queen to the
+laws of marriage, all for the good of humanity, and I tell you that
+your ideas will be your ruin. Defy custom and it will crush you. You are
+running your head against a brick wall, and one day you will find which
+is the harder."
+
+Beatrice flushed, but answered her sister's attack, which was all the
+sharper because it had a certain spice of truth in it.
+
+"I never expressed any such views, Elizabeth, so I do not see why you
+should attribute them to me. I only said that legal proceedings breed
+bad blood in a parish, and that is true."
+
+"I did not say you expressed them," went on the vigorous Elizabeth;
+"you look them--they ooze out of your words like water from a peat bog.
+Everybody knows you are a radical and a freethinker and everything else
+that is bad and mad, and contrary to that state of life in which it has
+pleased God to call you. The end of it will be that you will lose the
+mistresship of the school--and I think it is very hard on father and me
+that you should bring disgrace on us with your strange ways and immoral
+views, and now you can make what you like of it."
+
+"I wish that all radicals were like Miss Beatrice," said Geoffrey, who
+was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, with a feeble attempt at polite
+jocosity. But nobody seemed to hear him. Elizabeth, who was now fairly
+in a rage, a faint flush upon her pale cheeks, her light eyes all
+ashine, and her thin fingers clasped, stood fronting her beautiful
+sister, and breathing spite at every pore. But it was easy for Geoffrey
+who was watching her to see that it was not her sister's views she was
+attacking; it was her sister. It was that soft strong loveliness and the
+glory of that face; it was the deep gentle mind, erring from its very
+greatness, and the bright intellect which lit it like a lamp; it was the
+learning and the power that, give them play, would set a world aflame,
+as easily as they did the heart of the slow-witted hermit squire, whom
+Elizabeth coveted--these were the things that Elizabeth hated, and
+bitterly assailed.
+
+Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced
+at the father. The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of
+Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene. He stood fidgeting his feet about, and
+trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his
+elder daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
+
+Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking
+at. Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath
+their dark lashes. She had risen, drawing herself to her full height,
+which her exquisite proportions seemed to increase, and was looking at
+her sister. Presently she said one word and one only, but it was enough.
+
+"_Elizabeth._"
+
+Her sister opened her lips to speak again, but hesitated, and changed
+her mind. There was something in Beatrice's manner that checked her.
+
+"Well," she said at length, "you should not irritate me so, Beatrice."
+
+Beatrice made no reply. She only turned towards Geoffrey, and with a
+graceful little bow, said:
+
+"Mr. Bingham, I am sure that you will forgive this scene. The fact is,
+we all slept badly last night, and it has not improved our tempers."
+
+There was a pause, of which Mr. Granger took a hurried and rather
+undignified advantage.
+
+"Um, ah," he said. "By the way, Beatrice, what was it I wanted to say?
+Ah, I know--have you written, I mean written out, that sermon for next
+Sunday? My daughter," he added, addressing Geoffrey in explanation--"um,
+copies my sermons for me. She writes a very good hand----"
+
+Remembering Beatrice's confidence as to her sermon manufacturing
+functions, Geoffrey felt amused at her father's _naïve_ way of
+describing them, and Beatrice also smiled faintly as she answered that
+the sermon was ready. Just then the roll of wheels was heard without,
+and the only fly that Bryngelly could boast pulled up in front of the
+door.
+
+"Here is the fly come for you, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger--"and as
+I live, her ladyship with it. Elizabeth, see if there isn't some tea
+ready," and the old gentleman, who had all the traditional love of the
+lower middle-class Englishman for a title, trotted off to welcome "her
+ladyship."
+
+Presently Lady Honoria entered the room, a sweet, if rather a set smile
+upon her handsome face, and with a graceful mien, that became her tall
+figure exceedingly well. For to do Lady Honoria justice, she was one
+of the most ladylike women in the country, and so far as her personal
+appearance went, a very perfect type of the class to which she belonged.
+
+Geoffrey looked at her, saying to himself that she had clearly recovered
+her temper, and that he was thankful for it. This was not wonderful, for
+it is observable that the more aristocratic a lady's manners are, the
+more disagreeable she is apt to be when she is crossed.
+
+"Well, Geoffrey dear," she said, "you see I have come to fetch you. I
+was determined that you should not get yourself drowned a second time on
+your way home. How are you now?--but I need not ask, you look quite well
+again."
+
+"It is very kind of you, Honoria," said her husband simply, but it
+was doubtful if she heard him, for at the moment she was engaged in
+searching out the soul of Beatrice, with one of the most penetrating
+and comprehensive glances that young lady had ever enjoyed the honour of
+receiving. There was nothing rude about the look, it was too quick, but
+Beatrice felt that quick as it might be it embraced her altogether. Nor
+was she wrong.
+
+"There is no doubt about it," Lady Honoria thought to herself, "she is
+lovely--lovely everywhere. It was clever of her to leave her hair down;
+it shows the shape of her head so well, and she is tall enough to stand
+it. That blue wrapper suits her too. Very few women could show such a
+figure as hers--like a Greek statue. I don't like her; she is different
+from most of us; just the sort of girl men go wild about and women
+hate."
+
+All this passed through her mind in a flash. For a moment Lady Honoria's
+blue eyes met Beatrice's grey ones, and she knew that Beatrice liked her
+no better than she did Beatrice. Those eyes were a trifle too honest,
+and, like the deep clear water they resembled, apt to throw up shadows
+of the passing thoughts above.
+
+"False and cold and heartless," thought Beatrice. "I wonder how a man
+like that could marry her; and how much he loves her."
+
+Thus the two women took each other's measure at a glance, each finding
+the other wanting by her standard. Nor did they ever change that hastily
+formed judgment.
+
+It was all done in a few seconds--in that hesitating moment before the
+words we summon answer on our lips. The next, Lady Honoria was sweeping
+towards her with outstretched hand, and her most gracious smile.
+
+"Miss Granger," she said, "I owe you a debt I never can repay--my dear
+husband's life. I have heard all about how you saved him; it is the most
+wonderful thing--Grace Darling born again. I can't think how you could
+do it. I wish I were half as brave and strong."
+
+"Please don't, Lady Honoria," said Beatrice. "I am so tired of being
+thanked for doing nothing, except what it was my duty to do. If I had
+let Mr. Bingham go while I had the strength to hold on to him I should
+have felt like a murderess to-day. I beg you to say no more about it."
+
+"One does not often find such modesty united to so much courage, and,
+if you will allow me to say it, so much beauty," answered Lady Honoria
+graciously. "Well, I will do as you wish, but I warn you your fame will
+find you out. I hear they have an account of the whole adventure in
+to-day's papers, headed, 'A Welsh Heroine.'"
+
+"How did you hear that, Honoria?" asked her husband.
+
+"Oh, I had a telegram from Garsington, and he mentions it," she answered
+carelessly.
+
+"Telegram from Garsington! Hence these smiles," thought he. "I suppose
+that she is going to-morrow."
+
+"I have some other news for you, Miss Granger," went on Lady Honoria.
+"Your canoe has been washed ashore, very little injured. The old
+boatman--Edward, I think they call him--has found it; and your gun in
+it too, Geoffrey. It had stuck under the seat or somewhere. But I fancy
+that you must both have had enough canoeing for the present."
+
+"I don't know, Lady Honoria," answered Beatrice. "One does not often get
+such weather as last night's, and canoeing is very pleasant. Every sweet
+has its salt, you know; or, in other words, one may always be upset."
+
+At that moment, Betty, the awkward Welsh serving lass, with a fore-arm
+about as shapely as the hind leg of an elephant, and a most unpleasing
+habit of snorting audibly as she moved, shuffled in with the tea-tray.
+In her wake came the slim Elizabeth, to whom Lady Honoria was
+introduced.
+
+After this, conversation flagged for a while, till Lady Honoria, feeling
+that things were getting a little dull, set the ball rolling again.
+
+"What a pretty view you have of the sea from these windows," she said in
+her well-trained and monotonously modulated voice. "I am so glad to have
+seen it, for, you know, I am going away to-morrow."
+
+Beatrice looked up quickly.
+
+"My husband is not going," she went on, as though in answer to an
+unspoken question. "I am playing the part of the undutiful wife and
+running away from him, for exactly three weeks. It is very wicked of
+me, isn't it? but I have an engagement that I must keep. It is most
+tiresome."
+
+Geoffrey, sipping his tea, smiled grimly behind the shelter of his cup.
+"She does it uncommonly well," he thought to himself.
+
+"Does your little girl go with you, Lady Honoria?" asked Elizabeth.
+
+"Well, no, I think not. I can't bear parting with her--you know how hard
+it is when one has only one child. But I think she would be so bored
+where I am going to stay, for there are no other children there; and
+besides, she positively adores the sea. So I shall have to leave her to
+her father's tender mercies, poor dear."
+
+"I hope Effie will survive it, I am sure," said Geoffrey laughing.
+
+"I suppose that your husband is going to stay on at Mrs. Jones's," said
+the clergyman.
+
+"Really, I don't know. What _are_ you going to do, Geoffrey? Mrs.
+Jones's rooms are rather expensive for people in our impoverished
+condition. Besides, I am sure that she cannot look after Effie. Just
+think, she has eight children of her own, poor old dear. And I must take
+Anne with me; she is Effie's French nurse, you know, a perfect treasure.
+I am going to stay in a big house, and my experience of those big houses
+is, that one never gets waited on at all unless one takes a maid. You
+see, what is everybody's business is nobody's business. I'm sure I don't
+know how you will get on with the child, Geoffrey; she takes such a lot
+of looking after."
+
+"Oh, don't trouble about that, Honoria," he answered. "I daresay that
+Effie and I will manage somehow."
+
+Here one of those peculiar gleams of intelligence which marked the
+advent of a new idea passed across Elizabeth's face. She was sitting
+next her father, and bending, whispered to him. Beatrice saw it and made
+a motion as though to interpose, but before she could do so Mr. Granger
+spoke.
+
+"Look here, Mr. Bingham," he said, "if you want to move, would you like
+a room here? Terms strictly moderate, but can't afford to put you up for
+nothing you know, and living rough and ready. You'd have to take us as
+you find us; but there is a dressing-room next to my room, where your
+little girl could sleep, and my daughters would look after her between
+them, and be glad of the job."
+
+Again Beatrice opened her lips as though to speak, but closed them
+without speaking. Thus do our opportunities pass before we realise that
+they are at hand.
+
+Instinctively Geoffrey had glanced towards Beatrice. He did not know if
+this idea was agreeable to her. He knew that her work was hard, and
+he did not wish to put extra trouble upon her, for he guessed that the
+burden of looking after Effie would ultimately fall upon her shoulders.
+But her face told him nothing: it was quite passive and apparently
+indifferent.
+
+"You are very kind, Mr. Granger," he said, hesitating. "I don't want to
+go away from Bryngelly just at present, and it would be a good plan in
+some ways, that is if the trouble to your daughters would not be too
+much."
+
+"I am sure that it is an excellent plan," broke in Lady Honoria, who
+feared lest difficulties should arise as to her appropriation of Anne's
+services; "how lucky that I happened to mention it. There will be no
+trouble about our giving up the rooms at Mrs. Jones's, because I know
+she has another application for them."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, not liking to raise objections to a scheme
+thus publicly advocated, although he would have preferred to take time
+to consider. Something warned him that Bryngelly Vicarage would prove a
+fateful abode for him. Then Elizabeth rose and asked Lady Honoria if she
+would like to see the rooms her husband and Effie would occupy.
+
+She said she should be delighted and went off, followed by Mr. Granger
+fussing in the rear.
+
+"Don't you think that you will be a little dull here, Mr. Bingham?" said
+Beatrice.
+
+"On the contrary," he answered. "Why should I be dull? I cannot be so
+dull as I should be by myself."
+
+Beatrice hesitated, and then spoke again. "We are a curious family, Mr.
+Bingham; you may have seen as much this afternoon. Had you not better
+think it over?"
+
+"If you mean that you do not want me to come, I won't," he said rather
+bluntly, and next second felt that he had made a mistake.
+
+"I!" Beatrice answered, opening her eyes. "I have no wishes in the
+matter. The fact is that we are poor, and let lodgings--that is what it
+comes to. If you think they will suit you, you are quite right to take
+them."
+
+Geoffrey coloured. He was a man who could not bear to lay himself open
+to the smallest rebuff from a woman, and he had brought this on himself.
+Beatrice saw it and relented.
+
+"Of course, Mr. Bingham, so far as I am concerned, I shall be the
+gainer if you do come. I do not meet so many people with whom I care
+to associate, and from whom I can learn, that I wish to throw a chance
+away."
+
+"I think you misunderstand me a little," he said; "I only meant that
+perhaps you would not wish to be bothered with Effie, Miss Granger."
+
+She laughed. "Why, I love children. It will be a great pleasure to me to
+look after her so far as I have time."
+
+Just then the others returned, and their conversation came to an end.
+
+"It's quite delightful, Geoffrey--such funny old-fashioned rooms. I
+really envy you." (If there was one thing in the world that Lady Honoria
+hated, it was an old-fashioned room.) "Well, and now we must be going.
+Oh! you poor creature, I forgot that you were so knocked about. I am
+sure Mr. Granger will give you his arm."
+
+Mr. Granger ambled forward, and Geoffrey having made his adieus, and
+borrowed a clerical hat (Mr. Granger's concession to custom, for in most
+other respects he dressed like an ordinary farmer), was safely conveyed
+to the fly.
+
+And so ended Geoffrey's first day at Bryngelly Vicarage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+BEATRICE MAKES AN APPOINTMENT
+
+Lady Honoria leaned back in the cab, and sighed a sigh of satisfaction.
+
+"That is a capital idea," she said. "I was wondering what arrangements
+you could make for the next three weeks. It is ridiculous to pay three
+guineas a week for rooms just for you and Effie. The old gentleman only
+wants that for board and lodging together, for I asked him."
+
+"I daresay it will do," said Geoffrey. "When are we to shift?"
+
+"To-morrow, in time for dinner, or rather supper: these barbarians eat
+supper, you know. I go by the morning train, you see, so as to reach
+Garsington by tea-time. I daresay you will find it rather dull, but you
+like being dull. The old clergyman is a low stamp of man, and a bore,
+and as for the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, she's too awful--she reminds
+me of a rat. But Beatrice is handsome enough, though I think her horrid
+too. You'll have to console yourself with her, and I daresay you will
+suit each other."
+
+"Why do you think her horrid, Honoria?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know; she is clever and odd, and I hate odd women. Why
+can't they be like other people? Think of her being strong enough
+to save your life like that too. She must have the muscle of an
+Amazon--it's downright unwomanly. But there is no doubt about her
+beauty. She is as nearly perfect as any girl I ever saw, though too
+independent looking. If only one had a daughter like that, how one might
+marry her. I would not look at anything under twenty thousand a year.
+She is too good for that lumbering Welsh squire she's engaged too--the
+man who lives in the Castle--though they say that he is fairly rich."
+
+"Engaged," said Geoffrey, "how do you know that she is engaged?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know it at all, but I suppose she is. If she isn't, she
+soon will be, for a girl in that position is not likely to throw such
+a chance away. At any rate, he's head over ears in love with her. I saw
+that last night. He was hanging about for hours in the rain, outside
+the door, with a face like a ghost, till he knew whether she was dead or
+alive, and he has been there twice to inquire this morning. Mr. Granger
+told me. But she is too good for him from a business point of view. She
+might marry anybody, if only she were put in the way of it."
+
+Somehow, Geoffrey's lively interest in Beatrice sensibly declined on the
+receipt of this intelligence. Of course it was nothing to him; indeed
+he was glad to hear that she was in the way of such a comfortable
+settlement, but it is unfortunately a fact that one cannot be quite as
+much interested in a young and lovely lady who is the potential property
+of a "lumbering Welsh squire," as in one who belongs to herself.
+
+The old Adam still survives in most men, however right-thinking they may
+be, and this is one of its methods of self-assertion.
+
+"Well," he said, "I am glad to hear she is in such a good way; she
+deserves it. I think the Welsh squire is in luck; Miss Granger is a
+remarkable woman."
+
+"Too remarkable by half," said Lady Honoria drily. "Here we are, and
+there is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual. I think that
+child is demented."
+
+On the following morning--it was Friday--Lady Honoria, accompanied by
+Anne, departed in the very best of tempers. For the next three weeks,
+at any rate, she would be free from the galling associations of
+straightened means--free to enjoy the luxury and refined comfort to
+which she had been accustomed, and for which her soul yearned with a
+fierce longing that would be incomprehensible to folk of a simpler mind.
+Everybody has his or her ideal Heaven, if only one could fathom it. Some
+would choose a sublimated intellectual leisure, made happy by the best
+literature of all the planets; some a model state (with themselves as
+presidents), in which (through their beneficent efforts) the latest
+radical notions could actually be persuaded to work to everybody's
+satisfaction; others a happy hunting ground, where the game enjoyed the
+fun as much as they did; and so on, _ad infinitum_.
+
+Lady Honoria was even more modest. Give her a well appointed town and
+country house, a few powdered footmen, plenty of carriages, and other
+needful things, including of course the _entrée_ to the upper celestial
+ten, and she would ask no more from age to age. Let us hope that she
+will get it one day. It would hurt nobody, and she is sure to find
+plenty of people of her own way of thinking--that is, if this world
+supplies the raw material.
+
+She embraced Effie with enthusiasm, and her husband with a chastened
+warmth, and went, a pious prayer on her lips that she might never again
+set eyes upon Bryngelly.
+
+It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels.
+That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up.
+Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the
+things into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which would
+not go in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle looked like
+an old clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for them inside,
+they walked down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance of about
+three-quarters of a mile, stopping on their way to admire the beautiful
+castle, in one corner of which Owen Davies lived and moved.
+
+"Oh, daddy," said the child, "I wish you would buy a house like that for
+you and me to live in. Why don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Haven't got the money, dear," he answered.
+
+"Will you ever have the money, daddy?"
+
+"I don't know, dear, perhaps one day--when I am too old to enjoy it," he
+added to himself.
+
+"It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn't
+it, daddy?" said Effie sagely.
+
+"Yes, dear, more than you could count," he answered, and the
+conversation dropped.
+
+Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and
+close to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged
+in mending a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the
+identical canoe out of which he had so nearly been drowned.
+
+"Look, Effie," said he, "that is the boat out of which I was upset."
+Effie opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft.
+
+"It is a horrid boat," she said; "I don't want to look at it."
+
+"You're quite right, little miss," said old Edward, touching his cap.
+"It ain't safe, and somebody will be drowned out of it one of these
+days. I wish it had gone to the bottom, I do; but Miss Beatrice, she is
+that foolhardy there ain't no doing nothing with her."
+
+"I fancy that she has learnt a lesson," said Geoffrey.
+
+"May be, may be," grumbled the old man, "but women folk are hard to
+teach; they never learn nothing till it's too late, they don't, and
+then when they've been and done it they're sorry, but what's the good o'
+that?"
+
+Meanwhile another conversation was in progress not more than a quarter
+of a mile away. On the brow of the cliff stood the village of Bryngelly,
+and at the back of the village was a school, a plain white-washed
+building, roofed with stone, which, though amply sufficient and suitable
+to the wants of the place, was little short of an abomination in the
+eyes of Her Majesty's school inspectors, who from time to time descended
+upon Bryngelly for purposes of examination and fault-finding. They
+yearned to see a stately red-brick edifice, with all the latest
+improvements, erected at the expense of the rate-payers, but as yet they
+yearned in vain. The school was supported by voluntary contributions,
+and thanks to Beatrice's energy and good teaching, the dreaded Board,
+with its fads and extravagance, had not yet clutched it.
+
+Beatrice had returned to her duties that afternoon, for a night's rest
+brought back its vigour to her strong young frame. She had been greeted
+with enthusiasm by the children, who loved her, as well they might, for
+she was very gentle and sweet with them, though few dared to disobey
+her. Besides, her beauty impressed them, though they did not know it.
+Beauty of a certain sort has perhaps more effect on children than on any
+other class, heedless and selfish as they often seem to be. They feel
+its power; it is an outward expression of the thoughts and dreams that
+bud in their unknowing hearts, and is somehow mixed up with their ideas
+of God and Heaven. Thus there was in Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a
+very clever and highly excitable child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of
+parents of strict Calvinistic views. As it chanced, some months
+before the opening of this story, a tub thumper, of high renown and
+considerable rude oratorical force, visited the place, and treated his
+hearers to a lively discourse on the horrors of Hell.
+
+In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little
+child between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much
+satisfaction, and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of
+curiosity.
+
+Presently the preacher, having dealt sufficiently in terrifying
+generalities, went on to practical illustrations, for, after the manner
+of his class, he was delivering an extemporary oration. "Look at that
+child," he said, pointing to the little girl; "she looks innocent, does
+she not? but if she does not find salvation, my brethren, I tell you
+that she is damned. If she dies to-night, not having found salvation,
+she will go to _Hell_. Her delicate little body will be tormented for
+ever and ever----"
+
+Here the unfortunate child fell forward with a shriek.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir," said Beatrice aloud.
+
+She had been listening to all this ill-judged rant with growing
+indignation, and now, in her excitement, entirely forgot that she was in
+a place of worship. Then she ran forward to the child, who had swooned.
+Poor little unfortunate, she never recovered the shock. When she came to
+herself, it was found that her finely strung mind had given way, and she
+lapsed into a condition of imbecility. But her imbecility was not always
+passive. Occasionally fits of passionate terror would seize upon her.
+She would cry out that the fiends were coming to drag her down to
+torment, and dash herself against the wall, in fear hideous to behold.
+Then it was found that there was but one way to calm her: it was to send
+for Beatrice. Beatrice would come and take the poor thin hands in hers
+and gaze with her calm deep eyes upon the wasted horror-stricken face
+till the child grew quiet again and, shivering, sobbed herself to sleep
+upon her breast.
+
+And so it was with all the children; her power over them was almost
+absolute. They loved her, and she loved them all.
+
+And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice's
+custom to make the children sing some simple song before they broke
+up. She stood in front of them and gave the time while they sung, and a
+pretty sight it was to see her do it. On this particular afternoon, just
+as the first verse was finished, the door of the room opened, and Owen
+Davies entered, bearing some books under his arm. Beatrice glanced round
+and saw him, then, with a quick stamp of her foot, went on giving the
+time.
+
+The children sung lustily, and in front of them stood Beatrice, dressed
+in simple white, her graceful form swaying as she marked the music's
+time. Nearer and nearer drew Owen Davies, till at length he stood quite
+close, his lips slightly apart, his eyes fixed upon her like the eyes
+of one who dreams, and his slow heavy face faintly lit with the glow of
+strong emotion.
+
+The song ended, the children at a word from their mistress filed past
+her, headed by the pupil teachers, and then with a shout, seizing their
+caps, ran forth this way and that, welcoming the free air. When they
+were all gone, and not till then, Beatrice turned suddenly round.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" she said.
+
+He started visibly. "I did not know that you had seen me," he answered.
+
+"Oh, yes, I saw you, Mr. Davies, only I could not stop the song to say
+how do you do. By the way, I have to thank you for coming to inquire
+after me."
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all; it was a most dreadful accident.
+I cannot tell you how thankful I am--I can't, indeed."
+
+"It is very good of you to take so much interest in me," said Beatrice.
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all. Who--who could help taking
+interest in you? I have brought you some books--the Life of Darwin--it
+is in two volumes. I think that I have heard you say that Darwin
+interests you?"
+
+"Yes, thank you very much. Have you read it?"
+
+"No, but I have cut it. Darwin doesn't interest me, you know. I think
+that he was a rather misguided person. May I carry the books home for
+you?"
+
+"Thank you, but I am not going straight home; I am going to old Edward's
+shed to see my canoe."
+
+As a matter of fact this was true, but the idea was only that moment
+born in her mind. Beatrice had been going home, as she wanted to see
+that all things were duly prepared for Geoffrey and his little daughter.
+But to reach the Vicarage she must pass along the cliff, where there
+were few people, and this she did not wish to do. To be frank, she
+feared lest Mr. Davies should take the opportunity to make that offer of
+his hand and heart which hung over her like a nightmare. Now the way to
+Edward's shed lay through the village and down the cliff, and she knew
+that he would never propose in the village.
+
+It was very foolish of her, no doubt, thus to seek to postpone the evil
+day, but the strongest-minded women have their weak points, and this was
+one of Beatrice's. She hated the idea of this scene. She knew that when
+it did come there would be a scene. Not that her resolution to refuse
+the man had ever faltered. But it would be painful, and in the end it
+must reach the ears of her father and Elizabeth that she had actually
+rejected Mr. Owen Davies, and then what would her life be worth? She had
+never suspected it, it had never entered into her mind to suspect, that,
+though her father might be vexed enough, nothing on this earth would
+more delight the heart of Elizabeth.
+
+Presently, having fetched her hat, Beatrice, accompanied by her admirer,
+bearing the Life of Darwin under his arm, started to walk down to the
+beach. They went in silence, Beatrice just a little ahead. She ventured
+some remark about the weather, but Owen Davies made no reply; he was
+thinking, he wanted to say something, but he did not know how to say
+it. They were at the head of the cliff now, and if he wished to speak he
+must do so quickly.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said in a somewhat constrained voice.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Davies--oh, look at that seagull; it nearly knocked my hat
+off."
+
+But he was not to be put off with the seagull. "Miss Beatrice," he said
+again, "are you going out walking next Sunday afternoon?"
+
+"How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain."
+
+"But if it does not rain--please tell me. You generally do walk on the
+beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you will
+allow me, I do indeed."
+
+Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was
+unendurable; it would be better to get it over. Turning round so
+suddenly that Owen started, she said:
+
+"If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the Amphitheatre
+opposite the Red Rocks, at four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, but I had
+much rather that you did not come. I can say no more."
+
+"I shall come," he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to
+the boat-shed.
+
+"Oh, look, daddy," said Effie, "here comes the lady who was drownded
+with you and a gentleman," and to Beatrice's great relief the child ran
+forward and met them.
+
+"Ah!" thought Geoffrey to himself, "that is the man Honoria said she was
+engaged to. Well, I don't think very much of her taste."
+
+In another minute they had arrived. Geoffrey shook hands with Beatrice,
+and was introduced to Owen Davies, who murmured something in reply, and
+promptly took his departure.
+
+They examined the canoe together, and then walked slowly up to the
+Vicarage, Beatrice holding Effie by the hand. Opposite the reef they
+halted for a minute.
+
+"There is the Table Rock on which we were thrown, Mr. Bingham," said
+Beatrice, "and here is where they carried us ashore. The sea does not
+look as though it would drown any one to-night, does it? See!"--and she
+threw a stone into it--"the ripples run as evenly as they do on a pond."
+
+She spoke idly and Geoffrey answered her idly, for they were not
+thinking of their words. Rather were they thinking of the strange chance
+that had brought them together in an hour of deadly peril and now left
+them together in an hour of peace. Perhaps, too, they were wondering to
+what end this had come about. For, agnostics, atheists or believers, are
+we not, most of us, fatalists at heart?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE WRITING ON THE SAND
+
+Geoffrey found himself very comfortable at the Vicarage, and as for
+Effie, she positively revelled in it. Beatrice looked after her,
+taking her to bed at night and helping her to dress in the morning, and
+Beatrice was a great improvement upon Anne. When Geoffrey became aware
+of this he remonstrated, saying that he had never expected her to act as
+nurse to the child, but she replied that it was a pleasure to her to do
+so, which was the truth. In other ways, too, the place was all that he
+desired. He did not like Elizabeth, but then he did not see very much
+of her, and the old farmer clergyman was amusing in his way, with his
+endless talk of tithes and crops, and the iniquities of the rebellious
+Jones, on whom he was going to distrain.
+
+For the first day or two Geoffrey had no more conversations with
+Beatrice. Most of the time she was away at the school, and on the
+Saturday afternoon, when she was free, he went out to the Red Rocks
+curlew shooting. At first he thought of asking her to come too, but then
+it occurred to him that she might wish to go out with Mr. Davies, to
+whom he still supposed she was engaged. It was no affair of his, yet he
+was glad when he came back to find that she had been out with Effie, and
+not with Mr. Davies.
+
+On Sunday morning they all went to church, including Beatrice. It was
+a bare little church, and the congregation was small. Mr. Granger went
+through the service with about as much liveliness as a horse driving a
+machine. He ground it out, prayers, psalms, litany, lessons, all in the
+same depressing way, till Geoffrey felt inclined to go to sleep, and
+then took to watching Beatrice's sweet face instead. He wondered what
+made her look so sad. Hers was always a sad face when in repose, that he
+knew, but to-day it was particularly so, and what was more, she looked
+worried as well as sad. Once or twice he saw her glance at Mr. Davies,
+who was sitting opposite, the solitary occupant of an enormous pew, and
+he thought that there was apprehension in her look. But Mr. Davies
+did not return the glance. To judge from his appearance nothing was
+troubling his mind.
+
+Indeed, Geoffrey studying him in the same way that he instinctively
+studied everybody whom he met, thought that he had never before seen a
+man who looked quite so ox-like and absolutely comfortable. And yet
+he never was more completely at fault. The man seemed stolid and cold
+indeed, but it was the coldness of a volcano. His heart was a-fire.
+All the human forces in him, all the energies of his sturdy life, had
+concentrated themselves in a single passion for the woman who was so
+near and yet so far from him. He had never drawn upon the store, had
+never frittered his heart away. This woman, strange and unusual as
+it may seem, was absolutely the first whose glance or voice had ever
+stirred his blood. His passion for her had grown slowly; for years
+it had been growing, ever since the grey-eyed girl on the brink of
+womanhood had conducted him to his castle home. It was no fancy, no
+light desire to pass with the year which brought it. Owen had little
+imagination, that soil from which loves spring with the rank swiftness
+of a tropic bloom to fade at the first chill breath of change. His
+passion was an unalterable fact. It was rooted like an oak on our stiff
+English soil, its fibres wrapped his heart and shot his being through,
+and if so strong a gale should rise that it must fall, then he too would
+be overthrown.
+
+For years now he had thought of little else than Beatrice. To win her he
+would have given all his wealth, ay, thrice over, if that were possible.
+To win her, to know her his by right and his alone, ah, that would be
+heaven! His blood quivered and his mind grew dim when he thought of it.
+What would it be to see her standing by him as she stood now, and know
+that she was his wife! There is no form of passion more terrible than
+this. Its very earthiness makes it awful.
+
+The service went on. At last Mr. Granger mounted the pulpit and began
+to read his sermon, of which the text was, "But the greatest of these is
+charity." Geoffrey noticed that he bungled over some of the words,
+then suddenly remembered Beatrice had told him that she had written the
+sermon, and was all attention. He was not disappointed. Notwithstanding
+Mr. Granger's infamous reading, and his habit of dropping his voice at
+the end of a sentence, instead of raising it, the beauty of the thoughts
+and diction was very evident. It was indeed a discourse that might
+equally well have been delivered in a Mahomedan or a Buddhist place of
+worship; there was nothing distinctively Christian about it, it merely
+appealed to the good in human nature. But of this neither the preacher
+nor his audience seemed to be aware, indeed, few of the latter were
+listening at all. The sermon was short and ended with a passage of real
+power and beauty--or rather it did not end, for, closing the MS. sheets,
+Mr. Granger followed on with a few impromptu remarks of his own.
+
+"And now, brethren," he said, "I have been preaching to you about
+charity, but I wish to add one remark, Charity begins at home. There
+is about a hundred pounds of tithe owing to me, and some of it has been
+owing for two years and more. If that tithe is not paid I shall have to
+put distraint on some of you, and I thought that I had better take this
+opportunity to tell you so."
+
+Then he gave the Benediction.
+
+The contrast between this business-like speech, and the beautiful
+periods which had gone before, was so ridiculous that Geoffrey very
+nearly burst out laughing, and Beatrice smiled. So did the rest of the
+congregation, excepting one or two who owed tithe, and Owen Davies, who
+was thinking of other things.
+
+As they went through the churchyard, Geoffrey noticed something.
+Beatrice was a few paces ahead holding Effie's hand. Presently Mr.
+Davies passed him, apparently without seeing him, and greeted Beatrice,
+who bowed slightly in acknowledgment. He walked a little way without
+speaking, then Geoffrey, just as they reached the church gate, heard him
+say, "At four this afternoon, then." Again she bowed her head, and he
+turned and went. As for Geoffrey, he wondered what it all meant: was she
+engaged to him, or was she not?
+
+Dinner was a somewhat silent meal. Mr. Granger was thinking about his
+tithe, also about a sick cow. Elizabeth's thoughts pursued some dark and
+devious course of their own, not an altogether agreeable one to judge
+from her face. Beatrice looked pale and worried; even Effie's sallies
+did not do more than make her smile. As for Geoffrey himself, he was
+engaged in wondering in an idle sort of way what was going to happen at
+four o'clock.
+
+"You is all very dull," said Effie at last, with a charming disregard of
+grammar.
+
+"People ought to be dull on Sunday, Effie," answered Beatrice, with an
+effort. "At least, I suppose so," she added.
+
+Elizabeth, who was aggressively religious, frowned at this remark. She
+knew her sister did not mean it.
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon, Beatrice?" she asked suddenly.
+She had seen Owen Davies go up and speak to her sister, and though she
+had not been near enough to catch the words, scented an assignation from
+afar.
+
+Beatrice coloured slightly, a fact that escaped neither her sister nor
+Geoffrey.
+
+"I am going to see Jane Llewellyn," she answered. Jane Llewellyn was the
+crazy little girl whose tale has been told. Up to that moment Beatrice
+had no idea of going to see her, but she knew that Elizabeth would not
+follow her there, because the child could not endure Elizabeth.
+
+"Oh, I thought that perhaps you were going out walking."
+
+"I may walk afterwards," answered Beatrice shortly.
+
+"So there is an assignation," thought Elizabeth, and a cold gleam of
+intelligence passed across her face.
+
+Shortly after dinner, Beatrice put on her bonnet and went out. Ten
+minutes passed, and Elizabeth did the same. Then Mr. Granger announced
+that he was going up to the farm (there was no service till six) to see
+about the sick cow, and asked Geoffrey if he would like to accompany
+him. He said that he might as well, if Effie could come, and, having lit
+his pipe, they started.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice went to see the crazy child. She was not violent
+to-day, and scarcely knew her. Before she had been in the house ten
+minutes, the situation developed itself.
+
+The cottage stood about two-thirds of the way down a straggling street,
+which was quite empty, for Bryngelly slept after dinner on Sunday.
+At the top of this street appeared Elizabeth, a Bible in her hand, as
+though on district visiting intent. She looked down the street, and
+seeing nobody, went for a little walk, then, returning, once more looked
+down the street. This time she was rewarded. The door of the Llewellyns'
+cottage opened, and Beatrice appeared. Instantly Elizabeth withdrew to
+such a position that she could see without being seen, and, standing
+as though irresolute, awaited events. Beatrice turned and took the road
+that led to the beach.
+
+Then Elizabeth's irresolution disappeared. She also turned and took the
+road to the cliff, walking very fast. Passing behind the Vicarage, she
+gained a point where the beach narrowed to a width of not more than
+fifty yards, and sat down. Presently she saw a man coming along the
+sand beneath her, walking quickly. It was Owen Davies. She waited and
+watched. Seven or eight minutes passed, and a woman in a white dress
+passed. It was Beatrice, walking slowly.
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, setting her teeth, "as I thought." Rising, she
+pursued her path along the cliff, keeping three or four hundred yards
+ahead, which she could easily do by taking short cuts. It was a long
+walk, and Elizabeth, who was not fond of walking, got very tired of it.
+But she was a woman with a purpose, and as such, hard to beat. So she
+kept on steadily for nearly an hour, till, at length, she came to the
+spot known as the Amphitheatre. This Amphitheatre, situated almost
+opposite the Red Rocks, was a half-ring of cliff, the sides of which ran
+in a semicircle almost down to the water's edge, that is, at high tide.
+In the centre of the segment thus formed was a large flat stone, so
+placed that anybody in certain positions on the cliff above could
+command a view of it, though it was screened by the projecting walls of
+rock from observation from the beach. Elizabeth clambered a little way
+down the sloping side of the cliff and looked; on the stone, his back
+towards her, sat Owen Davies. Slipping from stratum to stratum of the
+broken cliff, Elizabeth drew slowly nearer, till at length she was
+within fifty paces of the seated man. Here, ensconcing herself behind a
+cleft rock, she also sat down; it was not safe to go closer; but in case
+she should by any chance be observed from above, she opened the Bible on
+her knee, as though she had sought this quiet spot to study its pages.
+
+Three or four minutes passed, and Beatrice appeared round the projecting
+angle of the Amphitheatre, and walked slowly across the level sand. Owen
+Davies rose and stretched out his hand to welcome her, but she did not
+take it, she only bowed, and then seated herself upon the large flat
+stone. Owen also seated himself on it, but some three or four feet away.
+Elizabeth thrust her white face forward till it was almost level with
+the lips of the cleft rock and strained her ears to listen. Alas! she
+could not hear a single word.
+
+"You asked me to come here, Mr. Davies," said Beatrice, breaking the
+painful silence. "I have come."
+
+"Yes," he answered; "I asked you to come because I wanted to speak to
+you."
+
+"Yes?" said Beatrice, looking up from her occupation of digging little
+holes in the sand with the point of her parasol. Her face was calm
+enough, but her heart beat fast beneath her breast.
+
+"I want to ask you," he said, speaking slowly and thickly, "if you will
+be my wife?"
+
+Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only paused
+because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again, and went
+on digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole case, as a
+lawyer would say.
+
+"I want to ask you," he repeated, "to be my wife. I have wished to do so
+for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it. It is
+a great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not answer me
+yet," he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke. "Listen to what
+I have to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my life. At sea I was
+lonely, and since I have come into this fortune I have been lonelier
+still. I never loved anybody or anything till I began to love you.
+And then I loved you more and more and more; till now I have only one
+thought in all my life, and that thought is of you. While I am awake
+I think of you, and when I am asleep I dream of you. Listen, Beatrice,
+listen!--I have never loved any other woman, I have scarcely spoken to
+one--only you, Beatrice. I can give you a great deal; and everything
+I have shall be yours, only I should be jealous of you--yes, very
+jealous!"
+
+Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as death,
+and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by contrast
+looked almost unholy.
+
+"I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies," Beatrice answered. "I
+am very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am
+not your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and
+I think it best to tell you so plainly, once and for all," and
+unconsciously she went on digging the holes.
+
+"Oh, do not say that," he answered, almost in a moan. "For God's sake
+don't say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go mad.
+Marry me and you will learn to love me."
+
+Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart. She
+did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that she
+was doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man loved
+her and was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women are
+willing enough to give under circumstances so favourable to their
+well-being--herself. But she never liked him, he had always repelled
+her, and she was not a woman to marry a man whom she did not like.
+Also, during the last week this dislike and repulsion had hardened and
+strengthened. Vaguely, as he pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why,
+and as she did so her eye fell upon the pattern she was automatically
+pricking in the sand. It had taken the form of letters, and the letters
+were G E O F F R E--Great heaven! Could that be the answer? She flushed
+crimson with shame at the thought, and passed her foot across the
+tell-tale letters, as she believed, obliterating them.
+
+Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and misinterpreted
+them. Thinking that she was relenting, by instinct, rather than from any
+teaching of experience, he attempted to take her hand. With a turn of
+the arm, so quick that even Elizabeth watching with all her eyes saw
+nothing of the movement, Beatrice twisted herself free.
+
+"Don't touch me," she said sharply, "you have no right to touch me. I
+have answered you, Mr. Davies."
+
+Owen withdrew his hand abashed, and for a moment sat still, his chin
+resting on his breast, a very picture of despair. Nothing indeed could
+break the stolid calm of his features, but the violence of his emotion
+was evident in the quick shivering of his limbs and his short deep
+breaths.
+
+"Can you give me no hope?" he said at last in a slow heavy voice. "For
+God's sake think before you answer--you don't know what it means to me.
+It is nothing to you--you cannot feel. I feel, and your words cut like
+a knife. I know that I am heavy and stupid, but I feel as though you had
+killed me. You are heartless, quite heartless."
+
+Again Beatrice softened a little. She was touched and flattered. Where
+is the woman who would not have been?
+
+"What can I say to you, Mr. Davies?" she answered in a kinder voice. "I
+cannot marry you. How I can I marry you when I do not love you?"
+
+"Plenty of women marry men whom they do not love."
+
+"Then they are bad women," answered Beatrice with energy.
+
+"The world does not think so," he said again; "the world calls those
+women bad who love where they cannot marry, and the world is always
+right. Marriage sanctifies everything."
+
+Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Do you think so?" she said. "I do not. I
+think that marriage without love is the most unholy of our institutions,
+and that is saying a good deal. Supposing I should say yes to you,
+supposing that I married you, not loving you, what would it be for? For
+your money and your position, and to be called a married woman, and what
+do you suppose I should think of myself in my heart then? No, no, I may
+be bad, but I have not fallen so low as that. Find another wife, Mr.
+Davies; the world is wide and there are plenty of women in it who
+will love you for your own sake, or who at any rate will not be so
+particular. Forget me, and leave me to go my own way--it is not your
+way."
+
+"Leave you to go your own way," he answered almost with passion--"that
+is, leave you to some other man. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. I am
+jealous of every man who comes near you. Do you know how beautiful you
+are? You are too beautiful--every man must love you as I do. Oh, if you
+took anybody else I think that I should kill him."
+
+"Do not speak like that, Mr. Davies, or I shall go."
+
+He stopped at once. "Don't go," he said imploringly. "Listen. You said
+that you would not marry me because you did not love me. Supposing that
+you learned to love me, say in a year's time, Beatrice, would you marry
+me then?"
+
+"I would marry any man whom I loved," she answered.
+
+"Then if you learn to love me you will marry me?"
+
+"Oh, this is ridiculous," she said. "It is not probable, it is hardly
+possible, that such a thing should happen. If it had been going to
+happen it would have happened before."
+
+"It might come about," he answered; "your heart might soften towards me.
+Oh, say yes to this. It is a small request, it costs you nothing, and it
+gives me hope, without which I cannot live. Say that I may ask you once
+more, and that then if you love me you will marry me."
+
+Beatrice thought for a moment. Such a promise could do her no harm, and
+in the course of six months or a year he might get used to the idea of
+living without her. Also it would prevent a scene. It was weak of her,
+but she dreaded the idea of her having refused Owen Davies coming to her
+father's ears.
+
+"If you wish it, Mr. Davies," she said, "so be it. Only I ask you to
+understand this, I am in no way tied to you. I give you no hope that my
+answer, should you renew this offer a year hence or at any other time,
+will differ from that I give you to-day. I do not think there is the
+slightest probability of such a thing. Also, it must be understood that
+you are not to speak to my father about this matter, or to trouble me in
+any way. Do you consent?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I consent. You have me at your mercy."
+
+"Very well. And now, Mr. Davies, good-bye. No, do not walk back with me.
+I had rather go by myself. But I want to say this: I am very sorry
+for what has happened. I have not wished it to happen. I have never
+encouraged it, and my hands are clean of it. But I am sorry, sorry
+beyond measure, and I repeat what I said before--seek out some other
+woman and marry her."
+
+"That is the cruellest thing of all the cruel things which you have
+said," he answered.
+
+"I did not mean it to be cruel, Mr. Davies, but I suppose that the truth
+often is. And now good-bye," and Beatrice stretched out her hand.
+
+He touched it, and she turned and went. But Owen did not go. He sat upon
+the rock, his head bowed in misery. He had staked all his hopes upon
+this woman. She was the one desirable thing to him, the one star in
+his somewhat leaden sky, and now that star was eclipsed. Her words were
+unequivocal, they gave but little hope. Beatrice was scarcely a woman to
+turn round in six months or a year. On the contrary, there was a fixity
+about her which frightened him. What could be the cause of it? How came
+it that she should be so ready to reject him, and all he had to offer
+her? After all, she was a girl in a small position. She could not be
+looking forward to a better match. Nor would the prospect move her one
+way or another. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps he had a rival,
+surely that must be the cause. Some enemy had done this thing. But who?
+
+At this moment a woman's shadow fell athwart him.
+
+"Oh, have you come back?" he cried, springing to his feet.
+
+"If you mean Beatrice," answered a voice--it was Elizabeth's--"she went
+down to the beach ten minutes ago. I happened to be on the cliff, and I
+saw her."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," he said faintly. "I did not see
+who it was."
+
+Elizabeth sat down upon the rock where her sister had sat, and, seeing
+the little holes in the breach, began indolently to clear them of the
+sand which Beatrice had swept over them with her foot. This was no
+difficult matter, for the holes were deeply dug, and it was easy to
+trace their position. Presently they were nearly all clear--that is, the
+letters were legible.
+
+"You have had a talk with Beatrice, Mr. Davies?"
+
+"Yes," he answered apathetically.
+
+Elizabeth paused. Then she took her bull by the horns.
+
+"Are you going to marry Beatrice, Mr. Davies?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know," he answered slowly and without surprise. It seemed
+natural to him that his own central thought should be present in her
+mind. "I love her dearly, and want to marry her."
+
+"She refused you, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Elizabeth breathed more freely.
+
+"But I can ask her again."
+
+Elizabeth frowned. What could this mean? It was not an absolute refusal.
+Beatrice was playing some game of her own.
+
+"Why did she put you off so, Mr. Davies? Do not think me inquisitive. I
+only ask because I may be able to help you."
+
+"I know; you are very kind. Help me and I shall always be grateful to
+you. I do not know--I almost think that there must be somebody else,
+only I don't know who it can be."
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, who had been gazing intently at the little holes
+in the beach which she had now cleared of the sand. "Of course that is
+possible. She is a curious girl, Beatrice is. What are those letters,
+Mr. Davies?"
+
+He looked at them idly. "Something your sister was writing while I
+talked to her. I remember seeing her do it."
+
+"G E O F F R E--why, it must be meant for Geoffrey. Yes, of course it
+is possible that there is somebody else, Mr. Davies. Geoffrey!--how
+curious!"
+
+"Why is it curious, Miss Granger? Who is Geoffrey?"
+
+Elizabeth laughed a disagreeable little laugh that somehow attracted
+Owen's attention more than her words.
+
+"How should I know? It must be some friend of Beatrice's, and one of
+whom she is thinking a great deal, or she would not write his name
+unconsciously. The only Geoffrey that I know is Mr. Geoffrey Bingham,
+the barrister, who is staying at the Vicarage, and whose life Beatrice
+saved." She paused to watch her companion's face, and saw a new idea
+creep across its stolidity. "But of course," she went on, "it cannot be
+Mr. Bingham that she was thinking of, because you see he is married."
+
+"Married?" he said, "yes, but he's a man for all that, and a very
+handsome one."
+
+"Yes, I should call him handsome--a fine man," Elizabeth answered
+critically; "but, as Beatrice said the other day, the great charm about
+him is his talk and power of mind. He is a very remarkable man, and the
+world will hear of him before he has done. But, however, all this is
+neither here nor there. Beatrice is a curious woman, and has strange
+ideas, but I am sure that she would never carry on with a married man."
+
+"But he might carry on with her, Miss Elizabeth."
+
+She laughed. "Do you really think that a man like Mr. Bingham would try
+to flirt with girls without encouragement? Men like that are as proud
+as women, and prouder; the lady must always be a step ahead. But what
+is the good of talking about such a thing? It is all nonsense. Beatrice
+must have been thinking of some other Geoffrey--or it was an accident of
+something. Why, Mr. Davies, if you for one moment really believed that
+dear Beatrice could be guilty of such a shameless thing as to carry on
+a flirtation with a married man, would you have asked her to marry you?
+Would you still think of asking such a woman as she must be to become
+your wife?"
+
+"I don't know; I suppose not," he said doubtfully.
+
+"You suppose not. I know you better than you know yourself. You would
+rather never marry at all than take such a woman as she would be proved
+to be. But it is no good talking such stuff. If you have a rival you may
+be sure it is some unmarried man."
+
+Owen reflected in his heart that on the whole he would rather it was a
+married one, since a married man, at any rate, could not legally take
+possession of Beatrice. But Elizabeth's rigid morality alarmed him, and
+he did not say so.
+
+"Do you know I feel a little upset, Miss Elizabeth," he answered. "I
+think I will be going. By the way, I promised to say nothing of this to
+your father. I hope that you will not do so, either."
+
+"Most certainly not," said Elizabeth, and indeed it would be the last
+thing she would wish to do. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Davies. Do not be
+downhearted; it will all come right in the end. You will always have me
+to help you, remember."
+
+"Thank you, thank you," he said earnestly, and went.
+
+Elizabeth watched him round the wall of rock with a cold and ugly smile
+set upon her face.
+
+"You fool," she thought, "you fool! To tell _me_ that you 'love her
+dearly and want to marry her;' you want to get that sweet face of hers,
+do you? You never shall; I'd spoil it first! Dear Beatrice, she is not
+capable of carrying on a love affair with a married man--oh, certainly
+not! Why, she's in love with him already, and he is more than half in
+love with her. If she hadn't been, would she have put Owen off? Not she.
+Give them time, and we shall see. They will ruin each other--they _must_
+ruin each other; it won't be child's play when two people like that fall
+in love. They will not stop at sighs, there is too much human nature
+about them. It was a good idea to get him into the house. And to see her
+go on with that child Effie, just as though she was its mother--it makes
+me laugh. Ah, Beatrice, with all your wits you are a silly woman! And
+one day, my dear girl, I shall have the pleasure of exposing you to
+Owen; the idol will be unveiled, and there will be an end of your
+chances with him, for he can't marry you after that. Then my turn will
+come. It is a question of time--only a question of time!"
+
+So brooded Elizabeth in her heart, madded with malicious envy and
+passionate jealousy. She loved this man, Owen Davies, as much as she
+could love anybody; at the least, she dearly loved the wealth and
+station of which he was the visible centre, and she hated the sister
+whom he desired. If she could only discredit that sister and show her
+to be guilty of woman's worst crime, misplaced, unlegalised affection,
+surely, she thought, Owen would reject her.
+
+She was wrong. She did not know how entirely he desired to make Beatrice
+his wife, or realise how forgiving a man can be who has such an end to
+gain. It is of the women who already weary them and of their infidelity
+that men are so ready to make examples, not of those who do not belong
+to them, and whom they long for night and day. To these they can be very
+merciful.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+GEOFFREY LECTURES
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice was walking homewards with an uneasy mind. The
+trouble was upon her. She had, it is true, succeeded in postponing it
+a little, but she knew very well that it was only a postponement. Owen
+Davies was not a man to be easily shaken off. She almost wished now that
+she had crushed the idea once and for all. But then he would have gone
+to her father, and there must have been a scene, and she was weak enough
+to shrink from that, especially while Mr. Bingham was in the house. She
+could well imagine the dismay, not to say the fury, of her money-loving
+old father if he were to hear that she had refused--actually
+refused--Owen Davies of Bryngelly Castle, and all his wealth.
+
+Then there was Elizabeth to be reckoned with. Elizabeth would assuredly
+make her life a burden to her. Beatrice little guessed that nothing
+would suit her sister's book better. Oh, if only she could shake the
+dust of Bryngelly off her feet! But that, too, was impossible. She was
+quite without money. She might, it was true, succeed in getting another
+place as mistress to a school in some distant part of England, were
+it not for an insurmountable obstacle. Here she received a salary of
+seventy-five pounds a year; of this she kept fifteen pounds, out of
+which slender sum she contrived to dress herself; the rest she gave
+to her father. Now, as she well knew, he could not keep his head above
+water without this assistance, which, small as it was, made all the
+difference to their household between poverty and actual want. If she
+went away, supposing even that she found an equally well-paid post,
+she would require every farthing of the money to support herself, there
+would be nothing left to send home. It was a pitiable position; here was
+she, who had just refused a man worth thousands a year, quite unable
+to get out of the way of his importunity for the want of seventy-five
+pounds, paid quarterly. Well, the only thing to do was to face it out
+and take her chance. On one point she was, however, quite clear; she
+would _not_ marry Owen Davies. She might be a fool for her pains, but
+she would not do it. She respected herself too much to marry a man
+she did not love; a man whom she positively disliked. "No, never!" she
+exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot upon the shingle.
+
+"Never what?" said a voice, within two yards of her.
+
+She started violently, and looked round. There, his back resting against
+a rock, a pipe in his mouth, an open letter on his knee, and his hat
+drawn down almost over his eyes, sat Geoffrey. He had left Effie to go
+home with Mr. Granger, and climbing down a sloping place in the cliff,
+had strolled along the beach. The letter on his knee was one from his
+wife. It was short, and there was nothing particular in it. Effie's name
+was not even mentioned. It was to see if he had not overlooked it that
+he was reading the note through again. No, it merely related to Lady
+Honoria's safe arrival, gave a list of the people staying at the Hall--a
+fast lot, Geoffrey noticed, a certain Mr. Dunstan, whom he particularly
+disliked, among them--and the number of brace of partridges which had
+been killed on the previous day. Then came an assurance that Honoria
+was enjoying herself immensely, and that the new French cook was "simply
+perfect;" the letter ending "with love."
+
+"Never what, Miss Granger?" he said again, as he lazily folded up the
+sheet.
+
+"Never mind, of course," she answered, recovering herself. "How you
+startled me, Mr. Bingham! I had no idea there was anybody on the beach."
+
+"It is quite free, is it not?" he answered, getting up. "I thought you
+were going to trample me into the pebbles. It's almost alarming when one
+is thinking about a Sunday nap to see a young lady striding along, then
+suddenly stop, stamp her foot, and say, 'No, never!' Luckily I knew that
+you were about or I should really have been frightened."
+
+"How did you know that I was about?" Beatrice asked a little defiantly.
+It was no business of his to observe her movements.
+
+"In two ways. Look!" he said, pointing to a patch of white sand. "That,
+I think, is your footprint."
+
+"Well, what of it?" said Beatrice, with a little laugh.
+
+"Nothing in particular, except that it is your footprint," he answered.
+"Then I happened to meet old Edward, who was loafing along, and he
+informed me that you and Mr. Davies had gone up the beach; there is his
+footprint--Mr. Davies's, I mean--but you don't seem to have been very
+sociable, because here is yours right in the middle of it. Therefore you
+must have been walking in Indian file, and a little way back in parallel
+lines, with quite thirty yards between you."
+
+"Why do you take the trouble to observe things so closely?" she asked in
+a half amused and half angry tone.
+
+"I don't know--a habit of the legal mind, I suppose. One might make
+quite a romance out of those footprints on the sand, and the little
+subsequent events. But you have not heard all my thrilling tale. Old
+Edward also informed me that he saw your sister, Miss Elizabeth, going
+along the cliff almost level with you, from which he concluded that you
+had argued as to the shortest way to the Red Rocks and were putting the
+matter to the proof."
+
+"Elizabeth," said Beatrice, turning a shade paler; "what can she have
+been doing, I wonder."
+
+"Taking exercise, probably, like yourself. Well, I seat myself with my
+pipe in the shadow of that rock, when suddenly I see Mr. Davies coming
+along towards Bryngelly as though he were walking for a wager, his hat
+fixed upon the back of his head. Literally he walked over my legs and
+never saw me. Then you follow and ejaculate, 'No, never!'--and that is
+the end of my story. Have I your permission to walk with you, or shall I
+interfere with the development of the plot?"
+
+"There is no plot, and as you said just now the beach is free," Beatrice
+answered petulantly.
+
+They walked on a few yards and then he spoke in another tone--the
+meaning of the assignation he had overheard in the churchyard grew clear
+to him now.
+
+"I believe that I have to congratulate you, Miss Granger," he said,
+"and I do so very heartily. It is not everybody who is so fortunate as
+to----"
+
+Beatrice stopped, and half turning faced him.
+
+"What _do_ you mean, Mr. Bingham?" she said. "I do not understand your
+dark sayings."
+
+"Mean! oh, nothing particular, except that I wished to congratulate you
+on your engagement."
+
+"My engagement! what engagement?"
+
+"It seems that there is some mistake," he said, and struggle as he might
+to suppress it his tone was one of relief. "I understood that you had
+become engaged to be married to Mr. Owen Davies. If I am wrong I am sure
+I apologise."
+
+"You are quite wrong, Mr. Bingham; I don't know who put such a notion
+into your head, but there is no truth in it."
+
+"Then allow me to congratulate you on there being no truth in it. You
+see that is the beauty of nine affairs matrimonial out of ten--there
+are two or more sides of them. If they come off the amiable and
+disinterested observer can look at the bright side--as in this case,
+lots of money, romantic castle by the sea, gentleman of unexceptional
+antecedents, &c., &c, &c. If, on the other hand, they don't, cause can
+still be found for thankfulness--lady might do better after all, castle
+by the sea rather draughty and cold in spring, gentlemen most estimable
+but perhaps a little dull, and so on, you see."
+
+There was a note of mockery about his talk which irritated Beatrice
+exceedingly. It was not like Mr. Bingham to speak so. It was not even
+the way that a gentleman out of his teens should speak to a lady on such
+a subject. He knew this as well as she did and was secretly ashamed of
+himself. But the truth must out: though Geoffrey did not admit it even
+to himself he was bitterly and profoundly jealous, and jealous people
+have no manners. Beatrice could not, however, be expected to know this,
+and naturally grew angry.
+
+"I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Bingham," she
+said, putting on her most dignified air, and Beatrice could look rather
+alarming. "You have picked up a piece of unfounded gossip and now you
+take advantage of it to laugh at me, and to say rude things of Mr.
+Davies. It is not kind."
+
+"Oh, no; it was the footsteps, Miss Granger, _and_ the gossip, _and_ the
+appointment you made in the churchyard, that I unwillingly overheard,
+not the gossip alone which led me into my mistake. Of course I have now
+to apologise."
+
+Again Beatrice stamped her foot. She saw that he was still mocking her,
+and felt that he did not believe her.
+
+"There," he went on, stung into unkindness by his biting but
+unacknowledged jealousy, for she was right--on reflection he did
+not quite believe what she said as to her not being engaged. "How
+unfortunate I am--I have said something to make you angry again. Why did
+you not walk with Mr. Davies? I should then have remained guiltless of
+offence, and you would have had a more agreeable companion. You want to
+quarrel with me; what shall we quarrel about? There are many things on
+which we are diametrically opposed; let us start one."
+
+It was too much, for though his words were nothing the tone in which
+he spoke gave them a sting. Beatrice, already disturbed in mind by the
+scene through which she had passed, her breast already throbbing with
+a vague trouble of which she did not know the meaning, for once in her
+life lost control of herself and grew hysterical. Her grey eyes filled
+with tears, the corners of her sweet mouth dropped, and she looked very
+much as though she were going to burst out weeping.
+
+"It is most unkind of you," she said, with a half sob. "If you knew how
+much I have to put up with, you would not speak to me like that. I know
+that you do not believe me; very well, I will tell you the truth. Yes,
+though I have no business to do it, and you have no right--none at
+all--to make me do it, I will tell you the truth, because I cannot bear
+that you should not believe me. Mr. Davies did want me to marry him and
+I refused him. I put him off for a while; I did this because I knew that
+if I did not he would go to my father. It was cowardly, but my father
+would make my life wretched----" and again she gave a half-choked sob.
+
+Much has been said and written about the effect produced upon men by
+the sight of a lady in, or on the border line of tears, and there is no
+doubt that this effect is considerable. Man being in his right mind
+is deeply moved by such a spectacle, also he is frightened because he
+dreads a scene. Now most people would rather walk ten miles in their
+dress shoes than have to deal with a young lady in hysterics, however
+modified. Putting the peculiar circumstances of the case aside, Geoffrey
+was no exception to this rule. It was all very well to cross spears
+with Beatrice, who had quite an equal wit, and was very capable of
+retaliation, but to see her surrender at discretion was altogether
+another thing. Indeed he felt much ashamed of himself.
+
+"Please don't--don't--be put out," he said. He did not like to use the
+word "cry." "I was only laughing at you, but I ought not to have spoken
+as I did. I did not wish to force your confidence, indeed I did not. I
+never thought of such a thing. I am so sorry."
+
+His remorse was evidently genuine, and Beatrice felt somewhat appeased.
+Perhaps it did not altogether grieve her to learn that she could make
+him feel sorry.
+
+"You did not force my confidence," she said defiantly, quite forgetting
+that a moment before she had reproached him for making her speak.
+"I told you because I did not choose that you should think I was not
+speaking the truth--and now let us change the subject." She imposed no
+reserve on him as to what she had revealed; she knew that there was no
+necessity to do so. The secret would be between them--another dangerous
+link.
+
+Beatrice recovered her composure and they walked slowly on.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Bingham," she said presently, "how can a woman earn her
+living--I mean a girl like myself without any special qualifications?
+Some of them get on."
+
+"Well," he answered, "that depends upon the girl. What sort of a living
+do you mean? You are earning a living now, of a kind."
+
+"Yes, but sometimes, if only I could manage it, I think that I should
+like to get away from here, and take another line, something bigger. I
+do not suppose that I ever shall, but I like to think of it sometimes."
+
+"I only know of two things which a woman can turn to," he said, "the
+stage and literature. Of course," he added hastily, "the first is out of
+the question in your case."
+
+"And so is the other, I am afraid," she answered shaking her head, "that
+is if by literature you mean imaginative writing, and I suppose that
+is the only way to get into notice. As I told you I lost my
+imagination--well, to be frank, when I lost my faith. At one time I used
+to have plenty, as I used to have plenty of faith, but the one went with
+the other, I do not understand why."
+
+"Don't you? I think I do. A mind without religious sentiment is like a
+star without atmosphere, brighter than other stars but not so soft to
+see. Religion, poetry, music, imagination, and even some of the
+more exalted forms of passion, flourish in the same soil, and are, I
+sometimes think, different manifestations of the same thing. Do you know
+it is ridiculous to hear you talk of having lost your faith, because I
+don't believe it. At the worst it has gone to sleep, and will wake
+up again one day. Possibly you may not accept some particular form of
+faith, but I tell you frankly that to reject all religion simply because
+you cannot understand it, is nothing but a form of atrocious spiritual
+vanity. Your mind is too big for you, Miss Granger: it has run away
+with you, but you know it is tied by a string--it cannot go far. And now
+perhaps you will be angry again."
+
+"No, indeed, why should I be angry? I daresay that you are quite right,
+and I only hope that I may be able to believe again. I will tell you how
+I lost belief. I had a little brother whom I loved more than anything
+else in the world, indeed after my mother died he was the only thing I
+really had to love, for I think that my father cares more for Elizabeth
+than he does for me, she is so much the better at business matters, and
+Elizabeth and I never quite got on. I daresay that the fault is mine,
+but the fact remains--we are sisters but we are not intimate. Well, my
+brother fell ill of a fever, and for a long time he lay between life and
+death, and I prayed for him as I never prayed for anybody or anything
+before--yes, I prayed that I might die instead of him. Then he passed
+through the crisis and got better, and I thanked God, thinking that my
+prayers had been answered; oh, how happy I was for those ten days! And
+then this happened:--My brother got a chill, a relapse followed, and in
+three days he was dead. The last words that he spoke to me were, 'Oh,
+don't let me die, Bee!'--he used to call me Bee--'Please don't let me
+die, dear Bee!' But he died, died in my arms, and when it was over I
+rose from his side feeling as though my heart was dead also. I prayed
+no more after that. It seemed to me as though my prayers had been mocked
+at, as though he had been given back to me for a little while in order
+that the blow might be more crushing when it fell."
+
+"Don't you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a view?"
+said Geoffrey. "Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read about the
+early Christians?--how the lead would not boil the martyr, or the lion
+would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the fire, and how
+the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a great many
+difficult doctrines without further delay. The Athanasian Creed was not
+necessarily true because the fire would not light or the sword would not
+cut, nor, excuse me, were all your old beliefs wrong because your prayer
+was unanswered. It is an ancient story, that we cannot tell whether the
+answering of our petitions will be good or ill for us. Of course I do
+not know anything about such things, but it seems to me rash to suppose
+that Providence is going to alter the working of its eternal laws merely
+to suit the passing wishes of individuals--wishes, too, that in many
+cases would bring unforeseen sorrows if fulfilled. Besides I daresay
+that the poor child is happier dead than he would have been had he
+lived. It is not an altogether pleasant world for most of us."
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham, I know, and I daresay that I should have got over the
+shock in time, only after that I began to read. I read the histories of
+the religions and compared them, and I read the works of those writers
+who have risen up to attack them. I found, or I thought that I found,
+the same springs of superstition in them all--superstitions arising from
+elementary natural causes, and handed on with variations from race to
+race, and time to time. In some I found the same story, only with a
+slightly altered face, and I learned, moreover, that each faith denied
+the other, and claimed truth for itself alone.
+
+"After that, too, I went to the college and there I fell in with a lady,
+one of the mistresses, who was the cleverest woman that I ever knew,
+and in her way a good woman, but one who believed that religion was the
+curse of the world, and who spent all her spare time in attacking it in
+some form or other. Poor thing, she is dead now. And so, you see, what
+between these causes and the continual spectacle of human misery which
+to my mind negatives the idea of a merciful and watching Power, at last
+it came to pass that the only altar left in my temple is an altar to the
+'Unknown God.'"
+
+Geoffrey, like most men who have had to think on these matters, did not
+care to talk about them much, especially to women. For one thing, he was
+conscious of a tendency to speech less reverent than his thought. But he
+had not entered Beatrice's church of Darkness, indeed he had turned
+his back on it for ever, though, like most people, he had at different
+periods of his past life tarried an hour in its porch. So he ventured on
+an objection.
+
+"I am no theologian," he said, "and I am not fond of discussion on such
+matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to say. It
+is no argument, to my mind at least, to point to the existence of evil
+and unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a superior Mercy;
+for what are men that such things should not be with them? Man,
+too, must own some master. If he has doubts let him look up at the
+marshalling of the starry heaven, and they will vanish."
+
+"No," said Beatrice, "I fear not. Kant said so, but before that Molière
+had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry heavens no
+more prove anything than does the running of the raindrops down the
+window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity."
+
+"I might accept the illustration," answered Geoffrey; "one example of
+law is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working of
+a living Will, but of course that is only my way of looking at it, not
+yours."
+
+"No; I am afraid," said Beatrice, "all this reasoning drawn from
+material things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made _their_
+religions, and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from
+the Out to the In, from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be; if
+Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak with a
+spiritual voice, to be heard, not in the thunderstorm, but only in the
+hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not demonstrate the
+existence of a Redeemer; if anything, it tends to negative it, for the
+power that creates is also the power which destroys. What does touch me,
+however, is the thought of the multitude of the Dead. _That_ is what we
+care for, not for an Eternal Force, ever creating and destroying. Think
+of them all--all the souls of unheard-of races, almost animal, who
+passed away so long ago. Can ours endure more than theirs, and do you
+think that the spirit of an Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is
+anywhere now?"
+
+"There was room for them all on earth," answered Geoffrey. "The universe
+is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our nature, the
+nature we think we know--shall there be none in that which we know not?
+Worlds die, to live again when, after millions of ages, the conditions
+become once more favourable to life, and why should not a man? We
+are creatures of the world, we reflect its every light and shadow, we
+rejoice in its rejoicing, its every feature has a tiny parallel in us.
+Why should not our fate be as its fate, and its fate is so far as we
+know eternal. It may change from gas to chaos, from chaos to active
+life, from active life to seeming death. Then it may once more pass into
+its elements, and from those elements back again to concrete being,
+and so on for ever, always changing, but always the same. So much for
+nature's allegory. It is not a perfect analogy, for Man is a thing
+apart from all things else; it may be only a hint or a type, but it is
+something.
+
+"Now to come to the question of our religion. I confess I draw quite a
+different conclusion from your facts. You say that you trace the same
+superstitions in all religions, and that the same spiritual myths are in
+some shape present in almost all. Well, does not this suggest that the
+same great _truth_ underlies them all, taking from time to time the
+shape which is best suited to the spiritual development of those
+professing each. Every great new religion is better than the last. You
+cannot compare Osirianism with Buddhism, or Buddhism with Christianity,
+or Mahomedanism with the Arabian idol worship. Take the old
+illustration--take a cut crystal and hold it in the sun, and you
+will see many different coloured rays come from its facets. They look
+different, but they are all born of the same great light; they are all
+the same light. May it not be so with religion? Let your altar be to the
+'Unknown God,' if you like--for who can give an unaltering likeness to
+the Power above us?--but do not knock your altar down.
+
+"Depend upon it, Miss Granger, all indications to the contrary
+notwithstanding, there is a watching Providence without the will of
+which we cannot live, and if we deliberately reject that Providence,
+setting up our intelligence in its place, sorrow will come of it, even
+here; for it is wiser than we. I wish that you would try and look at
+the question from another point of view--from a higher point of view. I
+think you will find that it will bear a great deal of examination, and
+that you will come to the conclusion that the dictum of the wise-acre
+who says there is nothing because he can see nothing, is not necessarily
+a true one. There, that is all I have to say, and I wish that I could
+say it better."
+
+"Thank you," said Beatrice, "I will. Why here we are at home; I must go
+and put Effie to bed."
+
+
+
+And here it may be stated that Geoffrey's advice was not altogether
+thrown away. Beatrice did try looking at the question again, and if
+Faith did not altogether come back to her at least Hope did, and "the
+greatest of these, which is Charity," had never deserted her. Hope came
+slowly back, not by argument probably, but rather by example. In the sea
+of Doubt she saw another buoyed up, if it were but on broken pieces of
+the ship. This encouraged her. Geoffrey believed, and she--believed in
+Geoffrey. Indeed, is not this the secret of woman's philosophy--even,
+to some extent, of that of such a woman as Beatrice? "Let the faith or
+unfaith of This, That, or the other Rabbi answer for me," she says--it
+is her last argument. She believes in This, or That, or some other
+philosopher: that is her creed. And Geoffrey was the person in whom
+Beatrice began to believe, all the more wholly because she had never
+believed in any one before. Whatever else she was to lose, this at least
+she won when she saved his life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+DRIFTING
+
+On the day following their religious discussion an accident happened
+which resulted in Geoffrey and Beatrice being more than ever thrown
+in the company of each other. During the previous week two cases of
+scarlatina had been reported among the school children, and now it was
+found that the complaint had spread so much that it was necessary to
+close the school. This meant, of course, that Beatrice had all her time
+upon her hands. And so had Geoffrey. It was his custom to bathe before
+breakfast, after which he had nothing to do for the rest of the day.
+Beatrice with little Effie also bathed before breakfast from the ladies'
+bathing-place, a quarter of a mile off, and sometimes he would meet her
+as she returned, glowing with health and beauty like Venus new risen
+from the Cyprian sea, her half-dried hair hanging in heavy masses down
+her back. Then after breakfast they would take Effie down to the beach,
+and her "auntie," as the child learned to call Beatrice, would teach her
+lessons and poetry till she was tired, and ran away to paddle in the sea
+or look for prawns among the rocks.
+
+Meanwhile the child's father and Beatrice would talk--not about
+religion, they spoke no more on that subject, nor about Owen Davies,
+but of everything else on earth. Beatrice was a merry woman when she was
+happy, and they never lacked subjects of conversation, for their minds
+were very much in tune. In book-learning Beatrice had the advantage of
+Geoffrey, for she had not only read enormously, she also remembered what
+she read and could apply it. Her critical faculty, too, was very keen.
+He, on the other hand, had more knowledge of the world, and in his rich
+days had travelled a good deal, and so it came to pass that each could
+always find something to tell the other. Never for one second were they
+dull, not even when they sat for an hour or so in silence, for it was
+the silence of complete companionship.
+
+So the long morning would wear away all too quickly, and they would go
+in to dinner, to be greeted with a cold smile by Elizabeth and heartily
+enough by the old gentleman, who never thought of anything out of his
+own circle of affairs. After dinner it was the same story. Either they
+went walking to look for ferns and flowers, or perhaps Geoffrey took his
+gun and hid behind the rocks for curlew, sending Beatrice, who knew the
+coast by heart, a mile round or more to some headland in order to put
+them on the wing. Then she would come back, springing towards him from
+rock to rock, and crouch down beneath a neighbouring seaweed-covered
+boulder, and they would talk together in whispers, or perhaps they would
+not talk at all, for fear lest they should frighten the flighting birds.
+And Geoffrey would first search the heavens for curlew or duck, and,
+seeing none, would let his eyes fall upon the pure beauty of Beatrice's
+face, showing so clearly against the tender sky, and wonder what she was
+thinking about; till, suddenly feeling his gaze, she would turn with a
+smile as sweet as the first rosy blush of dawn upon the waters, and ask
+him what _he_ was thinking about. And he would laugh and answer "You,"
+whereon she would smile again and perhaps blush a little, feeling glad
+at heart, she knew not why.
+
+Then came tea-time and the quiet, when they sat at the open window,
+and Geoffrey smoked and listened to the soft surging of the sea and
+the harmonious whisper of the night air in the pines. In the corner Mr.
+Granger slept in his armchair, or perhaps he had gone to bed altogether,
+for he liked to go to bed at half-past eight, as the old Herefordshire
+farmer, his father, had done before him; and at the far end of the room
+sat Elizabeth, doing her accounts by the light of a solitary candle,
+or, if they failed her, reading some book of a devotional and inspired
+character. But over the edge of the book, or from the page of crabbed
+accounts, her eyes would glance continually towards the handsome pair in
+the window-place, and she would smile as she saw that it went well. Only
+they never saw the glances or noted the smile. When Geoffrey looked that
+way, which was not often, for Elizabeth--old Elizabeth, as he always
+called her to himself--did not attract him, all he saw was her sharp but
+capable-looking form bending over her work, and the light of the candle
+gleaming on her straw-coloured hair and falling in gleaming white
+patches on her hard knuckles.
+
+And so the happy day would pass and bed-time come, and with it unbidden
+dreams.
+
+Geoffrey thought no ill of all this, as of course he ought to have
+thought. He was not the ravening lion of fiction--so rarely, if ever, to
+be met with in real life--going about seeking whom he might devour. He
+had absolutely no designs on Beatrice's affections, any more than she
+had on his, and he had forgotten that first fell prescience of evil to
+come. Once or twice, it is true, qualms of doubt did cross his mind in
+the earlier days of their intimacy. But he put them by as absurd. He
+was no believer in the tender helplessness of full-grown women, his
+experience having been that they are amply capable--and, for the most
+part, more than capable--of looking after themselves. It seemed to him
+a thing ridiculous that such a person as Beatrice, who was competent to
+form opinions and a judgment upon all the important questions of life,
+should be treated as a child, and that he should remove himself from
+Bryngelly lest her young affections should become entangled. He felt
+sure that they would never be entrapped in any direction whatsoever
+without her full consent.
+
+Then he ceased to think about the matter at all. Indeed, the mere
+idea of such a thing involved a supposition that would only have been
+acceptable to a conceited man--namely, that there was a possibility of
+this young lady's falling in love with him. What right had he to suppose
+anything of the sort? It was an impertinence. That there was another
+sort of possibility--namely, of his becoming more attached to her than
+was altogether desirable--did, however, occur to him once or twice. But
+he shrugged his shoulders and put it by. After all, it was his look out,
+and he did not much care. It would do her no harm at the worst. But very
+soon all these shadowy forebodings of dawning trouble vanished quite.
+They were lost in the broad, sweet lights of friendship. By-and-by, when
+friendship's day was done, they might arise again, called by other names
+and wearing a sterner face.
+
+It was ridiculous--of course it was ridiculous; he was not going to fall
+in love like a boy at his time of life; all he felt was gratitude
+and interest--all she felt was amusement in his society. As for the
+intimacy--felt rather than expressed--the intimacy that could already
+almost enable the one to divine the other's thought, that could shape
+her mood to his and his to hers, that could cause the same thing of
+beauty to be a common joy, and discover unity of mind in opinions the
+most opposite--why, it was only natural between people who had together
+passed a peril terrible to think of. So they took the goods the gods
+provided, and drifted softly on--whither they did not stop to inquire.
+
+One day, however, a little incident happened that ought to have opened
+the eyes of both. They had arranged, or rather there was a tacit
+understanding, that they should go out together in the afternoon.
+Geoffrey was to take his gun and Beatrice a book, but it chanced that,
+just before dinner, as she walked back from the village, where she had
+gone to buy some thread to mend Effie's clothes, Beatrice came face to
+face with Mr. Davies. It was their first meeting without witnesses since
+the Sunday of which the events have been described, and, naturally,
+therefore, rather an awkward one. Owen stopped short so that she could
+not pass him with a bow, and then turned and walked beside her. After a
+remark or two about the weather, the springs of conversation ran dry.
+
+"You remember that you are coming up to the Castle this afternoon?" he
+said, at length.
+
+"To the Castle!" she answered. "No, I have heard nothing of it."
+
+"Did not your sister tell you she made an engagement for herself and you
+a week or more ago? You are to bring the little girl; she wants to see
+the view from the top of the tower."
+
+Then Beatrice remembered. Elizabeth had told her, and she had thought it
+best to accept the situation. The whole thing had gone out of her mind.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon! I do remember now, but I have made another
+plan--how stupid of me!"
+
+"You had forgotten," he said in his heavy voice; "it is easy for you
+to forget what I have been looking forward to for a whole week. What is
+your plan--to go out walking with Mr. Bingham, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes," answered Beatrice, "to go out with Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Ah! you go out with Mr. Bingham every day now."
+
+"And what if I do?" said Beatrice quickly; "surely, Mr. Davies, I have a
+right to go out with whom I like?"
+
+"Yes, of course; but the engagement to come to the Castle was made
+first; are you not going to keep it?"
+
+"Of course I am going to keep it; I always keep my engagements when I
+have any."
+
+"Very well, then; I shall expect you at three o'clock."
+
+Beatrice went on home in a curiously irritated condition of mind. She
+did not, naturally, want to go to the Castle, and she did want to go out
+with Geoffrey. However, there was no help for it.
+
+When she came in to dinner she found that Geoffrey was not there. He
+had, it seemed, gone to lunch with Dr. Chambers, whom he had met on the
+beach. Before he returned they were all three starting for the Castle,
+Beatrice leaving a message to this effect with Betty.
+
+About a quarter of an hour afterwards, Geoffrey came back to fetch his
+gun and Beatrice, but Beatrice was gone, and all that he could extract
+from Betty was that she had gone to see Mr. Davies.
+
+He was perfectly furious, though all the while he knew how unreasonable
+was his anger. He had been looking forward to the expedition, and this
+sudden change of plan was too much for his temper. Off he started,
+however, to pass a thoroughly miserable afternoon. He seemed to miss
+Beatrice more each step and gradually to grow more and more angry at
+what he called her "rudeness." Of course it never occurred to him that
+what he was really angry at was her going to see Mr. Davies, or that, in
+truth, her society had become so delightful to him that to be deprived
+of it even for an afternoon was to be wretched. To top everything, he
+only got three good shots that afternoon, and he missed them all, which
+made him crosser than ever.
+
+As for Beatrice, she enjoyed herself just as little at the Castle as
+Geoffrey did on the beach. Owen Davies took them through the great
+unused rooms and showed them the pictures, but she had seen them before,
+and though some of them were very fine, did not care to look at them
+again--at any rate, not that afternoon. But Elizabeth gazed at them with
+eager eyes and mentally appraised their value, wondering if they would
+ever be hers.
+
+"What is this picture?" she asked, pointing to a beautiful portrait of a
+Dutch Burgomaster by Rembrandt.
+
+"That," answered Davies heavily, for he knew nothing of painting and
+cared less, "that is a Velasquez, valued for probate at £3,000--no,"
+referring to the catalogue and reading, "I beg your pardon, the next is
+the Velasquez; that is a Rembrandt in the master's best style, showing
+all his wonderful mastery over light and shade. It was valued for
+probate at £4,000 guineas."
+
+"Four thousand guineas!" said Elizabeth, "fancy having a thing worth
+four thousand guineas hanging on a wall!"
+
+And so they went on, Elizabeth asking questions and Owen answering them
+by the help of the catalogue, till, to Beatrice's relief, they came at
+length to the end of the pictures. Then they took some tea in the little
+sitting room of the master of all this magnificence. Owen, to her great
+annoyance, sat opposite to Beatrice, staring at her with all his eyes
+while she drank her tea, with Effie sitting in her lap, and Elizabeth,
+observing it, bit her lip in jealousy. She had thought it well to bring
+her sister here; it would not do to let Mr. Davies think she was keeping
+Beatrice out of his way, but his mute idol worship was trying to
+her feelings. After tea they went to the top of the tower, and Effie
+rejoiced exceedingly in the view, which was very beautiful. Here Owen
+got a word with Elizabeth.
+
+"Your sister seems to be put out about something," he said.
+
+"I daresay," she answered carelessly; "Beatrice has an uncertain temper.
+I think she wanted to go out shooting with Mr. Bingham this afternoon."
+
+Had Owen been a less religious person he might have sworn; as it was, he
+only said, "Mr. Bingham--it is always Mr. Bingham from morning to night!
+When is he going away?"
+
+"In another week, I believe. Beatrice will be sorry, I think; she makes
+a great companion of him. And now I think that we must be getting home,"
+and she went, leaving this poisoned shaft to rankle in his breast.
+
+After they had returned to the vicarage and Beatrice had heard Effie her
+prayers and tucked her up in her small white bed, she went down to the
+gate to be quiet for a little while before supper. Geoffrey had not yet
+come in.
+
+It was a lovely autumn evening; the sea seemed to sleep, and the little
+clouds, from which the sunset fires had paled, lay like wreaths of
+smoke upon the infinite blue sky. Why had not Mr. Bingham come back,
+she wondered; he would scarcely have time to dress. Supposing that an
+accident had happened to him. Nonsense! what accident could happen? He
+was so big and strong he seemed to defy accidents; and yet had it not
+been for her there would be little enough left of his strength to-day.
+Ah! she was glad that she had lived to be able to save him from death.
+There he came, looming like a giant in the evening mist.
+
+There was a small hand-gate beside the large one on which she leant.
+Geoffrey stalked straight up to it as though he did not see her; he saw
+her well enough, but he was cross with her.
+
+She allowed him to pass through the gate, which he shut slowly, perhaps
+to give her an opportunity of speaking, if she wished to do so; then
+thinking that he did not see her she spoke in her soft, musical voice.
+
+"Did you have good sport, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"No," he answered shortly; "I saw very little, and I missed all I saw."
+
+"I am so sorry, except for the birds. I hate the birds to be killed. Did
+you not see me in this white dress? I saw you fifty yards away."
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," he answered, "I saw you."
+
+"And you were going by without speaking to me; it was very rude of
+you--what is the matter?"
+
+"Not so rude as it was of you to arrange to walk out with me and then to
+go and see Mr. Davies instead."
+
+"I could not help it, Mr. Bingham; it was an old engagement, which I had
+forgotten."
+
+"Quite so, ladies generally have an excuse for doing what they want to
+do."
+
+"It is not an excuse, Mr. Bingham," Beatrice answered, with dignity;
+"there is no need for me to make excuses to you about my movements."
+
+"Of course not, Miss Granger; but it would be more polite to tell me
+when you change your mind--next time, you know. However, I have no doubt
+that the Castle has attractions for you."
+
+She flashed one look at him and turned to go, and as she did so his
+heart relented; he grew ashamed.
+
+"Miss Granger, don't go; forgive me. I do not know what has become of my
+manners, I spoke as I should not. The fact is, I was put out at your not
+coming. To tell you the honest truth, I missed you dreadfully."
+
+"You missed me. That is very nice of you; one likes to be missed. But,
+if you missed me for one afternoon, how will you get on a week hence
+when you go away and miss me altogether?"
+
+Beatrice spoke in a bantering tone, and laughed as she spoke, but the
+laugh ended in something like a sigh. He looked at her for a moment,
+looked till she dropped her eyes.
+
+"Heaven only knows!" he answered sadly.
+
+"Let us go in," said Beatrice, in a constrained voice; "how chill the
+air has turned."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+ONLY GOOD-NIGHT
+
+Five more days passed, all too quickly, and once more Monday came round.
+It was the 22nd of October, and the Michaelmas Sittings began on the
+24th. On the morrow, Tuesday, Geoffrey was to return to London, there
+to meet Lady Honoria and get to work at Chambers. That very morning,
+indeed, a brief, the biggest he had yet received--it was marked thirty
+guineas--had been forwarded to him from his chambers, with a note from
+his clerk to the effect that the case was expected to be in the special
+jury list on the first day of the sittings, and that the clerk had made
+an appointment for him with the solicitors for 5.15 on the Tuesday. The
+brief was sent to him by his uncle's firm, and marked, "With you the
+Attorney-General, and Mr. Candleton, Q.C.," the well-known leader of the
+Probate and Divorce Court Bar. Never before had Geoffrey found himself
+in such honourable company, that is on the back of a brief, and not a
+little was he elated thereby.
+
+But when he came to look into the case his joy abated somewhat, for
+it was one of the most perplexing that he had ever known. The will
+contested, which was that of a Yorkshire money-lender, disposed of
+property to the value of over £80,000, and was propounded by a niece of
+the testator who, when he died, if not actually weak in his mind, was
+in his dotage, and superstitious to the verge of insanity. The niece to
+whom all the property was left--to the exclusion of the son and daughter
+of the deceased, both married, and living away from home--stayed with
+the testator and looked after him. Shortly before his death, however, he
+and this niece had violently quarrelled on account of an intimacy
+which the latter had formed with a married man of bad repute, who was
+a discharged lawyer's clerk. So serious had been the quarrel that only
+three days before his death the testator had sent for a lawyer and
+formally, by means of a codicil, deprived the niece of a sum of £2,000
+which he had left her, all the rest of his property being divided
+between his son and daughter. Three days afterwards, however, he duly
+executed a fresh will, in the presence of two servants, by which he
+left all his property to the niece, to the entire exclusion of his
+own children. This will, though very short, was in proper form and
+was written by nobody knew whom. The servants stated that the testator
+before signing it was perfectly acquainted with its contents, for the
+niece had made him repeat them in their presence. They also declared,
+however, that he seemed in a terrible fright, and said twice, "It's
+behind me; it's behind me!"
+
+Within an hour of the signing of the will the testator was found dead,
+apparently from the effects of fear, but the niece was not in the room
+at the time of death. The only other remarkable circumstance in the case
+was that the disreputable lover of the niece had been seen hanging about
+the house at dusk, the testator having died at ten o'clock at night.
+There was also a further fact. The son, on receiving a message from
+the niece that his father was seriously worse, had hurried with
+extraordinary speed to the house, passing some one or something--he
+could not tell what--that seemed to be running, apparently from the
+window of the sick man's room, which was on the ground floor, and
+beneath which footmarks were afterwards found. Of these footmarks two
+casts had been taken, of which photographs were forwarded with the
+brief. They had been made by naked feet of small size, and in each
+case the little joint of the third toe of the right foot seemed to be
+missing. But all attempts to find the feet that made them had hitherto
+failed. The will was contested by the next of kin, for whom Geoffrey was
+one of the counsel, upon the usual grounds of undue influence and fraud;
+but as it seemed at present with small prospect of success, for, though
+the circumstances were superstitious enough, there was not the slightest
+evidence of either. This curious case, of which the outlines are here
+written, is briefly set out, because it proved to be the foundation of
+Geoffrey's enormous practice and reputation at the Bar.
+
+He read the brief through twice, thought it over well, and could make
+little of it. It was perfectly obvious to him that there had been foul
+play somewhere, but he found himself quite unable to form a workable
+hypothesis. Was the person who had been seen running away concerned
+in the matter?--if it was a person. If so, was he the author of the
+footprints? Of course the ex-lawyer's clerk had something to do with
+it, but what? In vain did Geoffrey cudgel his brains; every idea that
+occurred to him broke down somewhere or other.
+
+"We shall lose this," he said aloud in despair; "suspicious
+circumstances are not enough to upset a will," and then, addressing
+Beatrice, who was sitting at the table, working:
+
+"Here, Miss Granger, you have a smattering of law, see if you can make
+anything of this," and he pushed the heavy brief towards her.
+
+Beatrice took it with a laugh, and for the next three-quarters of an
+hour her fair brow was puckered up in a way quaint to see. At last she
+finished and shut the brief up. "Let me look at the photographs," she
+said.
+
+Geoffrey handed them to her. She very carefully examined first one and
+then the other, and as she did so a light of intelligence broke out upon
+her face.
+
+"Well, Portia, have you got it?" he asked.
+
+"I have got something," she answered. "I do not know if it is right.
+Don't you see, the old man was superstitious; they frightened him first
+of all by a ghostly voice or some such thing into signing the will, and
+then to death after he had signed it. The lawyer's clerk prepared the
+will--he would know how to do it. Then he was smuggled into the room
+under the bed, or somewhere, dressed up as a ghost perhaps. The sending
+for the son by the niece was a blind. The thing that was seen running
+away was a boy--those footprints were made by a boy. I have seen so many
+thousands on the sands here that I could swear to it. He was attracted
+to the house from the road, which was quite near, by catching sight
+of something unusual through the blind; the brief says there were no
+curtains or shutters. Now look at the photographs of the footprints.
+See in No. 1, found outside the window, the toes are pressed down deeply
+into the mud. The owner of the feet was standing on tip-toe to get a
+better view. But in No. 2, which was found near where the son thought
+he saw a person running, the toes are spread out quite wide. That is the
+footprint of some one who was in a great hurry. Now it is not probable
+that a boy had anything to do with the testator's death. Why, then, was
+the boy running so hard? I will tell you: because he was frightened at
+something he had seen through the blind. So frightened was he, that he
+will not come forward, or answer the advertisements and inquiries. Find
+a boy in that town who has a joint missing on the third toe of the right
+foot, and you will soon know all about it."
+
+"By Jove," said Geoffrey, "what a criminal lawyer you would make! I
+believe that you have got it. But how are we to find this boy with the
+missing toe-joint? Every possible inquiry has already been made and
+failed. Nobody has seen such a boy, whose deficiency would probably be
+known by his parents, or schoolfellows."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "it has failed because the boy has taken to
+wearing shoes, which indeed he would always have to do at school. His
+parents, if he has any, would perhaps not speak of his disfigurement,
+and no one else might know of it, especially if he were a new-comer in
+the neighbourhood. It is quite possible that he took off his boots in
+order to creep up to the window. And now I will tell you how I should
+set to work to find him. I should have every bathing-place in the
+river running through the town--there is a river--carefully watched
+by detectives. In this weather" (the autumn was an unusually warm one)
+"boys of that class often paddle and sometimes bathe. If they watch
+close enough, they will probably find a boy with a missing toe joint
+among the number."
+
+"What a good idea," said Geoffrey. "I will telegraph to the lawyers at
+once. I certainly believe that you have got the clue."
+
+And as it turned out afterwards Beatrice had got it; her suppositions
+were right in almost every particular. The boy, who proved to be the son
+of a pedlar who had recently come into the town, was found wading, and
+by a clever trick, which need not be detailed, frightened into telling
+the truth, as he had previously frightened himself into holding his
+tongue. He had even, as Beatrice conjectured, taken off his boots to
+creep up to the window, and as he ran away in his fright, had dropped
+them into a ditch full of water. There they were found, and went far to
+convince the jury of the truth of his story. Thus it was that Beatrice's
+quick wit laid the foundations of Geoffrey's great success.
+
+
+
+This particular Monday was a field day at the Vicarage. Jones had proved
+obdurate; no power on earth could induce him to pay the £34 11s. 4d. due
+on account of tithe. Therefore Mr. Granger, fortified by a judgment duly
+obtained, had announced his intention of distraining upon Jones's hay
+and cattle. Jones had replied with insolent defiance. If any bailiff,
+or auctioneer, or such people came to sell his hay he would kill him, or
+them.
+
+So said Jones, and summoned his supporters, many of whom owed tithe, and
+none of whom wished to pay it, to do battle in his cause. For his part,
+Mr. Granger retained an auctioneer of undoubted courage who was to
+arrive on this very afternoon, supported by six policemen, and carry out
+the sale. Beatrice felt nervous about the whole thing, but Elizabeth
+was very determined, and the old clergyman was now bombastic and now
+despondent. The auctioneer arrived duly by the one o'clock train. He
+was a tall able-bodied man, not unlike Geoffrey in appearance, indeed at
+twenty yards distance it would have been difficult to tell them apart.
+The sale was fixed for half-past two, and Mr. Johnson--that was the
+auctioneer's name--went to the inn to get his dinner before proceeding
+to business. He was informed of the hostile demonstration which awaited
+him, and that an English member of Parliament had been sent down
+especially to head the mob, but being a man of mettle pooh-poohed the
+whole affair.
+
+"All bark, sir," he said to Geoffrey, "all bark and no bite; I'm not
+afraid of these people. Why, if they won't bid for the stuff, I will buy
+it in myself."
+
+"All right," said Geoffrey, "but I advise you to look out. I fancy that
+the old man is a rough customer."
+
+Then Geoffrey went back to his dinner.
+
+As they sat at the meal, through a gap in the fir trees they saw that
+the great majority of the population of Bryngelly was streaming up
+towards the scene of the sale, some to agitate, and some to see the fun.
+
+"It is pretty well time to be off," said Geoffrey. "Are you coming, Mr.
+Granger?"
+
+"Well," answered the old gentleman, "I wished to do so, but Elizabeth
+thinks that I had better keep away. And after all, you know," he added
+airily, "perhaps it is as well for a clergyman not to mix himself up too
+much in these temporal matters. No, I want to go and see about some
+pigs at the other end of the parish, and I think that I shall take this
+opportunity."
+
+"You are not going, Mr. Bingham, are you?" asked Beatrice in a voice
+which betrayed her anxiety.
+
+"Oh, yes," he answered, "of course I am. I would not miss the chance
+for worlds. Why, Beecham Bones is going to be there, the member of
+Parliament who has just done his four months for inciting to outrage. We
+are old friends; I was at school with him. Poor fellow, he was mad even
+in those days, and I want to chaff him."
+
+"I think that you had far better not go, Mr. Bingham," said Beatrice;
+"they are a very rough set."
+
+"Everybody is not so cowardly as you are," put in Elizabeth. "I am going
+at any rate."
+
+"That's right, Miss Elizabeth," said Geoffrey; "we will protect each
+other from the revolutionary fury of the mob. Come, it is time to
+start."
+
+And so they went, leaving Beatrice a prey to melancholy forebodings.
+
+She waited in the house for the best part of an hour, making pretence to
+play with Effie. Then her anxiety got the better of her; she put on her
+hat and started, leaving Effie in charge of the servant Betty.
+
+Beatrice walked quickly along the cliff till she came in sight of
+Jones's farm. From where she stood she could make out a great crowd
+of men, and even, when the wind turned towards her, catch the noise of
+shouting. Presently she heard a sound like the report of a gun, saw the
+crowd break up in violent confusion, and then cluster together again in
+a dense mass.
+
+"What could it mean?" Beatrice wondered.
+
+As the thought crossed her mind, she perceived two men running towards
+her with all their speed, followed by a woman. Three minutes more and
+she saw that the woman was Elizabeth.
+
+The men were passing her now.
+
+"What is it?" she cried.
+
+"_Murder!_" they answered with one voice, and sped on towards Bryngelly.
+
+Another moment and Elizabeth was at hand, horror written on her pale
+face.
+
+Beatrice clutched at her. "_Who_ is it?" she cried.
+
+"Mr. Bingham," gasped her sister. "Go and help; he's shot dead!" And she
+too was gone.
+
+Beatrice's knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth;
+the solid earth spun round and round. "Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey
+killed!" she cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear the
+sound of them, no words came from her lips. "Oh, what should she do?
+Where should she hide herself in her grief?"
+
+A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone
+at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while
+still the solid earth spun round and round.
+
+Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot
+through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.
+
+"Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had
+only said it to torment her." She rose. She flung herself upon her
+knees, there by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many
+years--she prayed with all her soul. "Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him
+his life and me this agony." In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith
+was thus re-born, and, as all human beings must in their hour of mortal
+agony, Beatrice realised her dependence on the Unseen. She rose, and
+weak with emotion sank back on to the stone. The people were streaming
+past her now, talking excitedly. Somebody came up to her and stood over
+her.
+
+Oh, Heaven, it was Geoffrey!
+
+"Is it you?" she gasped. "Elizabeth said that you were murdered."
+
+"No, no. It was not I; it is that poor fellow Johnson, the auctioneer.
+Jones shot him. I was standing next him. I suppose your sister thought
+that I fell. He was not unlike me, poor fellow."
+
+Beatrice looked at him, went red, went white, then burst into a flood of
+tears.
+
+A strange pang seized upon his heart. It thrilled through him, shaking
+him to the core. Why was this woman so deeply moved? Could it be----?
+Nonsense; he stifled the thought before it was born.
+
+"Don't cry," Geoffrey said, "the people will see you, Beatrice" (for the
+first time he called her by her christian name); "pray do not cry. It
+distresses me. You are upset, and no wonder. That fellow Beecham Bones
+ought to be hanged, and I told him so. It is his work, though he never
+meant it to go so far. He's frightened enough now, I can tell you."
+
+Beatrice controlled herself with an effort.
+
+"What happened," he said, "I will tell you as we walk along. No, don't
+go up to the farm. He is not a pleasant sight, poor fellow. When I got
+up there, Beecham Bones was spouting away to the mob--his long hair
+flying about his back--exciting them to resist laws made by brutal
+thieving landlords, and all that kind of gibberish; telling them that
+they would be supported by a great party in Parliament, &c., &c. The
+people, however, took it all good-naturedly enough. They had a beautiful
+effigy of your father swinging on a pole, with a placard on his breast,
+on which was written, 'The robber of the widow and the orphan,' and
+they were singing Welsh songs. Only I saw Jones, who was more than half
+drunk, cursing and swearing in Welsh and English. When the auctioneer
+began to sell, Jones went into the house and Bones went with him.
+After enough had been sold to pay the debt, and while the mob was still
+laughing and shouting, suddenly the back door of the house opened and
+out rushed Jones, now quite drunk, a gun in his hand and Bones hanging
+on to his coat-tails. I was talking to the auctioneer at the moment,
+and my belief is that the brute thought that I was Johnson. At any rate,
+before anything could be done he lifted the gun and fired, at me, as I
+think. The charge, however, passed my head and hit poor Johnson full in
+the face, killing him dead. That is all the story."
+
+"And quite enough, too," said Beatrice with a shudder. "What times we
+live in! I feel quite sick."
+
+Supper that night was a very melancholy affair. Old Mr. Granger was
+altogether thrown off his balance; and even Elizabeth's iron nerves were
+shaken.
+
+"It could not be worse, it could not be worse," moaned the old man,
+rising from the table and walking up and down the room.
+
+"Nonsense, father," said Elizabeth the practical. "He might have been
+shot before he had sold the hay, and then you would not have got your
+tithe."
+
+Geoffrey could not help smiling at this way of looking at things,
+from which, however, Mr. Granger seemed to draw a little comfort. From
+constantly thinking about it, and the daily pressure of necessity, money
+had come to be more to the old man than anything else in the world.
+
+Hardly was the meal done when three reporters arrived and took down
+Geoffrey's statement of what had occurred, for publication in various
+papers, while Beatrice went away to see about packing Effie's things.
+They were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on
+the following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten, and
+in his irritation of mind Mr. Granger insisted upon everybody going
+to bed. Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him on his
+escape as she did so, and went at once; but Beatrice lingered a little.
+At last she came forward and held out her hand.
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Bingham," she said.
+
+"Good-night. I hope that this is not good-bye also," he added with some
+anxiety.
+
+"Of course not," broke in Mr. Granger. "Beatrice will go and see you
+off. I can't; I have to go and meet the coroner about the inquest, and
+Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they won't want you;
+there were so many witnesses."
+
+"Then it is only good-night," said Beatrice.
+
+She went to her room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or
+pretending to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but
+rest she could not. It was "only good-night," a last good-night. He was
+going away--back to his wife, back to the great rushing world, and to
+the life in which she had no share. Very soon he would forget her. Other
+interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and he
+would forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or
+remember her only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it
+mean? Why was her heart so sore? Why had she felt as though she should
+die when they told her that he was dead?
+
+Then the answer rose in her breast. She loved him; it was useless to
+deny the truth--she loved him body, and heart and soul, with all
+her mind and all her strength. She was his, and his alone--to-day,
+to-morrow, and for ever. He might go from her sight, she might never,
+never see him more, but love him she always must. And he was married!
+
+Well, it was her misfortune; it could not affect the solemn truth.
+What should she do now, how should she endure her life when her eyes
+no longer saw his eyes, and her ears never heard his voice? She saw the
+future stretch itself before her as a vision. She saw herself forgotten
+by this man whom she loved, or from time to time remembered only with
+a faint regret. She saw herself growing slowly old, her beauty fading
+yearly from her face and form, companioned only by the love that grows
+not old. Oh, it was bitter, bitter! and yet she would not have it
+otherwise. Even in her pain she felt it better to have found this deep
+and ruinous joy, to have wrestled with the Angel and been worsted, than
+never to have looked upon his face. If she could only know that what she
+gave was given back again, that he loved her as she loved him, she would
+be content. She was innocent, she had never tried to draw him to her;
+she had used no touch or look, no woman's arts or lures such as her
+beauty placed at her command. There had been no word spoken, scarcely
+a meaning glance had passed between them, nothing but frank and free
+companionship as of man with man. She knew he did not love his wife and
+that his wife did not love him--this she could _see_. But she had never
+tried to win him from her, and though she sinned in thought, though her
+heart was guilty--oh, her hands were clean!
+
+Her restlessness overcame her. She could no longer lie in bed.
+Elizabeth, watching through her veil of sleep, saw Beatrice rise, put on
+a wrapper, and, going to the window, throw it wide. At first she thought
+of interfering, for Elizabeth was a prudent person and did not like
+draughts; but her sister's movements excited her curiosity, and she
+refrained. Beatrice sat down on the foot of her bed, and leaning her arm
+upon the window-sill looked out upon the lovely quiet night. How dark
+the pine trees massed against the sky; how soft was the whisper of the
+sea, and how vast the heaven through which the stars sailed on.
+
+What was it, then, this love of hers? Was it mere earthly passion? No,
+it was more. It was something grander, purer, deeper, and quite undying.
+Whence came it, then? If she was, as she had thought, only a child of
+earth, whence came this deep desire which was not of the earth? Had she
+been wrong, had she a soul--something that could love with the body and
+through the body and beyond the body--something of which the body with
+its yearnings was but the envelope, the hand or instrument? Oh, now it
+seemed to Beatrice that this was so, and that called into being by her
+love she and her soul stood face to face acknowledging their unity. Once
+she had held that it was phantasy: that such spiritual hopes were but
+exhalations from a heart unsatisfied; that when love escapes us on the
+earth, in our despair, we swear it is immortal, and that we shall find
+it in the heavens. Now Beatrice believed this no more. Love had kissed
+her on the eyes, and at his kiss her sleeping spirit was awakened, and
+she saw a vision of the truth.
+
+Yes, she loved him, and must always love him! But she could never know
+on earth that he was hers, and if she had a spirit to be freed after
+some few years, would not his spirit have forgotten hers in that far
+hereafter of their meeting?
+
+She dropped her brow upon her arm and softly sobbed. What was there left
+for her to do except to sob--till her heart broke?
+
+Elizabeth, lying with wide-open ears, heard the sobs. Elizabeth, peering
+through the moonlight, saw her sister's form tremble in the convulsion
+of her sorrow, and smiled a smile of malice.
+
+"The thing is done," she thought; "she cries because the man is going.
+Don't cry, Beatrice, don't cry! We will get your plaything back for you.
+Oh, with such a bait it will be easy. He is as sweet on you as you on
+him."
+
+There was something evil, something almost devilish, in this scene
+of the one watching woman holding a clue to and enjoying the secret
+tortures of the other, plotting the while to turn them to her innocent
+rival's destruction and her own advantage. Elizabeth's jealousy was
+indeed bitter as the grave.
+
+Suddenly Beatrice ceased sobbing. She lifted her head, and by a sudden
+impulse threw out the passion of her heart with all her concentrated
+strength of mind towards the man she loved, murmuring as she did so some
+passionate, despairing words which she knew.
+
+At this moment Geoffrey, sleeping soundly, dreamed that he saw Beatrice
+seated by her window and looking at him with eyes which no earthly
+obstacle could blind. She was speaking; her lips moved, but though he
+could hear no voice the words she spoke floated into his mind--
+
+     "Be a god and hold me
+        With a charm!
+     Be a man and fold me
+        With thine arm.
+
+     Teach me, only teach, Love!
+        As I ought
+     I will speak thy speech, Love,
+        Think thy thought--
+
+     Meet, if thou require it,
+        Both demands,
+     Laying flesh and spirit
+        In thy hands.
+
+     That shall be to-morrow
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.
+
+     Must a little weep, Love,
+        (Foolish me!)
+     And so fall asleep, Love,
+        Loved by thee."
+
+Geoffrey heard them in his heart. Then they were gone, the vision of
+Beatrice was gone, and suddenly he awoke.
+
+Oh, what was this flood of inarticulate, passion-laden thought that beat
+upon his brain telling of Beatrice? Wave after wave it came, utterly
+overwhelming him, like the heavy breath of flowers stirred by a night
+wind--like a message from another world. It was real; it was no dream,
+no fancy; she was present with him though she was not there; her
+thought mingled with his thought, her being beat upon his own. His heart
+throbbed, his limbs trembled, he strove to understand and could not. But
+in the mystery of that dread communion, the passion he had trodden down
+and refused acknowledgment took life and form within him; it grew like
+the Indian's magic tree, from seed to blade, from blade to bud, and from
+bud to bloom. In that moment it became clear to him: he knew he loved
+her, and knowing what such a love must mean, for him if not for her,
+Geoffrey sank back and groaned.
+
+And Beatrice? Of a sudden she ceased speaking to herself; she felt
+her thought flung back to her weighted with another's thought. She had
+broken through the barriers of earth; the quick electric message of her
+heart had found a path to him she loved and come back answered. But in
+what tongue was that answer writ? Alas! she could not read it, any more
+than he could read the message. At first she doubted; surely it was
+imagination. Then she remembered it was absolutely proved that people
+dying could send a vision of themselves to others far away; and if that
+could be, why not this? No, it was truth, a solemn truth; she knew he
+felt her thought, she knew that his life beat upon her life. Oh, here
+was mystery, and here was hope, for if this could be, and it _was_, what
+might not be? If her blind strength of human love could so overstep the
+boundaries of human power, and, by the sheer might of its volition,
+mock the physical barriers that hemmed her in, what had she to fear from
+distance, from separation, ay, from death itself? She had grasped a
+clue which might one day, before the seeming end or after--what did it
+matter?--lay strange secrets open to her gaze. She had heard a whisper
+in an unknown tongue that could still be learned, answering Life's
+agonizing cry with a song of glory. If only he loved her, some day all
+would be well. Some day the barriers would fall. Crumbling with the
+flesh, they would fall and set her naked spirit free to seek its other
+self. And then, having found her love, what more was there to seek? What
+other answer did she desire to all the problems of her life than this of
+Unity attained at last--Unity attained in Death!
+
+And if he did not love her, how could he answer her? Surely that message
+could not pass except along the golden chord of love, which ever makes
+its sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of fear.
+
+The troubled glory passed--it throbbed itself away; the spiritual gusts
+of thought grew continually fainter, till, like the echoes of a
+dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sank to
+nothingness. Then wearied with an extreme of wild emotion Beatrice
+sought her bed again and presently was lost in sleep.
+
+
+
+When Geoffrey woke on the next morning, after a little reflection, he
+came to the decision that he had experienced a very curious and moving
+dream, consequent on the exciting events of the previous day, or on the
+pain of his impending departure. He rose, packed his bag--everything
+else was ready--and went in to breakfast. Beatrice did not appear till
+it was half over. She looked very pale, and said that she had been
+packing Effie's things. Geoffrey noticed that she barely touched his
+fingers when he rose to shake hands with her, and that she studiously
+avoided his glance. Then he began to wonder if she also had strangely
+dreamed.
+
+Next came the bustle of departure. Effie was despatched in the fly
+with the luggage and Betty, the fat Welsh servant, to look after her.
+Beatrice and Geoffrey were to walk to the station.
+
+"Time for you to be going, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger. "There,
+good-bye, good-bye! God bless you! Never had such charming lodgers
+before. Hope you will come back again, I'm sure. By the way, they are
+certain to summon you as a witness at the trial of that villain Jones."
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Granger," Geoffrey answered; "you must come and see me in
+town. A change will do you good."
+
+"Well, perhaps I may. I have not had a change for twenty-five years.
+Never could afford it. Aren't you going to say good-bye to Elizabeth?"
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey politely. "Many thanks for all
+your kindness. I hope we shall meet again."
+
+"Do you?" answered Elizabeth; "so do I. I am sure that we shall meet
+again, and I am sure that I shall be glad to see you when we do, Mr.
+Bingham," she added darkly.
+
+In another minute he had left the Vicarage and, with Beatrice at his
+side, was walking smartly towards the station.
+
+"This is very melancholy," he said, after a few moments' silence.
+
+"Going away generally is," she answered--"either for those who go or
+those who stay behind," she added.
+
+"Or for both," he said.
+
+Then came another pause; he broke it.
+
+"Miss Beatrice, may I write to you?"
+
+"Certainly, if you like."
+
+"And will you answer my letters?"
+
+"Yes, I will answer them."
+
+"If I had my way, then, you should spend a good deal of your time in
+writing," he said. "You don't know," he added earnestly, "what a delight
+it has been to me to learn to know you. I have had no greater pleasure
+in my life."
+
+"I am glad," Beatrice answered shortly.
+
+"By the way," Geoffrey said presently, "there is something I want to ask
+you. You are as good as a reference book for quotations, you know. Some
+lines have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I cannot
+remember where they come from."
+
+"What are they?" she asked, looking up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought he
+saw, a strange fear shining in her eyes.
+
+"Here are four of them," he answered unconcernedly; "we have no time for
+long quotations:
+
+     "'That shall be to-morrow,
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.'"
+
+Beatrice heard--heard the very lines which had been upon her lips in the
+wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop; she became
+white as the dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supreme effort she
+recovered herself.
+
+"I think that you must know the lines, Mr. Bingham," she said in a low
+voice. "They come from a poem of Browning's, called 'A Woman's Last
+Word.'"
+
+Geoffrey made no answer; what was he to say? For a while they walked
+on in silence. They were getting close to the station now. Separation,
+perhaps for ever, was very near. An overmastering desire to know the
+truth took hold of him.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said again, "you look pale. Did you sleep well last
+night?"
+
+"No, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Did you have curious dreams?"
+
+"Yes, I did," she answered, looking straight before her.
+
+He turned a shade paler. Then it was true!
+
+"Beatrice," he said in a half whisper, "what do they mean?"
+
+"As much as anything else, or as little," she answered.
+
+"What are people to do who dream such dreams?" he said again, in the
+same constrained voice.
+
+"Forget them," she whispered.
+
+"And if they come back?"
+
+"Forget them again."
+
+"And if they will not be forgotten?"
+
+She turned and looked him full in the eyes.
+
+"Die of them," she said; "then they will be forgotten, or----"
+
+"Or what, Beatrice?"
+
+"Here is the station," said Beatrice, "and Betty is quarrelling with the
+flyman."
+
+
+
+Five minutes more and Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE FLAT NEAR THE EDGWARE ROAD
+
+Geoffrey's journey to town was not altogether a cheerful one. To begin
+with, Effie wept copiously at parting with her beloved "auntie," as she
+called Beatrice, and would not be comforted. The prospect of rejoining
+her mother and the voluble Anne had no charms for Effie. They all three
+got on best apart. Geoffrey himself had also much to think about, and
+found little satisfaction in the thinking. He threw his mind back over
+the events of the past few weeks. He remembered how he had first seen
+Beatrice's face through the thick mist on the Red Rocks, and how her
+beauty had struck him as no beauty ever had before. Then he thought
+of the adventure of their shipwreck, and of the desperate courage with
+which she had saved his life, almost at the cost of her own. He thought,
+too, of that scene when on the following day he had entered the room
+where she was asleep, when the wandering ray of light had wavered from
+her breast to his own, when that strange presentiment of the ultimate
+intermingling of their lives had flashed upon him, and when she had
+awakened with an unearthly greeting on her lips. While Effie slowly
+sobbed herself to silence in the corner opposite to him, one by one, he
+recalled every phase and scene of their ever-growing intimacy, till the
+review culminated in his mysterious experience of the past night, and
+the memory of Beatrice's parting words.
+
+Of all men Geoffrey was among those least inclined to any sort of
+superstition; from boyhood he had been noted for common sense, and
+a somewhat disbelieving turn of mind. But he had intellect, and
+imagination which is simply intellect etherealised. Without these, with
+his peculiar mental constitution, he would, for instance, probably have
+been a religious sceptic; having them, he was nothing of the sort. So
+in this matter of his experience of the previous night, and generally of
+the strange and almost unnatural sympathy in which he found himself
+with this lady, common sense and the results of his observation and
+experience pointed to the whole thing being nonsense--the result of
+"propinquity, Sir, propinquity," and a pretty face--and nothing more.
+
+But here his intellect and his imagination stepped in, telling him
+plainly that it was not nonsense, that he had not merely made a donkey
+of himself over an hysterical, or possibly a love-sick girl. They told
+him that because a thing is a mystery it is not necessarily a folly,
+though mysteries are for the most part dealt in by fools. They suggested
+that there may be many things and forces above us and around us,
+invisible as an electric current, intangible as light, yet existent and
+capable of manifestation under certain rare and favourable conditions.
+
+And was it not possible that such conditions should unite in a woman
+like Beatrice, who combined in herself a beauty of body which was only
+outpassed by the beauty of her mind? It was no answer to say that most
+women could never inspire the unearthly passion with which he had been
+shaken some ten hours past, or that most men could never become aware of
+the inspiration. Has not humanity powers and perceptions denied to the
+cattle of the fields, and may there not be men and women as far removed
+from their fellows in this respect as these are from the cattle?
+
+But the weak point of mysterious occurrences is that they lead nowhere,
+and do not materially alter the facts of life. One cannot, for instance,
+plead a mystery in a court of law; so, dropping the imaginative side of
+the question as one beyond him, Geoffrey came to its practical aspect,
+only to find it equally thorny.
+
+Odd as it may seem, Geoffrey did not to this moment know the exact
+position which he occupied in the mind of Beatrice, or that she occupied
+in his. He was not in love with her, at least not in a way in which he
+had ever experienced the influence of that, on the whole, inconvenient
+and disagreeable passion. At any rate he argued from the hypothesis that
+he was not in love with her. This he refused to admit now in the light
+of day, though he had admitted it fully in the watches of the night. It
+would not do to admit it. But he was forced to acknowledge that she had
+crept into his life and possessed it so completely that then and for
+months afterwards, except in deep sleep or in hours of severe mental
+strain, not a single half hour would pass without bringing its thought
+of Beatrice. Everything that was beautiful, or grand, or elevating,
+reminded him of her--and what higher compliment could a mistress have?
+If he listened to glorious music, the voice of Beatrice spoke to him
+through the notes; if he watched the clouds rolling in heavy pomp across
+a broken sky he thought of Beatrice; if some chance poem or novel moved
+him, why Beatrice was in his mind to share the pleasure. All of which
+was very interesting, and in some ways delightful, but under our current
+system not otherwise than inconvenient to a married man.
+
+And now Beatrice was gone, and he must come back to his daily toil,
+sweetened by Honoria's bitter complaints of their poverty, and see her
+no more. The thought made Geoffrey's heart ache with a physical pain,
+but his reason told him that it was best so. After all, there were no
+bones broken; there had been no love scenes, no kiss, no words that
+cannot be recalled; whatever there was lay beneath the surface,
+and while appearances were kept up all was well. No doubt it was
+an hypocrisy, but then hypocrisy is one of the great pillars of
+civilization, and how does it matter what the heart says while the lips
+are silent? The Recording Angel can alone read hearts, and he must often
+find them singularly contradictory and untrustworthy writings.
+
+Die of them, die of her dreams! No, Beatrice would not die of them, and
+certainly he should not. Probably in the end she would marry that pious
+earthly lump, Owen Davies. It was not pleasant to think of, it was even
+dreadful, but really if she were to ask him his opinion, "as a friend,"
+he should tell her it was the best thing that she could do. Of course
+it would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart the lie; but
+when the heart rises in rebellion against the intelligence it must be
+suppressed. Unfortunately, however, though a small member, it is very
+strong.
+
+
+
+They reached London at last, and as had been arranged, Anne, the French
+_bonne_, met them at the station to take Effie home. Geoffrey noticed
+that she looked smarter and less to his taste than ever. However, she
+embraced Effie with an enthusiasm which the child scarcely responded
+to, and at the same time carried on an ocular flirtation with a ticket
+collector. Although early in the year for yellow fogs, London was
+plunged in a dense gloom. It had been misty that morning at Bryngelly,
+and become more and more so as the day advanced; but, though it was not
+yet four o'clock, London was dark as night. Luckily, however, it is not
+far from Paddington to the flat near the Edgware Road, where Geoffrey
+lived, so having personally instructed the cabman, he left Anne to
+convoy Effie and the luggage, and went on to the Temple by Underground
+Railway with an easy mind.
+
+Shortly after Geoffrey reached his chambers in Pump Court the solicitor
+arrived as had been arranged, not his uncle--who was, he learned, very
+unwell--but a partner. To his delight he then found that Beatrice's
+ghost theory was perfectly accurate; the boy with the missing toe-joint
+had been discovered who saw the whole horrible tragedy through a crack
+in the blind; moreover the truth had been wrung from him and he would
+be produced at the trial--indeed a proof of his evidence was already
+forthcoming. Also some specimens of the ex-lawyer's clerk's handwriting
+had been obtained, and were declared by two experts to be identical with
+the writing on the will. One thing, however, disturbed him: neither the
+Attorney-General nor Mr. Candleton was yet in town, so no conference
+was possible that evening. However, both were expected that night--the
+Attorney-General from Devonshire and Mr. Candleton from the Continent;
+so the case being first on the list, it was arranged that the conference
+should take place at ten o'clock on the following morning.
+
+On arriving home Geoffrey was informed that Lady Honoria was dressing,
+and had left a message saying he must be quick and do likewise as
+a gentleman was coming to dinner. Accordingly he went to his own
+room--which was at the other end of the flat--and put on his dress
+clothes. Before going to the dining-room, however, he said good-night to
+Effie--who was in bed, but not asleep--and asked her what time she had
+reached home.
+
+"At twenty minutes past five, daddy," Effie said promptly.
+
+"Twenty minutes past five! Why, you don't mean to say that you were an
+hour coming that little way! Did you get blocked in the fog?"
+
+"No, daddy, but----"
+
+"But what, dear?"
+
+"Anne did tell me not to say!"
+
+"But I tell you to say, dear--never mind Anne!"
+
+"Anne stopped and talked to the ticket-man for a long, long time."
+
+"Oh, did she?" he said.
+
+At that moment the parlourmaid came to say that Lady Honoria and the
+"gentleman" were waiting for dinner. Geoffrey asked her casually what
+time Miss Effie had reached home.
+
+"About half-past five, sir. Anne said the cab was blocked in the fog."
+
+"Very well. Tell her ladyship that I shall be down in a minute."
+
+"Daddy," said the child, "I haven't said my prayers. Mother did not
+come, and Anne said it was all nonsense about prayers. Auntie did always
+hear me my prayers."
+
+"Yes, dear, and so will I. There, kneel upon my lap and say them."
+
+In the middle of the prayers--which Effie did not remember as well as
+she might have done--the parlourmaid arrived again.
+
+"Please, sir, her ladyship----"
+
+"Tell her ladyship I am coming, and that if she is in a hurry she can go
+to dinner! Go on, love."
+
+Then he kissed her and put her to bed again.
+
+"Daddy," said Effie, as he was going, "shall I see auntie Beatrice any
+more?"
+
+"I hope so, dear."
+
+"And shall you see her any more? You want to see her, don't you, daddy?
+She did love you very much!"
+
+Geoffrey could bear it no longer. The truth is always sharper when it
+comes from the mouth of babes and sucklings. With a hurried good-night
+he fled.
+
+In the little drawing-room he found Lady Honoria, very well dressed, and
+also her friend, whose name was Mr. Dunstan. Geoffrey knew him at once
+for an exceedingly wealthy man of small birth, and less breeding, but
+a burning and a shining light in the Garsington set. Mr. Dunstan was
+anxious to raise himself in society, and he thought that notwithstanding
+her poverty, Lady Honoria might be useful to him in this respect. Hence
+his presence there to-night.
+
+"How do you do, Geoffrey?" said his wife, advancing to greet him with
+a kiss of peace. "You look very well. But what an immense time you have
+been dressing. Poor Mr. Dunstan is starving. Let me see. You know Mr.
+Dunstan, I think. Dinner, Mary."
+
+Geoffrey apologised for being late, and shook hands politely with Mr.
+Dunstan--Saint Dunstan he was generally called on account of his rather
+clerical appearance and in sarcastic allusion to his somewhat shady
+reputation. Then they went in to dinner.
+
+"Sorry there is no lady for you, Geoffrey; but you must have had plenty
+of ladies' society lately. By the way, how is Miss--Miss Granger? Would
+you believe it, Mr. Dunstan? that shocking husband of mine has been
+passing the last month in the company of one of the loveliest girls I
+ever saw, who knows Latin and law and everything else under the sun. She
+began by saving his life, they were upset together out of a canoe, you
+know. Isn't it romantic?"
+
+Saint Dunstan made some appropriate--or, rather inappropriate--remark
+to the effect that he hoped Mr. Bingham had made the most of such
+unrivalled opportunities, adding, with a deep sigh, that no lovely young
+lady had ever saved his life that he might live for her, &c., &c.
+
+Here Geoffrey broke in without much ceremony. To him it seemed a
+desecration to listen while this person was making his feeble jokes
+about Beatrice.
+
+"Well, dear," he said, addressing his wife, "and what have you been
+doing with yourself all this time?"
+
+"Mourning for you, Geoffrey, and enjoying myself exceedingly in the
+intervals. We have had a delightful time, have we not, Mr. Dunstan? Mr.
+Dunstan has also been staying at the Hall, you know."
+
+"How could it be otherwise when you were there, Lady Honoria?" answered
+the Saint in that strain of compliment affected by such men, and which,
+to tell the truth, jarred on its object, who was after all a lady.
+
+"You know, Geoffrey," she went on, "the Garsingtons have re-furnished
+the large hall and their drawing-room. It cost eighteen hundred pounds,
+but the result is lovely. The drawing-room is done in hand-painted white
+satin, walls and all, and the hall in old oak."
+
+"Indeed!" he answered, reflecting the while that Lord Garsington might
+as well have paid some of his debts before he spent eighteen hundred
+pounds on his drawing-room furniture.
+
+Then the Saint and Lady Honoria drifted into a long and animated
+conversation about their fellow guests, which Geoffrey scarcely tried to
+follow. Indeed, the dinner was a dull one for him, and he added little
+or nothing to the stock of talk.
+
+When his wife left the room, however, he had to say something, so they
+spoke of shooting. The Saint had a redeeming feature--he was somewhat of
+a sportsman, though a poor one, and he described to Geoffrey a new pair
+of hammerless guns, which he had bought for a trifling sum of a hundred
+and forty guineas, recommending the pattern to his notice.
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that they are very nice; but, you
+see, they are beyond me. A poor man cannot afford so much for a pair of
+guns."
+
+"Oh, if that is all," answered his guest, "I will sell you these; they
+are a little long in the stock for me, and you can pay me when you like.
+Or, hang it all, I have plenty of guns. I'll be generous and give them
+to you. If I cannot afford to be generous, I don't know who can!"
+
+"Thank you very much, Mr. Dunstan," answered Geoffrey coldly, "but I am
+not in the habit of accepting such presents from my--acquaintances. Will
+you have a glass of sherry?--no. Then shall we join Lady Honoria?"
+
+This speech quite crushed the vulgar but not ill-meaning Saint, and
+Geoffrey was sorry for it a moment after he had made it. But he was
+weary and out of temper. Why did his wife bring such people to the
+house? Very shortly afterwards their guest took his leave, reflecting
+that Bingham was a conceited ass, and altogether too much for him. "And
+I don't believe that he has got a thousand a year," he reflected to
+himself, "and the title is his wife's. I suppose that is what he married
+her for. She's a much better sort than he is, any way, though I don't
+quite make her out either--one can't go very far with her. But she is
+the daughter of a peer and worth cultivating, but not when Bingham is at
+home--not if I know it."
+
+"What have you said to Mr. Dunstan to make him go away so soon,
+Geoffrey?" asked his wife.
+
+"Said to him? oh, I don't know. He offered to give me a pair of guns,
+and I told him that I did not accept presents from my acquaintances.
+Really, Honoria, I don't want to interfere with your way of life, but
+I do not understand how you can associate with such people as this Mr.
+Dunstan."
+
+"Associate with him!" answered Lady Honoria. "Do you suppose I want to
+associate with him? Do you suppose that I don't know what the man is?
+But beggars cannot be choosers; he may be a cad, but he has thirty
+thousand a year, and we simply cannot afford to throw away an
+acquaintance with thirty thousand a year. It is too bad of you,
+Geoffrey," she went on with rising temper, "when you know all that I
+must put up with in our miserable poverty-stricken life, to take every
+opportunity of making yourself disagreeable to the people I think it
+wise to ask to come and see us. Here I return from comfort to this
+wretched place, and the first thing that you do is make a fuss. Mr.
+Dunstan has got boxes at several of the best theaters, and he offered to
+let me have one whenever I liked--and now of course there is an end of
+it. It is too bad, I say!"
+
+"It is really curious, Honoria," said her husband, "to see what
+obligations you are ready to put yourself under in search of pleasure.
+It is not dignified of you to accept boxes at theatres from this
+gentleman."
+
+"Nonsense. There is no obligation about it. If he gave us a box, of
+course he would make a point of looking in during the evening, and then
+telling his friends that it was Lady Honoria Bingham he was speaking
+to--that is the exchange. I want to go to the theatre; he wants to get
+into good society--there you have the thing in a nutshell. It is done
+every day. The fact of the matter is, Geoffrey," she went on, looking
+very much as though she were about to burst into a flood of angry tears,
+"as I said just now, beggars cannot be choosers--I cannot live like
+the wife of a banker's clerk. I must have _some_ amusement, and _some_
+comfort, before I become an old woman. If you don't like it, why did you
+entrap me into this wretched marriage, before I was old enough to know
+better, or why do you not make enough money to keep me in a way suitable
+to my position?"
+
+"We have argued that question before, Honoria," said Geoffrey, keeping
+his temper with difficulty, "and now there is another thing I wish to
+say to you. Do you know that detestable woman Anne stopped for more than
+half an hour at Paddington Station this evening, flirting with a ticket
+collector, instead of bringing Effie home at once, as I told her to do.
+I am very angry about it. She is not to be relied on; we shall have some
+accident with the child before we have done. Cannot you discharge her
+and get another nurse?"
+
+"No, I cannot. She is the one comfort I have. Where am I going to find
+another woman who can make dresses like Anne--she saves me a hundred
+a year--I don't care if she flirted with fifty ticket collectors. I
+suppose you got this story from Effie; the child ought to be whipped for
+tale-bearing, and I daresay that it is not true."
+
+"Effie will certainly not be whipped," answered Geoffrey sternly. "I
+warn you that it will go very badly with anybody who lays a finger on
+her."
+
+"Oh, very well, ruin the child. Go your own way, Geoffrey! At any rate I
+am not going to stop here to listen to any more abuse. Good-night," and
+she went.
+
+Geoffrey sat down, and lit a cigarette. "A pleasant home-coming,"
+he thought to himself. "Honoria shall have money as much as she can
+spend--if I kill myself to get it, she shall have it. What a life, what
+a life! I wonder if Beatrice would treat her husband like this--if she
+had one."
+
+He laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, and then with a gesture
+of impatience threw his cigarette into the fire and went to his room to
+try and get some sleep, for he was thoroughly wearied.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE
+
+Before ten o'clock on the following morning, having already spent two
+hours over his brief, that he had now thoroughly mastered, Geoffrey was
+at his chambers, which he had some difficulty in reaching owing to the
+thick fog that still hung over London, and indeed all England.
+
+To his surprise nothing had been heard either of the Attorney-General or
+of Mr. Candleton. The solicitors were in despair; but he consoled them
+by saying that one or the other was sure to turn up in time, and that a
+few words would suffice to explain the additional light which had been
+thrown on the case. He occupied his half hour, however, in making a few
+rough notes to guide him in the altogether improbable event of his being
+called on to open, and then went into court. The case was first on the
+list, and there were a good many counsel engaged on the other side. Just
+as the judge took his seat, the solicitor, with an expression of dismay,
+handed Geoffrey a telegram which had that moment arrived from Mr.
+Candleton. It was dated from Calais on the previous night, and ran, "Am
+unable to cross on account of thick fog. You had better get somebody
+else in Parsons and Douse."
+
+"And we haven't got another brief prepared," said the agonised
+solicitor. "What is more, I can hear nothing of the Attorney-General,
+and his clerk does not seem to know where he is. You must ask for an
+adjournment, Mr. Bingham; you can't manage the case alone."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, and on the case being called he rose and
+stated the circumstances to the court. But the Court was crusty. It had
+got the fog down its throat, and altogether It didn't seem to see it.
+Moreover the other side, marking its advantage, objected strongly. The
+witnesses, brought at great expense, were there; his Lordship was there,
+the jury was there; if this case was not taken there was no other with
+which they could go on, &c., &c.
+
+The court took the same view, and lectured Geoffrey severely. Every
+counsel in a case, the Court remembered, when It was at the Bar, used to
+be able to open that case at a moment's notice, and though things had,
+It implied, no doubt deteriorated to a considerable extent since
+those palmy days, every counsel ought still to be prepared to do so on
+emergency.
+
+Of course, however, if he, Geoffrey, told the court that he was
+absolutely unprepared to go on with the case, It would have no option
+but to grant an adjournment.
+
+"I am perfectly prepared to go on with it, my lord," Geoffrey interposed
+calmly.
+
+"Very well," said the Court in a mollified tone, "then go on! I have no
+doubt that the learned Attorney-General will arrive presently."
+
+Then, as is not unusual in a probate suit, followed an argument as to
+who should open it, the plaintiff or the defendant. Geoffrey claimed
+that this right clearly lay with him, and the opposing counsel raised no
+great objection, thinking that they would do well to leave the opening
+in the hands of a rather inexperienced man, who would very likely
+work his side more harm than good. So, somewhat to the horror of
+the solicitors, who thought with longing of the eloquence of the
+Attorney-General, and the unrivalled experience and finesse of Mr.
+Candleton, Geoffrey was called upon to open the case for the defendants,
+propounding the first will.
+
+He rose without fear or hesitation, and with but one prayer in his
+heart, that no untimely Attorney-General would put in an appearance. He
+had got his chance, the chance for which many able men have to wait long
+years, and he knew it, and meant to make the most of it. Naturally
+a brilliant speaker, Geoffrey was not, as so many good speakers are,
+subject to fits of nervousness, and he was, moreover, thoroughly master
+of his case. In five minutes judge, jury and counsel were all listening
+to him with attention; in ten they were absorbed in the lucid and
+succinct statement of the facts which he was unfolding to them. His
+ghost theory was at first received with a smile, but presently counsel
+on the other side ceased to smile, and began to look uneasy. If he could
+prove what he said, there was an end of their case. When he had been
+speaking for about forty minutes one of the opposing counsel
+interrupted him with some remark, and at that moment he noticed that the
+Attorney-General's clerk was talking to the solicitor beneath him.
+
+"Bother it, he is coming," thought Geoffrey.
+
+But no, the solicitor bending forward informed him that the
+Attorney-General had been unavoidably detained by some important
+Government matter, and had returned his brief.
+
+"Well, we must get on as we can," Geoffrey said.
+
+"If you continue like that we shall get on very well," whispered the
+solicitors, and then Geoffrey knew that he was doing well.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham!" said his Lordship.
+
+Then Geoffrey went on with his statement.
+
+At lunch time it was a question whether another leader should be
+briefed. Geoffrey said that so far as he was concerned he could get on
+alone. He knew every point of the case, and he had got a friend to "take
+a note" for him while he was speaking.
+
+After some hesitation the solicitors decided not to brief fresh counsel
+at this stage of the case, but to leave it entirely in his hands.
+
+It would be useless to follow the details of this remarkable will suit,
+which lasted two days, and attracted much attention. Geoffrey won it and
+won it triumphantly. His address to the jury on the whole case was
+long remembered in the courts, rising as it did to a very high level of
+forensic eloquence. Few who saw it ever forgot the sight of his handsome
+face and commanding presence as he crushed the case of his opponents
+like an eggshell, and then with calm and overwhelming force denounced
+the woman who with her lover had concocted the cruel plot that robbed
+her uncle of life and her cousins of their property, till at the last,
+pointing towards her with outstretched hand, he branded her to the jury
+as a murderess.
+
+Few in that crowded court have forgotten the tragic scene that followed,
+when the trembling woman, worn out by the long anxiety of the trial,
+and utterly unnerved by her accuser's brilliant invective, rose from her
+seat and cried:
+
+"We did it--it is true that we did it to get the money, but we did not
+mean to frighten him to death," and then fell fainting to the ground--or
+Geoffrey Bingham's quiet words as he sat down:
+
+"My lord and gentlemen of the jury, I do not think it necessary to carry
+my case any further."
+
+There was no applause, the occasion was too dramatically solemn, but the
+impression made both upon the court and the outside public, to whom such
+a scene is peculiarly fitted to appeal, was deep and lasting.
+
+Geoffrey himself was under little delusion about the matter. He had no
+conceit in his composition, but neither had he any false modesty. He
+merely accepted the situation as really powerful men do accept such
+events--with thankfulness, but without surprise. He had got his chance
+at last, and like any other able man, whatever his walk of life, he had
+risen to it. That was all. Most men get such chances in some shape or
+form, and are unable to avail themselves of them. Geoffrey was one of
+the exceptions; as Beatrice had said, he was born to succeed. As he sat
+down, he knew that he was a made man.
+
+And yet while he walked home that night, his ears still full of the
+congratulations which had rained in on him from every quarter, he was
+conscious of a certain pride. He will have felt as Geoffrey felt that
+night, whose lot it has been to fight long and strenuously against
+circumstances so adverse as to be almost overwhelming, knowing in his
+heart that he was born to lead and not to follow; and who at last, by
+one mental effort, with no friendly hand to help, and no friendly voice
+to guide, has succeeded in bursting a road through the difficulties
+which hemmed him in, and has suddenly found himself, not above
+competition indeed, but still able to meet it. He will not have been
+too proud of that endeavour; it will have seemed but a little thing to
+him--a thing full of faults and imperfections, and falling far short
+of his ideal. He will not even have attached a great importance to his
+success, because, if he is a person of this calibre, he must remember
+how small it is, when all is said and done; that even in his day there
+are those who can beat him on his own ground; and also that all worldly
+success, like the most perfect flower, yet bears in it the elements of
+decay. But he will have reflected with humble satisfaction on those long
+years of patient striving which have at length lifted him to an eminence
+whence he can climb on and on, scarcely encumbered by the jostling
+crowd; till at length, worn out, the time comes for him to fall.
+
+So Geoffrey thought and felt. The thing was to be done, and he had done
+it. Honoria should have money now; she should no longer be able to twit
+him with their poverty. Yes, and a better thought still, Beatrice would
+be glad to hear of his little triumph.
+
+He reached home rather late. Honoria was going out to dinner with a
+distinguished cousin, and was already dressing. Geoffrey had declined
+the invitation, which was a short one, because he had not expected to be
+back from chambers. In this enthusiasm, however, he went to his wife's
+room to tell her of the event.
+
+"Well," she said, "what have you been doing? I think that you might have
+arranged to come out with me. My going out so much by myself does not
+look well. Oh, I forgot; of course you are in that case."
+
+"Yes--that is, I was. I have won the case. Here is a very fair report of
+it in the _St. James's Gazette_ if you care to read it."
+
+"Good heavens, Geoffrey! How can you expect me to read all that stuff
+when I am dressing?"
+
+"I don't expect you to, Honoria; only, as I say, I have won the case,
+and I shall get plenty of work now."
+
+"Will you? I am glad to hear it; perhaps we shall be able to escape
+from this horrid flat if you do. There, Anne! Je vous l'ai toujours dit,
+cette robe ne me va pas bien."
+
+"Mais, milady, la robe va parfaitement----"
+
+"That is your opinion," grumbled Lady Honoria. "Well, it isn't mine. But
+it will have to do. Good-night, Geoffrey; I daresay that you will have
+gone to bed when I get back," and she was gone.
+
+Geoffrey picked up his _St. James's Gazette_ with a sigh. He felt
+hurt, and knew that he was a fool for his pains. Lady Honoria was not a
+sympathetic person; it was not fair to expect it from her. Still he felt
+hurt. He went upstairs and heard Effie her prayers.
+
+"Where has you beed, daddy?--to the Smoky Town?" The Temple was
+euphemistically known to Effie as the Smoky Town.
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"You go to the Smoky Town to make bread and butter, don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, dear, to make bread and butter."
+
+"And did you make any, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, Effie, a good deal to-day."
+
+"Then where is it? In your pocket?"
+
+"No, love, not exactly. I won a big lawsuit to-day, and I shall get a
+great many pennies for it."
+
+"Oh," answered Effie meditatively, "I am glad that you did win. You do
+like to win, doesn't you, daddy, dear."
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"Then I will give you a kiss, daddy, because you did win," and she
+suited the action to the word.
+
+Geoffrey went from the little room with a softened heart. He dressed and
+ate some dinner.
+
+Then he sat down and wrote a long letter to Beatrice, telling her all
+about the trial, and not sparing her his reasons for adopting each
+particular tactic and line of argument which conduced to the great
+result.
+
+And though his letter was four sheets in length, he knew that Beatrice
+would not be bored at having to read it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE RISING STAR
+
+As might be expected, the memorable case of Parsons and Douse proved to
+be the turning point in Geoffrey's career, which was thenceforward one
+of brilliant and startling success. On the very next morning when he
+reached his chambers it was to find three heavy briefs awaiting him, and
+they proved to be but the heralds of an uninterrupted flow of lucrative
+business. Of course, he was not a Queen's Counsel, but now that his
+great natural powers of advocacy had become generally known, solicitors
+frequently employed him alone, or gave him another junior, so that he
+might bring those powers to bear upon juries. Now it was, too, that
+Geoffrey reaped the fruits of the arduous legal studies which he had
+followed without cessation from the time when he found himself thrown
+upon his own resources, and which had made a sound lawyer of him as
+well as a brilliant and effective advocate. Soon, even with his great
+capacity for work, he had as much business as he could attend to. When
+fortune gives good gifts, she generally does so with a lavish hand.
+
+Thus it came to pass that, about three weeks after the trial of Parsons
+and Douse, Geoffrey's uncle the solicitor died, and to his surprise left
+him twenty thousand pounds, "believing," he said in his will, which was
+dated three days before the testator's death, "that this sum will assist
+him to rise to the head of his profession."
+
+Now that it had dawned upon her that her husband really was a success,
+Honoria's manner towards him modified very considerably. She even became
+amiable, and once or twice almost affectionate. When Geoffrey told her
+of the twenty thousand pounds she was radiant.
+
+"Why, we shall be able to go back to Bolton Street now," she said,
+"and as luck will have it, our old house is to let. I saw a bill in the
+window yesterday."
+
+"Yes," he said, "you can go back as soon as you like."
+
+"And can we keep a carriage?"
+
+"No, not yet; I am doing well, but not well enough for that. Next year,
+if I live, you will be able to have a carriage. Don't begin to grumble,
+Honoria. I have got £150 to spare, and if you care to come round to a
+jeweller's you can spend it on what you like."
+
+"Oh, you delightful person!" said his wife.
+
+So they went to the jeweller's, and Lady Honoria bought ornaments to
+the value of £150, and carried them home and hung over them, as another
+class of woman might hang over her first-born child, admiring them with
+a tender ecstasy. Whenever he had a sum of money that he could afford
+to part with, Geoffrey would take her thus to a jeweller's or a
+dressmaker's, and stand by coldly while she bought things to its value.
+Lady Honoria was delighted. It never entered into her mind that in a
+sense he was taking a revenge upon her, and that every fresh exhibition
+of her rejoicings over the good things thus provided added to his
+contempt for her.
+
+Those were happy days for Lady Honoria! She rejoiced in this return of
+wealth like a school-boy at the coming of the holidays, or a half-frozen
+wanderer at the rising of the sun. She had been miserable during all
+this night of poverty, as miserable as her nature admitted of, now
+she was happy again, as she understood happiness. For bred, educated,
+civilized--what you will--out of the more human passions, Lady Honoria
+had replaced them by this idol-worship of wealth, or rather of what
+wealth brings. It gave her a positive physical satisfaction; her
+beauty, which had begun to fade, came back to her; she looked five years
+younger. And all the while Geoffrey watched her with an ever-growing
+scorn.
+
+Once it broke out. The Bolton Street house had been furnished; he gave
+her fifteen hundred pounds to do it, and with what things they owned
+she managed very well on that. They moved into it, and Honoria had set
+herself up with a sufficient supply of grand dresses and jewellery,
+suitable to her recovered position. One day however, it occurred to her
+that Effie was a child of remarkable beauty, who, if properly dressed,
+would look very nice in the drawing-room at tea-time. So she ordered a
+lovely costume for her--this deponent is not able to describe it, but
+it consisted largely of velvet and lace. Geoffrey heard nothing of this
+dress, but coming home rather early one afternoon--it was on a Saturday,
+he found the child being shown off to a room full of visitors, and
+dressed in a strange and wonderful attire with which, not unnaturally,
+she was vastly pleased. He said nothing at the time, but when at length
+the dropping fire of callers had ceased, he asked who put Effie into
+that dress.
+
+"I did," said Lady Honoria, "and a pretty penny it has cost, I can tell
+you. But I can't have the child come down so poorly clothed, it does not
+look well."
+
+"Then she can stay upstairs," said Geoffrey frowning.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked his wife.
+
+"I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes. They
+are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her to take
+to vanity."
+
+"I really don't understand you, Geoffrey. Why should not the child be
+handsomely dressed?"
+
+"Why not! Great heaven, Honoria, do you suppose that I want to see Effie
+grow up like you, to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking idleness, and
+make a god of luxury. I had rather see her"--he was going to add, "dead
+first," but checked himself and said--"have to work for her living.
+Dress yourself up as much as you like, but leave the child alone."
+
+Lady Honoria was furious, but she was also a little frightened. She
+had never heard her husband speak quite like this before, and there was
+something underneath his words that she did not quite understand. Still
+less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly told her
+that he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked; then accompanied
+her to a mantle shop, and stood patiently by, smiling coldly while she
+invested it in lace and embroideries. Honoria thought that he was making
+reparation for his sharp words, and so he was, but to himself, and in
+another sense. Every time he gave her money in this fashion, Geoffrey
+felt like a man who has paid off a debt of honour. She had taunted
+him again and again with her poverty--the poverty she said that he had
+brought her; for every taunt he would heap upon her all those things in
+which her soul delighted. He would glut her with wealth as, in her hour
+of victory, Queen Tomyris glutted dead Cyrus with the blood of men.
+
+It was an odd way of taking a revenge, and one that suited Lady Honoria
+admirably; but though its victim felt no sting, it gave Geoffrey much
+secret relief. Also he was curious; he wished to see if there was
+any bottom to such a woman's desire for luxury, if it would not bring
+satiety with it. But Lady Honoria was a very bad subject for such an
+experiment. She never showed the least sign of being satiated, either
+with fine things, with pleasures, or with social delights. They were her
+natural element, and he might as soon have expected a fish to weary of
+the water, or an eagle of the rushing air.
+
+
+
+The winter wore away and the spring came. One day, it was in April,
+Geoffrey, who was a moderate Liberal by persuasion, casually announced
+at dinner that he was going to stand for Parliament in the Unionist
+interest. The representation of one of the few Metropolitan divisions
+which had then returned a Home Ruler had fallen vacant. As it chanced he
+knew the head Unionist whip very well. They had been friends since they
+were lads at school together, and this gentleman, having heard Geoffrey
+make a brilliant speech in court, was suddenly struck with the idea that
+he was the very man to lead a forlorn hope.
+
+The upshot of it was that Geoffrey was asked if he would stand, and
+replied that he must have two days to think it over. What he really
+wanted the two days for was to enable him to write to Beatrice and
+receive an answer from her. He had an almost superstitious faith in her
+judgment, and did not like to act without it. After carefully weighing
+the pros and cons, his own view was that he should do well to stand.
+Probably he would be defeated, and it might cost him five hundred
+pounds. On the other hand it would certainly make his name known as a
+politician, and he was now in a fair way to earn so large an income that
+he could well afford to risk the money. The only great objection which
+he saw, was that if he happened to get in, it must mean that he would
+have to work all day and all night too. Well, he was strong and the more
+work he did the better--it kept him from thinking.
+
+In due course Beatrice's answer came. Her view coincided with his own;
+she recommended him to take the opportunity, and pointed out that with
+his growing legal reputation there was no office in the State to which
+he might not aspire, when he had once proved himself a capable member of
+Parliament. Geoffrey read the letter through; then immediately sat
+down and wrote to his friend the whip, accepting the suggestion of the
+Government.
+
+The next fortnight was a hard one for him, but Geoffrey was as good a
+man on the platform as in court, and he had, moreover, the very valuable
+knack of suiting himself to his audience. As his canvass went on it was
+generally recognised that the seat which had been considered hopeless
+was now doubtful. A great amount of public interest was concentrated
+on the election, both upon the Unionist and the Separatist side, each
+claiming that the result of the poll would show to their advantage. The
+Home Rule party strained every nerve against him, being most anxious to
+show that the free and independent electors of this single division,
+and therefore of the country at large, held the Government policy in
+particular horror. Letters were obtained from great authorities and
+freely printed. Irish members, fresh from gaol, were brought down to
+detail their grievances. It was even suggested that one of them should
+appear on the platform in prison garb--in short, every electioneering
+engine known to political science was brought to bear to forward the
+fortunes of either side.
+
+As time went on Lady Honoria, who had been somewhat indifferent at
+first, grew quite excited about the result. For one thing she found that
+the contest attached an importance to herself in the eyes of the truly
+great, which was not without its charm. On the day of the poll she drove
+about all day in an open carriage under a bright blue parasol, having
+Effie (who had become very bored) by her side, and two noble lords on
+the front seat. As a consequence the result was universally declared by
+a certain section of the press to be entirely due to the efforts of an
+unprincipled but titled and lovely woman. It was even said that, like
+another lady of rank in a past generation, she kissed a butcher in
+order to win his vote. But those who made the remark did not know Lady
+Honoria; she was incapable of kissing a butcher, or indeed anybody else.
+Her inclinations did not lie in that direction.
+
+In the end Geoffrey was returned by a magnificent majority of ten votes,
+reduced on a scrutiny to seven. He took his seat in the House on the
+following night amidst loud Unionist cheering. In the course of the
+evening's debate a prominent member of the Government made allusion to
+his return as a proof of the triumph of Unionist principles. Thereon a
+very leading member of the Separatist opposition retorted that it was
+nothing of the sort, "that it was a matter of common notoriety that the
+honourable member's return was owing to the unusual and most uncommon
+ability displayed by him in the course of his canvass, aided as it was,
+by artfully applied and aristocratic feminine influence." This was a
+delicate allusion to Honoria and her blue parasol.
+
+As Geoffrey and his wife were driving back to Bolton Street, after the
+declaration of the poll, a little incident occurred. Geoffrey told the
+coachman to stop at the first telegraph office and, getting out of the
+carriage, wired to Beatrice, "In by ten votes."
+
+"Who have you been telegraphing to, Geoffrey?" asked Lady Honoria.
+
+"I telegraphed to Miss Granger," he answered.
+
+"Ah! So you still keep up a correspondence with that pupil teacher
+girl."
+
+"Yes, I do. I wish that I had a few more such correspondents."
+
+"Indeed. You are easy to please. I thought her one of the most
+disagreeable young women whom I ever met."
+
+"Then it does not say much for your taste, Honoria."
+
+His wife made no further remark, but she had her thoughts. Honoria
+possessed good points: among others she was not a jealous person; she
+was too cold and too indifferent to be jealous. But she did not like the
+idea of another woman obtaining an influence over her husband, who, as
+she now began to recognise, was one of the most brilliant men of his
+day, and who might well become one of the most wealthy and powerful.
+Clearly he existed for _her_ benefit, not for that of any other woman.
+She was no fool, and she saw that a considerable intimacy must
+exist between the two. Otherwise Geoffrey would not have thought of
+telegraphing to Beatrice at such a moment.
+
+Within a week of his election Geoffrey made a speech. It was not a long
+speech, nor was it upon any very important issue; but it was exceedingly
+good of its kind, good enough to be reported verbatim indeed, and those
+listening to it recognised that they had to deal with a new man who
+would one day be a very big man. There is no place where an able person
+finds his level quicker than in the House of Commons, composed as it is
+for the most part, of more or less wealthy or frantic mediocrities. But
+Geoffrey was not a mediocrity, he was an exceedingly able and powerful
+man, and this fact the House quickly recognised.
+
+For the next few months Geoffrey worked as men rarely work. All day
+he was at his chambers or in court, and at night he sat in the House,
+getting up his briefs when he could. But he always did get them up;
+no solicitors had to complain that the interests of their client were
+neglected by him; also he still found time to write to Beatrice. For
+the rest he went out but little, and except in the way of business
+associated with very few. Indeed he grew more and more silent and
+reserved, till at last he won the reputation of being cold and hard. Not
+that he was really so. He threw himself head and soul into his work
+with a fixed determination to reach the top of the tree. He knew that he
+should not care very much about it when he got there, but he enjoyed the
+struggle.
+
+Geoffrey was not a truly ambitious man; he was no mere self-seeker.
+He knew the folly of ambition too well, and its end was always clearly
+before his eyes. He often thought to himself that if he could have
+chosen his lot, he would have asked for a cottage with a good garden,
+five hundred a year, and somebody to care for. But perhaps he would soon
+have wearied of his cottage. He worked to stifle thought, and to some
+extent he succeeded. But he was at bottom an affectionate-natured man,
+and he could not stifle the longing for sympathy which was his secret
+weakness, though his pride would never allow him to show it. What did he
+care for his triumphs when he had nobody with whom to share them? All he
+could share were their fruits, and these he gave away freely enough. It
+was but little that Geoffrey spent upon his own gratification. A certain
+share of his gains he put by, the rest went in expenses. The house in
+Bolton Street was a very gay place in those days, but its master took
+but little part in its gaieties.
+
+And what was the fact? The longer he remained separated from Beatrice
+the more intensely did he long for her society. It was of no use; try as
+he would, he could not put that sweet face from his mind; it drew him as
+a magnet draws a needle. Success did not bring him happiness, except in
+the sense that it relieved him from money cares.
+
+People of coarse temperament only can find real satisfaction in worldly
+triumphs, and eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow they die! Men like
+Geoffrey soon learn that this also is vanity. On the contrary, as his
+mind grew more and more wearied with the strain of work, melancholy took
+an ever stronger hold of it. Had he gone to a doctor, he might have been
+told that his liver was out of order, which was very likely true. But
+this would not mend matters. "What a world," he might have cried, "what
+a world to live in when all the man's happiness depends upon his liver!"
+He contracted an accursed habit of looking on the black side of things;
+trouble always caught his eye.
+
+It was no wonderful case. Men of large mind are very rarely happy men.
+It is your little animal-minded individual who can be happy. Thus women,
+who reflect less, are as a class much happier and more contented than
+men. But the large-minded man sees too far, and guesses too much of
+what he cannot see. He looks forward, and notes the dusty end of his
+laborious days; he looks around and shudders at the unceasing misery of
+a coarse struggling world; the sight of the pitiful beggar babe craving
+bread on tottering feet, pierces his heart. He cannot console himself
+with a reflection that the child had no business to be born, or that if
+he denuded himself of his last pound he would not materially help the
+class which bred it.
+
+And above the garish lights of earthly joys and the dim reek of earthly
+wretchedness, he sees the solemn firmament that veils his race's
+destiny. For such a man, in such a mood, even religion has terrors as
+well as hopes, and while the gloom gathers about his mind these are
+with him more and more. What lies beyond that arching mystery to whose
+horizon he daily draws more close--whose doors may even now be opening
+for him? A hundred hands point out a hundred roads to knowledge--they
+are lost half way. Only the cold spiritual firmament, unlit by any
+guiding stars, unbrightened by the flood of human day, and unshadowed
+by the veils of human night, still bends above his head in awful
+changelessness, and still his weary feet draw closer to the portals of
+the West.
+
+It is very sad and wrong, but it is not altogether his fault; it is
+rather a fault of the age, of over-education, of over-striving to be
+wise. Cultivate the searching spirit and it will grow and rend you. The
+spirit would soar, it would see, but the flesh weighs it down, and
+in all flesh there is little light. Yet, at times, brooding on some
+unnatural height of Thought, its eyes seem to be opened, and it catches
+gleams of terrifying days to come, or perchance, discerns the hopeless
+gates of an immeasurable night.
+
+Oh, for that simpler faith which ever recedes farther from the ken of
+the cultivated, questioning mind! There alone can peace be found, and
+for the foolish who discard it, setting up man's wisdom at a sign, soon
+the human lot will be one long fear. Grown scientific and weary with
+the weight of knowledge, they will reject their ancient Gods, and no
+smug-faced Positivism will bring them consolation. Science, here and
+there illumining the gloom of destiny with its poor electric lights,
+cries out that they are guiding stars. But they are no stars, and they
+will flare away. Let us pray for darkness, more darkness, lest, to our
+bewildered sight, they do but serve to show that which shall murder
+Hope.
+
+
+
+So think Geoffrey and his kin, and in their unexpressed dismay, turn,
+seeking refuge from their physical and spiritual loneliness, but for the
+most part finding none. Nature, still strong in them, points to the dear
+fellowship of woman, and they make the venture to find a mate, not
+a companion. But as it chanced in Geoffrey's case he did find such a
+companion in Beatrice, after he had, by marriage, built up an impassable
+wall between them.
+
+And yet he longed for her society with an intensity that alarmed him.
+He had her letters indeed, but what are letters! One touch of a beloved
+hand is worth a thousand letters. In the midst of his great success
+Geoffrey was wretched at heart, yet it seemed to him that if he once
+more could have Beatrice at his side, though only as a friend, he would
+find rest and happiness.
+
+
+
+When a man's heart is thus set upon an object, his reason is soon
+convinced of its innocence, even of its desirability, and a kindly fate
+will generally contrive to give him the opportunity of ruin which he so
+ardently desires.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+GEOFFREY HAS A VISITOR
+
+And Beatrice--had she fared better during these long months? Alas, not
+at all. She had gone away from the Bryngelly Station on that autumn
+morning of farewell sick at heart, and sick at heart she had remained.
+Through all the long winter months sorrow and bitterness had been her
+portion, and now in the happiness of spring, sorrow and bitterness were
+with her still. She loved him, she longed for his presence, and it was
+denied to her. She could not console herself as can some women, nor
+did her deep passion wear away; on the contrary, it seemed to grow and
+gather with every passing week. Neither did she wish to lose it,
+she loved too well for that. It was better to be thus tormented by
+conscience and by hopelessness than to lose her cause of pain.
+
+One consolation Beatrice had and one only: she knew that Geoffrey did
+not forget her. His letters told her this. These letters indeed were
+everything to her--a woman can get so much more comfort out of a letter
+than a man. Next to receiving them she loved to answer them. She was a
+good and even a brilliant letter writer, but often and often she would
+tear up what she had written and begin again. There was not much news
+in Bryngelly; it was difficult to make her letters amusing. Also the
+farcical nature of the whole proceeding seemed to paralyse her. It was
+ridiculous, having so much to say, to be able to say nothing. Not that
+Beatrice wished to indite love-letters--such an idea had never crossed
+her mind, but rather to write as they had talked. Yet when she tried to
+do so the results were not satisfactory to her, the words looked strange
+on paper--she could not send them.
+
+In Geoffrey's meteor-like advance to fame and fortune she took the
+keenest joy and interest, far more than he did indeed. Though, like that
+of most other intelligent creatures, her soul turned with loathing
+from the dreary fustian of politics, she would religiously search the
+parliamentary column from beginning to end on the chance of finding his
+name or the notice of a speech by him. The law reports also furnished
+her with a happy hunting-ground in which she often found her game.
+
+But they were miserable months. To rise in the morning, to go through
+the round of daily duty--thinking of Geoffrey; to come home wearied, and
+finally to seek refuge in sleep and dreams of him--this was the sum of
+them. Then there were other troubles. To begin with, things had gone
+from bad to worse at the Vicarage. The tithes scarcely came in at all,
+and every day their poverty pinched them closer. Had it not been for
+Beatrice's salary it was difficult to see how the family could have
+continued to exist. She gave it almost all to her father now, only
+keeping back a very small sum for her necessary clothing and such
+sundries as stamps and writing paper. Even then, Elizabeth grumbled
+bitterly at her extravagance in continuing to buy a daily paper, asking
+what business she had to spend sixpence a week on such a needless
+luxury. But Beatrice would not make up her mind to dock the paper with
+its occasional mention of Geoffrey.
+
+Again, Owen Davies was a perpetual anxiety to her. His infatuation for
+herself was becoming notorious; everybody saw it except her father. Mr.
+Granger's mind was so occupied with questions connected with tithe that
+fortunately for Beatrice little else could find an entry. Owen dogged
+her about; he would wait whole hours outside the school or by the
+Vicarage gate merely to speak a few words to her. Sometimes when at
+length she appeared he seemed to be struck dumb, he could say nothing,
+but would gaze at her with his dull eyes in a fashion that filled her
+with vague alarm. He never ventured to speak to her of his love indeed,
+but he looked it, which was almost as bad. Another thing was that he
+had grown jealous. The seed which Elizabeth had planted in his mind had
+brought forth abundantly, though of course Beatrice did not know that
+this was her sister's doing.
+
+On the very morning that Geoffrey went away Mr. Davies had met her as
+she was walking back from the station and asked her if Mr. Bingham had
+gone. When she replied that this was so, she had distinctly heard him
+murmur, "Thank God! thank God!" Subsequently she discovered also that he
+bribed the old postman to keep count of the letters which she sent and
+received from Geoffrey.
+
+These things filled Beatrice with alarm, but there was worse behind. Mr.
+Davies began to send her presents, first such things as prize pigeons
+and fowls, then jewellery. The pigeons and fowls she could not well
+return without exciting remark, but the jewellery she sent back by one
+of the school children. First came a bracelet, then a locket with his
+photograph inside, and lastly, a case that, when she opened it, which
+her curiosity led her to do, nearly blinded her with light. It was a
+diamond necklace, and she had never seen such diamonds before, but from
+their size and lustre she knew that each stone must be worth hundreds of
+pounds. Beatrice put it in her pocket and carried it until she met him,
+which she did in the course of that afternoon.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she said before he could speak, and handing him the
+package, "this has been sent to me by mistake. Will you kindly take it
+back?"
+
+He took it, abashed.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she went on, looking him full in the eyes, "I hope that
+there will be no more such mistakes. Please understand that I cannot
+accept presents from you."
+
+"If Mr. Bingham had sent it, you would have accepted it," he muttered
+sulkily.
+
+Beatrice turned and flashed such a look on him that he fell back and
+left her. But it was true, and she knew that it was true. If Geoffrey
+had given her a sixpence with a hole in it, she would have valued it
+more than all the diamonds on earth. Oh! what a position was hers.
+And it was wrong, too. She had no right to love the husband of another
+woman. But right or wrong the fact remained: she did love him.
+
+And the worst of it was that, as she well knew, sooner or later all
+this about Mr. Davies must come to the ears of her father, and then what
+would happen? One thing was certain. In his present poverty-stricken
+condition he would move heaven and earth to bring about her marriage to
+this rich man. Her father never had been very scrupulous where money was
+concerned, and the pinch of want was not likely to make him more so.
+
+Nor, we may be sure, did all this escape the jealous eye of Elizabeth.
+Things looked black for her, but she did not intend to throw up the
+cards on that account. Only it was time to lead trumps. In other words,
+Beatrice must be fatally compromised in the eyes of Owen Davies, if by
+any means this could be brought about. So far things had gone well for
+her schemes. Beatrice and Geoffrey loved each other, of that Elizabeth
+was certain. But the existence of this secret, underhand affection would
+avail her naught unless it could be ripened into acts. Everybody is free
+to indulge in secret predilections, but if once they are given way to,
+if once a woman's character is compromised, then the world avails itself
+of its opportunities and destroys her. What man, thought Elizabeth,
+would marry a compromised woman? If Beatrice could be compromised, Owen
+Davies would not take her to wife--therefore this must be brought about.
+
+It sounds wicked and unnatural. "Impossible that sister should so treat
+sister," the reader of this history may say, thinking of her own, and of
+her affectionate and respectable surroundings. But it is not impossible.
+If you, who doubt, will study the law reports, and no worse occupation
+can be wished to you, you will find that such things are possible.
+Human nature can rise to strange heights, and it can also fall to depths
+beyond your fathoming. Because a thing is without parallel in your own
+small experience it in no way follows that it cannot be.
+
+Elizabeth was a very remorseless person; she was more--she was a woman
+actuated by passion and by greed: the two strongest motives known to the
+human heart. But with her recklessness she united a considerable degree
+of intelligence, or rather of intellect. Had she been a savage she might
+have removed her sister from her path by a more expeditious way; being
+what she was, she merely strove to effect the same end by a method not
+punishable by law, in short, by murdering her reputation. Would she be
+responsible if her sister went wrong, and was thus utterly discredited
+in the eyes of this man who wished to marry her, and whom Elizabeth
+wished to marry? Of course not; that was Beatrice's affair. But she
+could give her every chance of falling into temptation, and this it was
+her fixed design to do.
+
+Circumstances soon gave her an opportunity. The need of money became
+very pressing at the Vicarage. They had literally no longer the
+wherewithal to live. The tithe payers absolutely refused to fulfil
+their obligations. As it happened, Jones, the man who had murdered the
+auctioneer, was never brought to trial. He died shortly after his arrest
+in a fit of _delirium tremens_ and nervous prostration brought on by
+the sudden cessation of a supply of stimulants, and an example was lost,
+that, had he been duly hanged, might have been made of the results of
+defying the law. Mr. Granger was now too poor to institute any further
+proceedings, which, in the state of public feeling in Wales, might or
+might not succeed; he could only submit, and submission meant beggary.
+Indeed he was already a beggar. In this state of affairs he took counsel
+with Elizabeth, pointing out that they must either get money or starve.
+Now the only possible way to get money was by borrowing it, and Mr.
+Granger's suggestion was that he should apply to Owen Davies, who had
+plenty. Indeed he would have done so long ago, but that the squire had
+the reputation of being an exceedingly close-fisted man.
+
+But this proposition did not at all suit Elizabeth's book. Her great
+object had been to conceal Mr. Davies's desires as regards Beatrice from
+her father, and her daily dread was that he might become acquainted with
+them from some outside source. She knew very well that if her father
+went up to the Castle to borrow money it would be lent, or rather given,
+freely enough; but she also knew that the lender would almost certainly
+take the opportunity, the very favourable opportunity, to unfold his
+wishes as regards the borrower's daughter. The one thing would naturally
+lead to the other--the promise of her father's support of Owen's suit
+would be the consideration for the money received. How gladly that
+support would be given was also obvious to her, and with her father
+pushing Beatrice on the one side and Owen Davies pushing her on the
+other, how could Elizabeth be sure that she would not yield? Beatrice
+would be the very person to be carried away by an idea of duty. Their
+father would tell her that he had got the money on this undertaking, and
+it was quite possible that her pride might bring her to fulfil a bond
+thus given, however distasteful the deed might be to her personally. No,
+her father must at all hazards be prevented from seeking assistance from
+Owen Davies. And yet the money must be had from somewhere, or they would
+be ruined.
+
+Ah, she had it--Geoffrey Bingham should lend the money! He could well
+afford it now, and she shrewdly guessed that he would not grudge the
+coat off his back if he thought that by giving it he might directly or
+indirectly help Beatrice. Her father must go up to town to see him, she
+would have no letter-writing; one never knows how a letter may be read.
+He must see Mr. Bingham, and if possible bring him down to Bryngelly. In
+a moment every detail of the plot became clear to Elizabeth's mind, and
+then she spoke.
+
+"You must not go to Mr. Davies, father," she said; "he is a hard man,
+and would only refuse and put you in a false position; you must go to
+Mr. Bingham. Listen: he is rich now, and he is very fond of you and
+of Beatrice. He will lend you a hundred pounds at once. You must go to
+London by the early train to-morrow, and drive straight to his chambers
+and see him. It will cost two pounds to get there and back, but that
+cannot be helped; it is safer than writing, and I am sure that you will
+not go for nothing. And see here, father, bring Mr. Bingham back with
+you for a few days if you can. It will be a little return for his
+kindness, and I know that he is not well. Beatrice had a letter from him
+in which he said that he was so overworked that he thought he must take
+a little rest soon. Bring him back for Whit-Sunday."
+
+Mr. Granger hesitated, demurred, and finally yielded. The weak,
+querulous old farmer clergyman, worn out with many daily cares and quite
+unsupported by mental resources, was but a tool in Elizabeth's able
+hands. He did not indeed feel any humiliation at the idea of trying
+to borrow the cash, for his nature was not finely strung, and money
+troubles had made him callous to the verge of unscrupulousness; but he
+did not like the idea of a journey to London, where he had not been for
+more than twenty years, and the expenditure that it entailed. Still he
+acted as Elizabeth bade him, even to keeping the expedition secret
+from Beatrice. Beatrice, as her sister explained to him, was proud as
+Lucifer, and might raise objections if she knew that he was going to
+London to borrow money of Mr. Bingham. This indeed she would certainly
+have done.
+
+On the following afternoon--it was the Friday before Whit-Sunday, and
+the last day of the Easter sittings--Geoffrey sat in his chambers, in
+the worst possible spirits, thoroughly stale and worn out with work.
+There was a consultation going on, and his client, a pig-headed Norfolk
+farmer, who was bent upon proceeding to trial with some extraordinary
+action for trespass against his own landlord, was present with his
+solicitor. Geoffrey in a few short, clear words had explained the
+absurdity of the whole thing, and strongly advised him to settle, for
+the client had insisted on seeing him, refusing to be put off with a
+written opinion. But the farmer was not satisfied, and the solicitor was
+now endeavouring to let the pure light of law into the darkness of his
+injured soul.
+
+Geoffrey threw himself back in his chair, pushed the dark hair from his
+brow, and pretended to listen. But in a minute his mind was far
+away. Heavens, how tired he was! Well, there would be rest for a few
+days--till Tuesday, when he had a matter that must be attended to--the
+House had risen and so had the courts. What should he do with himself?
+Honoria wished to go and stay with her brother, Lord Garsington,
+and, for a wonder, to take Effie with her. He did not like it, but he
+supposed that he should have to consent. One thing was, _he_ would not
+go. He could not endure Garsington, Dunstan, and all their set. Should
+he run down to Bryngelly? The temptation was very great; that would be
+happiness indeed, but his common sense prevailed against it. No, it was
+better that he should not go there. He would leave Bryngelly alone. If
+Beatrice wished him to come she would have said so, and she had never
+even hinted at such a thing, and if she had he did not think that he
+would have gone. But he lacked the heart to go anywhere else. He would
+stop in town, rest, and read a novel, for Geoffrey, when he found
+time, was not above this frivolous occupation. Possibly, under certain
+circumstances, he might even have been capable of writing one. At that
+moment his clerk entered, and handed him a slip of paper with something
+written on it. He opened it idly and read:
+
+"Revd. Mr. Granger to see you. Told him you were engaged, but he said he
+would wait."
+
+Geoffrey started violently, so violently that both the solicitor and the
+obstinate farmer looked up.
+
+"Tell the gentleman that I will see him in a minute," he said to the
+retreating clerk, and then, addressing the farmer, "Well, sir, I have
+said all that I have to say. I cannot advise you to continue this
+action. Indeed, if you wish to do so, you must really direct your
+solicitor to retain some other counsel, as I will not be a party to what
+can only mean a waste of money. Good afternoon," and he rose.
+
+The farmer was convoyed out grumbling. In another moment Mr. Granger
+entered, dressed in a somewhat threadbare suit of black, and his thin
+white hair hanging, as usual, over his eyes. Geoffrey glanced at him
+with apprehension, and as he did so noticed that he had aged greatly
+during the last seven months. Had he come to tell him some ill news of
+Beatrice--that she was ill, or dead, or going to be married?
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Granger?" he said, as he stretched out his hand, and
+controlling his voice as well as he could. "How are you? This is a most
+unexpected pleasure."
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" answered the old man, while he seated
+himself nervously in a chair, placing his hat with a trembling hand
+upon the floor beside him. "Yes, thank you, I am pretty well, not very
+grand--worn out with trouble as the sparks fly upwards," he added, with
+a vague automatic recollection of the scriptural quotation.
+
+"I hope that Miss Elizabeth and Be--that your daughters are well also,"
+said Geoffrey, unable to restrain his anxiety.
+
+"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Bingham. Elizabeth isn't very grand either,
+complains of a pain in her chest, a little bilious perhaps--she always
+is bilious in the spring."
+
+"And Miss Beatrice?"
+
+"Oh, I think she's well--very quiet, you know, and a little pale,
+perhaps; but she is always quiet--a strange woman Beatrice, Mr. Bingham,
+a very strange woman, quite beyond me! I do not understand her, and
+don't try to. Not like other women at all, takes no pleasure in things
+seemingly; curious, with her good looks--very curious. But nobody
+understands Beatrice."
+
+Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. "And how are tithes being paid, Mr.
+Granger? not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died in
+prison."
+
+Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at
+random; the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him. What
+did interest him was this money question. Nor was it very wonderful;
+the poor narrow-minded old man had thought about money till he could
+scarcely find room for anything else, indeed nothing else really touched
+him closely. He broke into a long story of his wrongs, and, drawing
+a paper from his breast pocket, with shaking finger pointed out to
+Geoffrey how that his clerical income for the last six months had been
+at the rate of only forty pounds a year, upon which sum even a Welsh
+clergyman could not consider himself passing rich. Geoffrey listened and
+sympathised; then came a pause.
+
+"That's how we've been getting on at Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham," Mr.
+Granger said presently, "starving, pretty well starving. It's only you
+who have been making money; we've been sitting on the same dock-leaf
+while you have become a great man. If it had not been for Beatrice's
+salary--she's behaved very well about the salary, has Beatrice--I am
+sure I don't understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she
+keeps; I know that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter,
+because she got a cough from it--we should have been in the workhouse,
+and that's where we shall be yet," and he rubbed the back of his
+withered hand across his eyes.
+
+Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe
+herself--Beatrice shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak
+while _he_ lived in luxury! It made him sick to think of it. For a
+moment he could say nothing.
+
+"I have come here--I've come," went on the old man in a broken voice,
+broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear
+lest it should be refused, "to ask you if you could lend me a little
+money. I don't know where to turn, I don't indeed, or I would not do it,
+Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could lend
+me a hundred pounds I'd give you note of hand for it and try to pay
+it back little by little; we might take twenty pounds a year from
+Beatrice's salary----"
+
+"Don't, please--do not talk of such a thing!" ejaculated the horrified
+Geoffrey. "Where the devil is my cheque-book? Oh, I know, I left it in
+Bolton Street. Here, this will do as well," and he took up a draft note
+made out to his order, and, rapidly signing his name on the back of it,
+handed it to Mr. Granger. It was in payment of the fees in the great
+case of Parsons and Douse and some other matters. Mr. Granger took the
+draft, and, holding it close to his eyes, glanced at the amount; it was
+£200.
+
+"But this is double what I asked for," he said doubtfully. "Am I to
+return you £100?"
+
+"No, no," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that you have some debts to pay.
+Thank Heaven, I can get on very well and earn more money than I want.
+Not enough clothing--it is shocking to think of!" he added, more to
+himself than to his listener.
+
+The old man rose, his eyes full of tears. "God bless you," he said,
+"God bless you. I do not know how to thank you--I don't indeed," and he
+caught Geoffrey's hand between his trembling palms and pressed it.
+
+"Please do not say any more, Mr. Granger; it really is only a matter of
+mutual obligation. No, no, I don't want any note of hand. If I were
+to die it might be used against you. You can pay me whenever it is
+convenient."
+
+"You are too good, Mr. Bingham," said the old clergyman. "Where could
+another man be found who would lend me £200 without security?" (where
+indeed!) "By the way," he added, "I forgot; my mind is in such a whirl.
+Will you come back with me for a few days to Bryngelly? We shall all be
+so pleased if you can. Do come, Mr. Bingham; you look as though you want
+a change, you do indeed."
+
+Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the desk. But half an hour before
+he had made up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And now----The vision
+of Beatrice rose before his eyes. Beatrice who had gone cold all winter
+and never told him one word of their biting poverty--the longing for the
+sight of Beatrice came into his heart, and like a hurricane swept the
+defences of his reason to the level ground. Temptation overwhelmed him;
+he no longer struggled against it. He must see her, if it was only to
+say good-bye.
+
+"Thank you," he said quietly, lifting his bowed head. "Yes, I have
+nothing particular to do for the next day or two. I think that I will
+come. When do you go back?"
+
+"Well, I thought of taking the night mail, but I feel so tired. I really
+don't know. I think I shall go by the nine o'clock train to-morrow."
+
+"That will suit me very well," said Geoffrey; "and now what are you
+going to do to-night? You had better come and dine and sleep at my
+house. No dress clothes? Oh, never mind; there are some people coming
+but they won't care; a clergyman is always dressed. Come along and I
+will get that draft cashed. The bank is shut, but I can manage it."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+BACK AT BRYNGELLY
+
+Geoffrey and Mr. Granger reached Bolton Street about six o'clock.
+The drawing-room was still full of callers. Lady Honoria's young men
+mustered in great force in those days. They were very inoffensive young
+men and Geoffrey had no particular objection to them. Only he found
+it difficult to remember all their names. When Geoffrey entered the
+drawing-room there were no fewer than five of them, to say nothing of
+two stray ladies, all superbly dressed and sitting metaphorically at
+Honoria's very pretty feet. Otherwise their contributions to the general
+store of amusement did not amount to much, for her ladyship did most of
+the talking.
+
+Geoffrey introduced Mr. Granger, whom Honoria could not at first
+remember. Nor did she receive the announcement that he was going to dine
+and stay the night with any particular enthusiasm. The young men melted
+away at Geoffrey's advent like mists before a rising sun. He greeted
+them civilly enough, but with him they had nothing in common. To tell
+the truth they were a little afraid of him. This man with his dark
+handsome face sealed with the stamp of intellect, his powerful-looking
+form (ill dressed, according to their standard) and his great and
+growing reputation, was a person with whom they had no sympathy, and
+who, they felt, had no sympathy with them. We talk as though there is
+one heaven and one hell for all of us, but here must be some mistake. An
+impassable gulf yawns between the different classes of mankind. What has
+such a man as Geoffrey to do with the feeble male and female butterflies
+of a London drawing-room? There is only one link between them: they live
+on the same planet.
+
+When the fine young men and the two stray ladies had melted away,
+Geoffrey took Mr. Granger up to his room. Coming downstairs again he
+found Lady Honoria waiting for him in the study.
+
+"Is that individual really going to dine and sleep here?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly, Honoria, and he has brought no dress clothes," he answered.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey, it is too bad of you," said the lady with some
+pardonable irritation. "Why do you bring people to dinner in this
+promiscuous way? It will quite upset the table. Just fancy asking an old
+Welsh clergyman to dine, who has not the slightest pretensions to being
+a gentleman, when one has the Prime Minister and a Bishop coming--and a
+clergyman without dress clothes too. What has he come for?"
+
+"He came to see me on business, and as to the people coming to dinner,
+if they don't like it they can grumble when they go home. By the way,
+Honoria, I am going down to Wales for a day or two to-morrow. I want a
+change."
+
+"Indeed! Going to see the lovely Beatrice, I suppose. You had better be
+careful, Geoffrey. That girl will get you into a mess, and if she does
+there are plenty of people who are ready to make an example of you. You
+have enemies enough, I can tell you. I am not jealous, it is not in my
+line, but you are too intimate with that girl, and you will be sorry for
+it one day."
+
+"Nonsense," said Geoffrey angrily, but nevertheless he felt that Lady
+Honoria's words were words of truth. It struck him, moreover, that she
+must feel this strongly, or she would not have spoken in that tone.
+Honoria did not pose as a household philosopher. Still he would not draw
+back now. His heart was set on seeing Beatrice.
+
+"Am I to understand," went on his wife, "that you still object to my
+staying with the Garsingtons? I think it is a little hard if I do not
+make a fuss about your going to see your village paragon, that you
+should refuse to allow me to visit my own brother."
+
+Geoffrey felt that he was being bargained with. It was degrading, but in
+the extremity of his folly he yielded.
+
+"Go if you like," he said shortly, "but if you take Effie, mind she is
+properly looked after, that is all," and he abruptly left the room.
+
+Lady Honoria looked after him, slowly nodding her handsome head. "Ah,"
+she said to herself, "I have found out how to manage you now. You
+have your weak point like other people, Master Geoffrey--and it spells
+Beatrice. Only you must not go too far. I am not jealous, but I am not
+going to have a scandal for fifty Beatrices. I will not allow you to
+lose your reputation and position. Just imagine a man like that pining
+for a village girl--she is nothing more! And they talk about his being
+so clever. Well, he always liked ladies' society; that is his failing,
+and now he has burnt his fingers. They all do sooner or later,
+especially these clever men. The women flatter them, that's it. Of
+course the girl is trying to get hold of him, and she might do worse,
+but so surely as my name is Honoria Bingham I will put a spoke in her
+wheel before she has done. Bah! and they laugh at the power of women
+when a man like Geoffrey, with all the world to lose, grows love-sick
+for a pretty face; it is a _very_ pretty face by the way. I do believe
+that if I were out of the way he would marry her. But I am in the way,
+and mean to stay there. Well, it is time to dress for dinner. I only
+hope that old clown of a clergyman won't do something ridiculous. I
+shall have to apologise for him."
+
+Dinner-time had come; it was a quarter past eight, and the room was
+filled with highly bred people all more or less distinguished. Mr.
+Granger had duly appeared, arrayed in his threadbare black coat,
+relieved, however, by a pair of Geoffrey's dress shoes. As might have
+been expected, the great folk did not seem surprised at his presence,
+or to take any particular notice of his attire, the fact being that such
+people never are surprised. A Zulu chief in full war dress would only
+excite a friendly interest in their breasts. On the contrary they
+recognised vaguely that the old gentleman was something out of the
+common run, and as such worth cultivating. Indeed the Prime Minister,
+hearing casually that he was a clergyman from Wales, asked to be
+introduced to him, and at once fell into conversation about tithes, a
+subject of which Mr. Granger was thoroughly master.
+
+Presently they went down to dinner, Mr. Granger escorting the wife
+of the Bishop, a fat and somewhat apoplectic lady, blessed with an
+excellent appetite. On his other side was the Prime Minister, and
+between the two he got on very well, especially after a few glasses of
+wine. Indeed, both the apoplectic wife of the Bishop and the head of Her
+Majesty's Government were subsequently heard to declare that Mr. Granger
+was a very entertaining person. To the former he related with much
+detail how his daughter had saved their host's life, and to the latter
+he discoursed upon the subject of tithes, favouring him with his ideas
+of what legislation was necessary to meet the question. Somewhat to his
+own surprise, he found that his views were received with attention and
+even with respect. In the main, too, they received the support of the
+Bishop, who likewise felt keenly on the subject of tithes. Never before
+had Mr. Granger had such a good dinner nor mingled with company so
+distinguished. He remembered both till his dying day.
+
+Next morning Geoffrey and Mr. Granger started before Lady Honoria
+was up. Into the details of their long journey to Wales (in a crowded
+third-class carriage) we need not enter. Geoffrey had plenty to think
+of, but his fears had vanished, as fears sometimes do when we draw near
+to the object of them, and had been replaced by a curious expectancy. He
+saw now, or thought he saw, that he had been making a mountain out of
+a molehill. Probably it meant nothing at all. There was no real danger.
+Beatrice liked him, no doubt; possibly she had even experienced a fit of
+tenderness towards him. Such things come and such things go. Time is a
+wonderful healer of moral distempers, and few young ladies endure the
+chains of an undesirable attachment for a period of seven whole months.
+It made him almost blush to think that this might be so, and that the
+gratuitous extension of his misfortune to Beatrice might be nothing more
+than the working of his own unconscious vanity--a vanity which, did she
+know of it, would move her to angry laughter.
+
+He remembered how once, when he was quite a young fellow, he had been
+somewhat smitten with a certain lady, who certainly, if he might judge
+from her words and acts, reciprocated the sentiment. And he remembered
+also, how when he met that lady some months afterwards she treated him
+with a cold indifference, indeed almost with an insolence, that quite
+bewildered him, making him wonder how the same person could show in such
+different lights, till at length, mortified and ashamed by his mistake,
+he had gone away in a rage and seen her face no more. Of course he had
+set it down to female infidelity; he had served her turn, she had made
+a fool of him, and that was all she wanted. Now he might enjoy
+his humiliation. It did not occur to him that it might be simple
+"cussedness," to borrow an energetic American term, or that she had not
+really changed, but was angry with him for some reason which she did
+not choose to show. It is difficult to weigh the motives of women in the
+scales of male experience, and many other men besides Geoffrey have
+been forced to give up the attempt and to console themselves with the
+reflection that the inexplicable is generally not worth understanding.
+
+Yes, probably it would be the same case over again. And yet, and
+yet--was Beatrice of that class? Had she not too much of a man's
+straightforwardness of aim to permit her to play such tricks? In the
+bottom of his soul he thought that she had, but he would not admit it
+to himself. The fact of the matter was that, half unknowingly, he was
+trying to drug his conscience. He knew that in his longing to see her
+dear face once more he had undertaken a dangerous thing. He was about to
+walk with her over an abyss on a bridge which might bear them, or--might
+break. So long as he walked there alone it would be well, but would it
+bear them _both?_ Alas for the frailty of human nature, this was the
+truth; but he would not and did not acknowledge it. He was not going
+to make love to Beatrice, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of her
+society. In friendship there could be no harm.
+
+It is not difficult thus to still the qualms of an uneasy mind, more
+especially when the thing in question at its worst is rather an offence
+against local custom than against natural law. In many countries of the
+world--in nearly all countries, indeed, at different epochs of their
+history--it would have been no wrong that Geoffrey and Beatrice should
+love each other, and human nature in strong temptation is very apt to
+override artificial barriers erected to suit the convenience or promote
+the prosperity of particular sections of mankind. But, as we have heard,
+even though all things may be lawful, yet all things are not expedient.
+To commit or even to condone an act because the principle that stamps it
+as wrong will admit of argument on its merits is mere sophistry, by the
+aid of which we might prove ourselves entitled to defy the majority
+of laws of all calibres. Laws vary to suit the generations, but each
+generation must obey its own, or confusion will ensue. A deed should
+be judged by its fruits; it may even be innocent in itself, yet if its
+fruits are evil the doer in a sense is guilty.
+
+Thus in some countries to mention the name of your mother-in-law entails
+the most unpleasant consequences on that intimate relation. Nobody can
+say that to name the lady is a thing wicked in itself; yet the man who,
+knowing the penalties which will ensue, allows himself, even in a fit of
+passion against that relative, to violate the custom and mention her by
+name is doubtless an offender. Thus, too, the result of an entanglement
+between a woman and a man already married generally means unhappiness
+and hurt to all concerned, more especially to the women, whose prospects
+are perhaps irretrievably injured thereby. It is useless to point to
+the example of the patriarchs, some foreign royal families, and many
+respectable Turks; it is useless to plead that the love is deep and
+holy love, for which a man or woman might well live and die, or to show
+extenuating circumstances in the fact of loneliness, need of sympathy,
+and that the existing marriage is a hollow sham. The rule is clear. A
+man may do most things except cheat at cards or run away in action; a
+woman may break half-a-dozen hearts, or try to break them, and finally
+put herself up at auction and take no harm at all--but neither of them
+may in any event do _this_.
+
+Not that Geoffrey, to do him justice, had any such intentions. Most
+men are incapable of plots of that nature. If they fall, it is when the
+voice of conscience is lost in the whirlwind of passion, and counsel
+is darkened by the tumultuous pleadings of the heart. Their sin is
+that they will, most of them, allow themselves to be put in positions
+favourable to the development of these disagreeable influences. It is
+not safe to light cigarettes in a powder factory. If Geoffrey had done
+what he ought to have done, he would never have gone to Bryngelly, and
+there would have been no story to tell, or no more than there usually
+is.
+
+
+
+At length Mr. Granger and his guest reached Bryngelly; there was nobody
+to meet them, for nobody knew that they were coming, so they walked up
+to the Vicarage. It was strange to Geoffrey once more to pass by the
+little church through those well-remembered, wind-torn pines and see
+that low long house. It seemed wonderful that all should still be just
+as it was, that there should be no change at all, when he himself had
+seen so much. There was Beatrice's home; where was Beatrice?
+
+He passed into the house like a man in a dream. In another moment he
+was in the long parlour where he had spent so many happy hours, and
+Elizabeth was greeting him. He shook hands with her, and as he did so,
+noticed vaguely that she too was utterly unchanged. Her straw-coloured
+hair was pushed back from the temples in the same way, the mouth wore
+the same hard smile, her light eyes shone with the same cold look; she
+even wore the same brown dress. But she appeared to be very pleased to
+see him, as indeed she was, for the game looked well for Elizabeth. Her
+father kissed her hurriedly, and bustled from the room to lock up his
+borrowed cash, leaving them together.
+
+Somehow Geoffrey's conversational powers failed him. Where was Beatrice?
+she ought to be back from school. It was holiday time indeed. Could she
+be away?
+
+He made an effort, and remarked absently that things seemed very
+unchanged at Bryngelly.
+
+"You are looking for Beatrice," said Elizabeth, answering his thought
+and not his words. "She has gone out walking, but I think she will be
+back soon. Excuse me, but I must go and see about your room."
+
+Geoffrey hung about a little, then he lit his pipe and strolled down to
+the beach, with a vague unexpressed idea of meeting Beatrice. He did not
+meet Beatrice, but he met old Edward, who knew him at once.
+
+"Lord, sir," he said, "it's queer to see you here again, specially when
+I thinks as how I saw you first, and you a dead 'un to all purposes,
+with your mouth open, and Miss Beatrice a-hanging on to your hair fit
+to pull your scalp off. You never was nearer old Davy than you was
+that night, sir, nor won't be. And now you've been spared to become a
+Parliament man, I hears, and much good may you do there--it will take
+all your time, sir--and I think, sir, that I should like to drink your
+health."
+
+Geoffrey put his hand in his pocket and gave the old man a sovereign. He
+could afford to do so now.
+
+"Does Miss Beatrice go out canoeing now?" he asked while Edward mumbled
+his astonished thanks.
+
+"At times, sir--thanking you kindly; it ain't many suvrings as comes my
+way--though I hate the sight on it, I do. I'd like to stave a hole in
+the bottom of that there cranky concern; it ain't safe, and that's the
+fact. There'll be another accent out of it one of these fine days and
+no coming to next time. But, Lord bless you, it's her way of pleasuring
+herself. She's a queer un is Miss Beatrice, and she gets queerer and
+queerer, what with their being so tight screwed up at the Vicarage, no
+tithes and that, and one thing and another. Not but what I'm thinking,
+sir," he added in a portentous whisper, "as the squire has got summut to
+do with it. He's a courting of her, he is; he's as hard after her as a
+dog fish after a stray herring, and why she can't just say yes and marry
+him I'm sure I don't know."
+
+"Perhaps she doesn't like him," said Geoffrey coldly.
+
+"May be, sir, may be; maids all have their fancies, in whatsoever walk
+o' life it has pleased God to stick 'em, but it's a wonderful pity, it
+is. He ain't no great shakes, he ain't, but he's a sound man--no girl
+can't want a sounder--lived quiet all his days you see, sir, and what's
+more he's got the money, and money's tight up at the Vicarage, sir. Gals
+must give up their fancies sometimes, sir. Lord! a brace of brats and
+she'd forget all about 'em. I'm seventy years old and I've seen their
+ways, sir, though in a humble calling. You should say a word to her,
+sir; she'd thank you kindly five years after. You'd do her a good turn,
+sir, you would, and not a bad un as the saying goes, and give it the
+lie--no, beg your pardon, that is the other way round--she's bound to
+do you the bad turn having saved your life, though I don't see how she
+could do that unless, begging your pardon, she made you fall in love
+with her, being married, which though strange wouldn't be wunnerful
+seeing what she is and seeing how I has been in love with her myself
+since she was seven, old missus and all, who died eight years gone and
+well rid of the rheumatics."
+
+Beatrice was one of the few subjects that could unlock old Edward's
+breast, and Geoffrey retired before his confusing but suggestive
+eloquence. Hurriedly bidding the old man good-night he returned to the
+house, and leaning on the gate watched the twilight dying on the bosom
+of the west.
+
+Suddenly, a bunch of wild roses in her girdle, Beatrice emerged from the
+gathering gloom and stood before him face to face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE THIRD APPEAL
+
+Face to face they stood, while at the vision of her sweetness his heart
+grew still. Face to face, and the faint light fell upon her tender
+loveliness and died in her deep eyes, and the faint breeze fragrant with
+the breath of pines gently stirred her hair. Oh, it was worth living to
+see her thus!
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said in a puzzled tone, stepping forward to
+pass the gate.
+
+"_Beatrice!_"
+
+She gave a little cry, and clutched the railing, else she would have
+fallen. One moment she stayed so, looking up towards his face that was
+hid in the deepening shadow--looking with wild eyes of hope and fear and
+love.
+
+"Is it you," she said at length, "or another dream?"
+
+"It is I, Beatrice!" he answered, amazed.
+
+She recovered herself with an effort.
+
+"Then why did you frighten me so?" she asked. "It was unkind--oh, I did
+not mean to say anything cross. What did I say? I forget. I am so glad
+that you have come!" and she put her hand to her forehead and looked at
+him again as one might gaze at a ghost from the grave.
+
+"Did you not expect me?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+"Expect you? no. No more than I expected----" and she stopped suddenly.
+
+"It is very odd," he said; "I thought you knew that your father was
+going to ask me down. I returned from London with him."
+
+"From London," she murmured. "I did not know; Elizabeth did not tell me
+anything about it. I suppose that she forgot."
+
+"Here I am at any rate, and how are you?"
+
+"Oh, well now, quite well. There, I am all right again. It is very wrong
+to frighten people in that way, Mr. Bingham," she added in her usual
+voice. "Let me pass through the gate and I will shake hands with
+you--if," she added, in a tone of gentle mockery, "one may shake hands
+with so great a man. But I told you how it would be, did I not, just
+before we were drowned together, you know? How is Effie?"
+
+"Effie flourishes," he answered. "Do you know, you do not look very
+grand. Your father told me that you had a cold in the winter," and
+Geoffrey shivered as he thought of the cause.
+
+"Oh, thank you, I have nothing to complain of. I am strong and well. How
+long do you stay here?"
+
+"Not long. Perhaps till Tuesday morning, perhaps till Monday."
+
+Beatrice sighed. Happiness is short. She had not brought him here, she
+would not have lifted a finger to bring him here, but since he had come
+she wished that he was going to stay longer.
+
+"It is supper time," she said; "let us go in."
+
+So they went in and ate their supper. It was a happy meal. Mr. Granger
+was in almost boisterous spirits. It is wonderful what a difference the
+possession of that two hundred pounds made in his demeanour; he seemed
+another man. It was true that a hundred of it must go in paying debts,
+but a hundred would be left, which meant at least a year's respite for
+him. Elizabeth, too, relaxed her habitual grimness; the two hundred
+pounds had its influence on her also, and there were other genial
+influences at work in her dark secret heart. Beatrice knew nothing of
+the money and sat somewhat silent, but she too was happy with the wild
+unreal happiness that sometimes visits us in dreams.
+
+As for Geoffrey, if Lady Honoria could have seen him she would have
+stared in astonishment. Of late he had been a very silent man, many
+people indeed had found him a dull companion. But under the influence
+of Beatrice's presence he talked and talked brilliantly. Perhaps he was
+unconsciously striving to show at his very best before her, as a man
+naturally does in the presence of a woman whom he loves. So brilliantly
+did he talk that at last they all sat still and listened to him, and
+they might have been worse employed.
+
+At length supper was done, and Elizabeth retired to her room. Presently,
+too, Mr. Granger was called out to christen a sick baby and went
+grumbling, and they were left alone. They sat in the window-place and
+looked out at the quiet night.
+
+"Tell me about yourself," said Beatrice.
+
+So he told her. He narrated all the steps by which he had reached
+his present position, and showed her how from it he might rise to the
+topmost heights of all. She did not look at him, and did not answer
+him, but once when he paused, thinking that he had talked enough about
+himself, she said, "Go on; tell me some more."
+
+At last he had told her all.
+
+"Yes," she said, "you have the power and the opportunity, and you will
+one day be among the foremost men of your generation."
+
+"I doubt it," he said with a sigh. "I am not ambitious. I only work for
+the sake of work, not for what it will bring. One day I daresay that I
+shall weary of it all and leave it. But while I do work, I like to be
+among the first in my degree."
+
+"Oh, no," she answered, "you must not give it up; you must go on and on.
+Promise me," she continued, looking at him for the first time--"promise
+me that while you have health and strength you will persevere till you
+stand alone and quite pre-eminent. Then you can give it up."
+
+"Why should I promise you this, Beatrice?"
+
+"Because I ask it of you. Once I saved your life, Mr. Bingham, and it
+gives me some little right to direct its course. I wish that the man
+whom I saved to the world should be among the first men in the world,
+not in wealth, which is an accident, but in intellect and force. Promise
+me this and I shall be happy."
+
+"I promise you," he said, "I promise that I will try to rise because you
+ask it, not because the prospect attracts me; but as he spoke his heart
+was wrung. It was bitter to hear her speak thus of a future in which
+she would have no share, which, as her words implied, would be a thing
+utterly apart from her, as much apart as though she were dead.
+
+"Yes," he said again, "you gave me my life, and it makes me very unhappy
+to think that I can give you nothing in return. Oh, Beatrice, I will
+tell you what I have never told to any one. I am lonely and wretched.
+With the exception of yourself, I do not think that there is anybody who
+really cares for--I mean who really sympathises with me in the world.
+I daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a humiliating thing to
+say, and, in a fashion, a selfish thing. I never should have said it to
+any living soul but you. What is the use of being great when there is
+nobody to work for? Things might have been different, but the world is a
+hard place. If you--if you----"
+
+At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the
+tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it. Then
+there was a moment's pause, and very gently she drew her hand away and
+thrust it in her bosom.
+
+"You have your wife to share your fortune," she said; "you have Effie to
+inherit it, and you can leave your name to your country."
+
+Then came a heavy pause.
+
+"And you," he said, breaking it, "what future is there for you?"
+
+She laughed softly. "Women have no future and they ask none. At least I
+do not now, though once I did. It is enough for them if they can ever
+so little help the lives of others. That is their happiness, and their
+reward is--rest."
+
+
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his christening, and Beatrice rose
+and went to bed.
+
+"Looks a little pale, doesn't she, Mr. Bingham?" said her father. "I
+think she must be troubled in her mind. The fact is--well, there is no
+reason why I should not tell you; she thinks so much of you, and you
+might say a word to brighten her up--well, it's about Mr. Davies. I
+fancy, you know, that she likes him and is vexed because he does not
+come forward. Well, you see--of course I may be mistaken, but I have
+sometimes thought that he may. I have seen him look as if he was
+thinking of it, though of course it is more than Beatrice has got any
+right to expect. She's only got herself and her good looks to give him,
+and he's a rich man. Think of it, Mr. Bingham," and the old gentleman
+turned up his eyes piously, "just think what a thing it would be for
+her, and indeed for all of us, if it should please God to send a chance
+like that in her way; she would be rich for life, and such a position!
+But it is possible; one never knows; he might take a fancy to her. At
+any rate, Mr. Bingham, I think you could cheer her up a little; there is
+no need for her to give up hope yet."
+
+Geoffrey burst into a short grim laugh. The idea of Beatrice languishing
+for Owen Davies, indeed the irony of the whole position, was too much
+for his sense of humour.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I daresay that it might be a good match for her, but I
+do not know how she would get on with Mr. Davies."
+
+"Get on! why, well enough, of course. Women are soft, and can squeeze
+into most holes, especially if they are well lined. Besides, he may be
+a bit heavy, but I think she is pining for him, and it's a pity that
+she should waste her life like that. What, are you going to bed? Well,
+good-night--good-night."
+
+Geoffrey did go to bed, but not to sleep. For a long while he lay awake,
+thinking. He thought of the last night which he had spent in this little
+room, of its strange experiences, of all that had happened since, and
+of the meeting of to-day. Could he, after that meeting, any longer
+doubt what were the feelings with which Beatrice regarded him? It was
+difficult to so, and yet there was still room for error. Then he thought
+of what old Edward had said to him, and of what Mr. Granger had said
+with reference to Beatrice and Owen Davies. The views of both were
+crudely and even vulgarly expressed, but they coincided, and, what was
+more, there was truth in them, and he knew it. The idea of Beatrice
+marrying Mr. Davies, to put it mildly, was repulsive to him; but had he
+any claim to stand between her and so desirable a settlement in life?
+Clearly, he had not, his conscience told him so.
+
+Could it be right, moreover, that this kind of tie which existed between
+them should be knitted more closely? What would it mean? Trouble, and
+nothing but trouble, more especially to Beatrice, who would fret her
+days away to no end. He had done wrong in coming here at all, he had
+done wrong in taking her hand. He would make the only reparation in his
+power (as though in such a case as that of Beatrice reparation were now
+possible)! He would efface himself from her life and see her no more.
+Then she might learn to forget him, or, at the worst, to remember him
+with but a vague regret. Yes, cost what it might, he would force himself
+to do it before any actual mischief ensued. The only question was,
+should he not go further? Should he not tell her that she would do well
+to marry Mr. Davies?
+
+Pondering over this most painful question, at last he went to sleep.
+
+When men in Geoffrey's unhappy position turn penitent and see the error
+of their ways, the prudent resolves that ensue are apt to overshoot the
+mark and to partake of an aggressive nature. Not satisfied with leaving
+things alone, they must needs hasten to proclaim their new-found virtue
+to the partner of their fault, and advertise their infallible specific
+(to be taken by the partner) for restoring the _status quo ante_.
+Sometimes as a consequence of this pious zeal they find themselves
+misunderstood, or even succeed in precipitating the catastrophe which
+they laudably desire to prevent.
+
+
+
+The morrow was Whit-Sunday, and a day that Geoffrey had occasion to
+remember for the rest of his life. They all met at breakfast and shortly
+afterwards went to church, the service being at half-past ten. By way
+of putting into effect the good resolutions with which he was so busy
+paving an inferno of his own, Geoffrey did not sit by Beatrice, but took
+a seat at the end of the little church, close to the door, and tried to
+console himself by looking at her.
+
+It was a curious sullen-natured day, and although there was not very
+much sun the air was as hot as though they were in midsummer. Had they
+been in a volcanic region, Geoffrey would have thought that such weather
+preceded a shock of earthquake. As it was he knew that the English
+climate was simply indulging itself at the expense of the population.
+But as up to the present, the season had been cold, this knowledge did
+not console him. Indeed he felt so choked in the stuffy little church
+that just before the sermon (which he happened to be aware was _not_
+written by Beatrice) he took an opportunity to slip out unobserved. Not
+knowing where to go, he strolled down to the beach, on which there
+was nobody to be seen, for, as has been observed, Bryngelly slept on
+Sundays. Presently, however, a man approached walking rapidly, and to
+all appearance aimlessly, in whom he recognised Owen Davies. He was
+talking to himself while he walked, and swinging his arms. Geoffrey
+stepped aside to let him pass, and as he did so was surprised and even
+shocked to see the change in the man. His plump healthy-looking face had
+grown thin, and wore a half sullen, half pitiful expression; there were
+dark circles round his blue eyes, once so placid, and his hair would
+have been the better for cutting. Geoffrey wondered if he had had an
+illness. At that moment Owen chanced to look round and saw him.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" he said. "I heard that you were here. They
+told me at the station last night. You see this is a small place and one
+likes to know who comes and goes," he added as though in excuse.
+
+He walked on and Geoffrey walked with him.
+
+"You do not look well, Mr. Davies," he said. "Have you been laid up?"
+
+"No, no," he answered, "I am quite right; it is only my mind that is
+ill."
+
+"Indeed," said Geoffrey, thinking that he certainly did look strange.
+"Perhaps you live too much alone and it depresses you."
+
+"Yes, I live alone, because I can't help myself. What is a man to do,
+Mr. Bingham, when the woman he loves will not marry him, won't look at
+him, treats him like dirt?"
+
+"Marry somebody else," suggested Geoffrey.
+
+"Oh, it is easy for you to say that--you have never loved anybody, and
+you don't understand. I cannot marry anybody else, I want her only."
+
+"Her? Whom?"
+
+"Who! why, Beatrice--whom else could a man want to marry, if once he had
+seen her. But she will not have me; she hates me."
+
+"Really," said Geoffrey.
+
+"Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell
+you," and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoarsely in his ear:
+"Because she loves _you_, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies," said Geoffrey shaking his arm free,
+"I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off your head."
+
+"Don't be angry with me," he answered. "It is true. I have watched her
+and I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why
+does she always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh,
+Mr. Bingham," Owen went on piteously, "be merciful--you have your wife
+and lots of women to make love to if you wish--leave me Beatrice. If
+you don't I think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her, ever
+since she was a child, and now my love travels faster and grows stronger
+every day, and carries me away with it like a rock rolling down a hill.
+You can only bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her everything, as
+much money as she wants, all that she wants, and I will make her a good
+husband; I will never leave her side."
+
+"I have no doubt that would be delightful for her," answered Geoffrey;
+"but does it not strike you that all this is just a little undignified?
+These remarks, interesting as they are, should be made to Miss Granger,
+not to me, Mr. Davies."
+
+"I know," he said, "but I don't care; it is my only chance, and what do
+I mind about being undignified? Oh, Mr. Bingham, I have never loved any
+other woman, I have been lonely all my days. Do not stand in my path
+now. If you only knew what I have suffered, how I have prayed God night
+after night to give me Beatrice, you would help me. Say that you will
+help me! You are one of those men who can do anything; she will listen
+to you. If you tell her to marry me she will do so, and I shall bless
+you my whole life."
+
+Geoffrey looked upon this abject suppliant with the most unmitigated
+scorn. There is always something contemptible in the sight of one
+man pleading to another for assistance in his love affairs--that is a
+business which he should do for himself. How much greater, then, is the
+humiliation involved when the amorous person asks the aid of one whom he
+believes to be his rival--his successful rival--in the lady's affection?
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Davies," Geoffrey said, "I think that I have had
+enough of this. I am not in a position to force Miss Granger to accept
+advances which appear to be unwelcome according to your account. But if
+I get an opportunity I will do this: I will tell her what you say.
+You really must manage the rest for yourself. Good morning to you, Mr.
+Davies."
+
+He turned sharply and went while Owen watched him go.
+
+"I don't believe him," he groaned to himself. "He will try to make her
+his lover. Oh, God help me--I cannot bear to think of it. But if he
+does, and I find him out, let him be careful. I will ruin him, yes,
+I will ruin him! I have the money and I can do it. Ah, he thinks me a
+fool, they all think me a fool, but I haven't been quiet all these years
+for nothing. I can make a noise if necessary. And if he is a villain,
+God will help me to destroy him. I have prayed to God, and God will help
+me."
+
+Then he went back to the Castle. Owen Davies was a type of the class of
+religious men who believe that they can enlist the Almighty on the side
+of their desires, provided only that those desires receive the sanction
+of human law or custom.
+
+
+
+Thus within twenty-four hours Geoffrey received no less than three
+appeals to help the woman whom he loved to the arms of a distasteful
+husband. No wonder then that he grew almost superstitious about the
+matter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+A NIGHT OF STORM
+
+That afternoon the whole Vicarage party walked up to the farm to inspect
+another litter of young pigs. It struck Geoffrey, remembering former
+editions, that the reproductive powers of Mr. Granger's old sow were
+something little short of marvellous, and he dreamily worked out a
+calculation of how long it would take her and her progeny to produce a
+pig to every square yard of the area of plucky little Wales. It seemed
+that the thing could be done in six years, which was absurd, so he gave
+up calculating.
+
+He had no words alone with Beatrice that afternoon. Indeed, a certain
+coldness seemed to have sprung up between them. With the almost
+supernatural quickness of a loving woman's intuition, she had divined
+that something was passing in his mind, inimical to her most vital
+interests, so she shunned his company, and received his conventional
+advances with a politeness which was as cold as it was crushing. This
+did not please Geoffrey; it is one thing (in her own interests, of
+course) to make up your mind heroically to abandon a lady whom you do
+not wish to compromise, and quite another to be snubbed by that lady
+before the moment of final separation. Though he never put the idea into
+words or even defined it in his mind--for Geoffrey was far too anxious
+and unhappy to be flippant, at any rate in thought--he would at heart
+have wished her to remain the same, indeed to wax ever tenderer, till
+the fatal time of parting arrived, and even to show appreciation of his
+virtuous conduct.
+
+But to the utter destruction of most such hands as Geoffrey held, loving
+women never will play according to the book. Their conduct imperils
+everything, for it is obvious that it takes two to bring an affair of
+this nature to a dignified conclusion, even when the stakes are highest,
+and the matter is one of life and death. Beatrice after all was very
+much of a woman, and she did not behave much better than any other woman
+would have done. She was angry and suspicious, and she showed it,
+with the result that Geoffrey grew angry also. It was cruel of her, he
+thought, considering all things. He forgot that she could know nothing
+of what was in his mind, however much she might guess; also as yet he
+did not know the boundless depth and might of her passion for him, and
+all that it meant to her. Had he realised this he would have acted very
+differently.
+
+
+
+They came home and took tea, then Mr. Granger and Elizabeth made ready
+to go to evening service. To Geoffrey's dismay Beatrice did the same. He
+had looked forward to a quiet walk with her--really this was not to be
+borne. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, she was ready the first,
+and he got a word with her.
+
+"I did not know that you were going to church," he said; "I thought that
+we might have had a walk together. Very likely I shall have to go away
+early to-morrow morning."
+
+"Indeed," answered Beatrice coldly. "But of course you have your work to
+attend to. I told Elizabeth that I was coming to church, and I must go;
+it is too sultry to walk; there will be a storm soon."
+
+At this moment Elizabeth came in.
+
+"Well, Beatrice," she said, "are you coming to church? Father has gone
+on."
+
+Beatrice pretended not to hear, and reflected a moment. He would go away
+and she would see him no more. Could she let slip this last hour? Oh,
+she could not do it!
+
+In that moment of reflection her fate was sealed.
+
+"No," she answered slowly, "I don't think that I am coming; it is too
+sultry to go to church. I daresay that Mr. Bingham will accompany you."
+
+Geoffrey hastily disclaimed any such intention, and Elizabeth started
+alone. "Ah!" she said to herself, "I thought that you would not come, my
+dear."
+
+"Well," said Geoffrey, when she had well gone, "shall we go out?"
+
+"I think it is pleasanter here," answered Beatrice.
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, don't be so unkind," he said feebly.
+
+"As you like," she replied. "There is a fine sunset--but I think that we
+shall have a storm."
+
+They went out, and turned up the lonely beach. The place was utterly
+deserted, and they walked a little way apart, almost without speaking.
+The sunset was magnificent; great flakes of golden cloud were driven
+continually from a home of splendour in the west towards the cold lined
+horizon of the land. The sea was still quiet, but it moaned like a thing
+in pain. The storm was gathering fast.
+
+"What a lovely sunset," said Geoffrey at length.
+
+"It is a fatal sort of loveliness," she answered; "it will be a bad
+night, and a wet morrow. The wind is rising; shall we turn?"
+
+"No, Beatrice, never mind the wind. I want to speak to you, if you will
+allow me to do so."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "what about, Mr. Bingham."
+
+To make good resolutions in a matter of this sort is comparatively
+easy, but the carrying of them out presents some difficulties. Geoffrey,
+conscience-stricken into priggishness, wished to tell her that she
+would do well to marry Owen Davies, and found the matter hard. Meanwhile
+Beatrice preserved silence.
+
+"The fact is," he said at length, "I most sincerely hope you will
+forgive me, but I have been thinking a great deal about you and your
+future welfare."
+
+"That is very kind of you," said Beatrice, with an ominous humility.
+
+This was disconcerting, but Geoffrey was determined, and he went on in
+a somewhat flippant tone born of the most intense nervousness and hatred
+of his task. Never had he loved her so well as now in this moment when
+he was about to counsel her to marry another man. And yet he persevered
+in his folly. For, as so often happens, the shrewd insight and knowledge
+of the world which distinguished Geoffrey as a lawyer, when dealing with
+the affairs of others, quite deserted him in this crisis of his own life
+and that of the woman who worshipped him.
+
+"Since I have been here," he said, "I have had made to me no less than
+three appeals on your behalf and by separate people--by your father,
+who fancies that you are pining for Owen Davies; by Owen Davies, who is
+certainly pining for you; and by old Edward, intervening as a kind of
+domestic _amicus curiæ_."
+
+"Indeed," said Beatrice, in a voice of ice.
+
+"All these three urged the same thing--the desirability of your marrying
+Owen Davies."
+
+Beatrice's face grew quite pale, her lips twitched and her grey eyes
+flashed angrily.
+
+"Really," she said, "and have _you_ any advice to give on the subject,
+Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Yes, Beatrice, I have. I have thought it over, and I think
+that--forgive me again--that if you can bring yourself to it, perhaps
+you had better marry him. He is not such a bad sort of man, and he is
+well off."
+
+They had been walking rapidly, and now they were reaching the spot known
+as the "Amphitheatre," that same spot where Owen Davies had proposed to
+Beatrice some seven months before.
+
+Beatrice passed round the projecting edge of rock, and walked some way
+towards the flat slab of stone in the centre before she answered.
+While she did so a great and bitter anger filled her heart. She saw,
+or thought she saw, it all. Geoffrey wished to be rid of her. He had
+discerned an element of danger in their intimacy, and was anxious to
+make that intimacy impossible by pushing her into a hateful marriage.
+Suddenly she turned and faced him--turned like a thing at bay. The last
+red rays of the sunset struck upon her lovely face made more lovely
+still by its stamp of haughty anger: they lay upon her heaving
+breast. Full in the eyes she looked him with those wide angry eyes of
+hers--never before had he seen her so imperial a mien. Her dignity and
+the power of her presence literally awed him, for at times Beatrice's
+beauty was of that royal stamp which when it hides a heart, is a
+compelling force, conquering and born to conquer.
+
+"Does it not strike you, Mr. Bingham," she said quietly, "that you are
+taking a very great liberty? Does it not strike you that no man who is
+not a relation has any right to speak to a woman as you have spoken to
+me?--that, in short, you have been guilty of what in most people would
+be an impertinence? What right have you to dictate to me as to whom I
+should or should not marry? Surely of all things in the world that is my
+own affair."
+
+Geoffrey coloured to the eyes. As would have been the case with most
+men of his class, he felt her accusation of having taken a liberty, of
+having presumed upon an intimacy, more keenly than any which she could
+have brought against him.
+
+"Forgive me," he said humbly. "I can only assure you that I had no such
+intention. I only spoke--ill-judgedly, I fear--because--because I felt
+driven to it."
+
+Beatrice took no notice of his words, but went on in the same cold
+voice.
+
+"What right have you to speak of my affairs with Mr. Davies, with an old
+boatman, or even with my father? Had I wished you to do so I should have
+asked you. By what authority do you constitute yourself an intermediary
+for the purpose of bringing about a marriage which you are so good as to
+consider would be to my pecuniary interest? Do you not know that such a
+matter is one which the woman concerned, the woman whose happiness and
+self-respect are at stake, alone can judge of? I have nothing more to
+say except this. I said just now that you had been guilty of what would
+in most people be an impertinence. Well, I will add something. In
+this case, Mr. Bingham, there are circumstances which make it--a cruel
+insult!"
+
+She stopped speaking, then suddenly, without the slightest warning,
+burst into passionate weeping. As she did so, the first rush of the
+storm passed over them, winnowing the air as with a thousand eagles'
+wings, and was lost on the moaning depths beyond.
+
+The light went out of the sky. Now Geoffrey could only see the faint
+outlines of her weeping face. One moment he hesitated and one only; then
+Nature prevailed against him, for the next she was in his arms.
+
+Beatrice scarcely resisted him. Her energies seemed to fail her, or
+perhaps she had spent them in her bitter words. Her head fell upon his
+shoulder, and there she sobbed her fill. Presently she lifted it and
+their lips met in a first long kiss. It was finished; this was the end
+of it--and thus did Geoffrey prosper Owen Davies's suit.
+
+"Oh, you are cruel, cruel!" he whispered in her ear. "You must have
+known I loved you, Beatrice, that I spoke against myself because I
+thought it to be my duty. You must have known that, to my sin and
+sorrow, I have always loved you, that you have never been an hour from
+my mind, that I have longed to see your face like a sick man for the
+light. Tell me, did you not know it, Beatrice?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered very softly; "I could only guess,
+and if indeed you love me how could you wish me to marry another man? I
+thought that you had learned my weakness and took this way to reproach
+me. Oh, Geoffrey, what have we done? What is there between you and
+me--except our love?"
+
+"It would have been better if we had been drowned together at the
+first," he said heavily.
+
+"No, no," she answered, "for then we never should have loved one
+another. Better first to love, and then to die!"
+
+"Do not speak so," he said; "let us sit here and be happy for a little
+while to-night, and leave trouble till to-morrow."
+
+And, where on a bygone day Beatrice had tarried with another wooer, side
+by side they sat upon the great stone and talked such talk as lovers
+use.
+
+Above them moaned the rising gale, though sheltered as they were by
+cliffs its breath scarcely stirred their hair. In front of them the long
+waves boomed upon the beach, while far out to sea the crescent moon,
+draped in angry light, seemed to ride the waters like a boat.
+
+
+
+And were they alone with their great bliss, or did they only dream? Nay,
+they were alone with love and lovers' joys, and all the truth was told,
+and all their doubts were done. Now there was an end of hopes and fears;
+now reason fell and Love usurped his throne, and at that royal coming
+Heaven threw wide her gates. Oh, Sweetest and most dear! Oh, Dearest and
+most sweet! Oh, to have lived to find this happy hour--oh, in this hour
+to die!
+
+See heaviness is behind us, see now we are one. Blow, you winds, blow
+out your stormy heart; we know the secret of your strength, you rush to
+your desire. Fall, deep waters of the sea, fall in thunder at the feet
+of earth; we hear the music of your pleading.
+
+Earth, and Seas, and Winds, sing your great chant of love! Heaven and
+Space and Time, echo back the melody! For Life has called to us the
+answer of his riddle! Heart to heart we sit, and lips to lips, and
+we are more wise than Solomon, and richer than barbarian kings, for
+Happiness is ours.
+
+To this end were we born, Dearest and most sweet, and from all time
+predestinate! To this end, Sweetest and most dear, do we live and die,
+in death to find completer unity. For here is that secret of the world
+which wise men search and cannot find, and here too is the gate of
+Heaven.
+
+Look into my eyes, and let me gaze on yours, and listen how these things
+shall be. The world is but a mockery, and a shadow is our flesh, for
+where once they were there shall be naught. Only Love is real; Love
+shall endure till all the suns are dead, and yet be young.
+
+Kiss me, thou Conqueror, for Destiny is overcome, Sorrow is gone by; and
+the flame that we have hallowed upon this earthly altar shall still burn
+brightly, and yet more bright, when yonder stars have lost their fire.
+
+But alas! words cannot give a fitting form to such a song as this. Let
+music try! But music also folds her wings. For in so supreme an hour
+
+"A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,"
+
+and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be
+written.
+
+
+
+They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the frenzy
+of a passion gross in its very essence. Let those think it who will, but
+to dreamers let them leave their dreams. Why then, at such a time, do
+visions come to children of the world like Beatrice and Geoffrey? Why do
+their doubts vanish, and what is that breath from heaven which they seem
+to feel upon their brow? The intoxication of earthly love born of the
+meeting of youth and beauty. So be it! Slave, bring more such wine and
+let us drink--to Immortality and to those dear eyes that mirror forth a
+spirit's face!
+
+Such loves indeed are few. For they must be real and deep, and natures
+thus shaped are rare, nor do they often cross each other's line of life.
+Yes, there are few who can be borne so high, and none can breathe
+that ether long. Soon the wings which Love lent them in his hour of
+revelation will shrink and vanish, and the borrowers will fall back to
+the level of this world, happy if they escape uncrushed. Perchance
+even in their life-days, they may find these spirit wings again,
+overshadowing the altar of their vows in the hour of earthly marriage,
+if by some happy fate, marriage should be within their reach, or like
+the holy pinions of the goddess Nout, folded about a coffin, in the time
+of earthly death. But scant are the occasions, and few there are who
+know them.
+
+
+
+Thus soared Beatrice and Geoffrey while the wild night beat around them,
+making a fit accompaniment to their stormy loves. And thus they too fell
+from heaven to earth.
+
+"We must be going, Geoffrey; it grows late," said Beatrice. "Oh,
+Geoffrey, Geoffrey, what have we done? What can be the end of all this?
+It will bring trouble on you, I know that it must. The old saying will
+come true. I saved your life, and I shall bring ruin on you!"
+
+It is characteristic of Beatrice that already she was thinking of the
+consequences to Geoffrey, not of those to herself.
+
+"Beatrice," said Geoffrey, "we are in a desperate position. Do you wish
+to face it and come away with me, far away to the other side of the
+world?"
+
+"No, no," she answered vehemently, "it would be your ruin to abandon the
+career that is before you. What part of the world could you go to where
+you would not be known? Besides there is your wife to think of. Ah,
+God, your wife--what would she say of me? You belong to her, you have
+no right to desert her. And there is Effie too. No, Geoffrey, no, I have
+been wicked enough to learn to love you--oh, as you were never loved
+before, if it is wicked to do what one cannot help--but I am not bad
+enough for this. Walk quicker, Geoffrey; we shall be late, and they will
+suspect something."
+
+Poor Beatrice, the pangs of conscience were finding her out!
+
+"We are in a dreadful position," he said again. "Oh, dearest, I have
+been to blame. I should never have come back here. It is my fault; and
+though I never thought of this, I did my best to please you."
+
+"And I thank you for it," she answered. "Do not deceive yourself,
+Geoffrey. Whatever happens, promise me never for one moment to believe
+that I reproached or blamed you. Why should I blame you because you won
+my heart? Let me sooner blame the sea on which we floated, the beach
+where we walked, the house in which we lived, and the Destiny that
+brought us together. I am proud and glad to love you, dear, but I am not
+so selfish as to wish to ruin you: Geoffrey--I had rather die."
+
+"Don't talk so," he said, "I cannot bear it. What are we to do? Am I to
+go away and see you no more? How can we live so, Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, Geoffrey," she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and gazing
+up into his face, "you are to go away and see me no more, not for years
+and years. This is what we have brought upon ourselves, it is the
+price that we must pay for this hour which has gone. You are to go away
+to-morrow, that we may be put out of temptation, and you must come back
+no more. Sometimes I shall write to you, and sometimes perhaps you will
+write to me, till the thing becomes a burden, then you can stop.
+And whether you forget me or not--and, Geoffrey, I do not think you
+will--you will know that I shall never forget you, whom I saved from the
+sea--to love me."
+
+There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words,
+instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey
+bent at heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle,
+gathering snow. What was he to do, how could he leave her? And yet she
+was right. He must go, and go quickly, lest his strength might fail
+him, and hand in hand they should pass a bourne from which there is no
+return.
+
+"Heaven help us, Beatrice," he said. "I will go to-morrow morning and,
+if I can, I will keep away."
+
+"You _must_ keep away. I will not see you any more. I will not bring
+trouble on you, Geoffrey."
+
+"You talk of bringing trouble on me," he said; "you say nothing of
+yourself, and yet a man, even a man with eyes on him like myself, is
+better fitted to weather such a storm. If it ruined me, how much more
+would it ruin you?"
+
+They were at the gate of the Vicarage now, and the wind rushed so
+strongly through the firs that she needed to put her lips quite close to
+his ear to make her words heard.
+
+"Stop, one minute," she said, "perhaps you do not quite understand. When
+a woman does what I have done, it is because she loves with all her
+life and heart and soul, because all these are a part of her love. For
+myself, I no longer care anything--I have _no_ self away from you; I
+have ceased to be of myself or in my own keeping. I am of you and in
+yours. For myself and my own fate or name I think no more; with my eyes
+open and of my own free will I have given everything to you, and am glad
+and happy to give it. But for you I still do care, and if I took any
+step, or allowed you to take any that could bring sorrow on you, I
+should never forgive myself. That is why we must part, Geoffrey. And now
+let us go in; there is nothing more to say, except this: if you wish
+to bid me good-bye, a last good-bye, dear Geoffrey, I will meet you
+to-morrow morning on the beach."
+
+"I shall leave at half-past eight," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Then we will meet at seven," Beatrice said, and led the way into the
+house.
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger were already seated at supper. They supped at
+nine on Sunday nights; it was just half-past.
+
+"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "we began to think that you two must
+have been out canoeing and got yourselves drowned in good earnest this
+time. What have you been doing?"
+
+"We have had a long walk," answered Geoffrey; "I did not know that it
+was so late."
+
+"One wants to be pleased with one's company to walk far on such a night
+as this," put in Elizabeth maliciously.
+
+"And so we were--at least I was," Geoffrey answered with perfect truth,
+"and the night is not so bad as you might think, at least under the lee
+of the cliffs. It will be worse by and by!"
+
+Then they sat down and made a desperate show of eating supper.
+Elizabeth, the keen-eyed, noticed that Geoffrey's hand was shaking. Now
+what, she wondered, would make the hand of a strong man shake like a
+leaf? Deep emotion might do it, and Elizabeth thought that she detected
+other signs of emotion in them both, besides that of Geoffrey's shaking
+hand. The plot was working well, but could it be brought to a climax?
+Oh, if he would only throw prudence to the winds and run away with
+Beatrice, so that she might be rid of her, and free to fight for her own
+hand.
+
+Shortly after supper both Elizabeth and Beatrice went to bed, leaving
+their father with Geoffrey.
+
+"Well," said Mr. Granger, "did you get a word with Beatrice? It was very
+kind of you to go that long tramp on purpose. Gracious, how it blows! we
+shall have the house down presently. Lightning, too, I declare."
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I did."
+
+"Ah, I hope you told her that there was no need for her to give up hope
+of him yet, of Mr. Davies, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, I told her that--that is if the greater includes the less," he
+added to himself.
+
+"And how did she take it?"
+
+"Very badly," said Geoffrey; "she seemed to think that I had no right to
+interfere."
+
+"Indeed, that is strange. But it doesn't mean anything. She's grateful
+enough to you at heart, depend upon it she is, only she did not like to
+say so. Dear me, how it blows; we shall have a night of it, a regular
+gale, I declare. So you are going away to-morrow morning. Well, the
+best of friends must part. I hope that you will often come and see us.
+Good-bye."
+
+Once more a sense of the irony of the position overcame Geoffrey, and he
+smiled grimly as he lit his candle and went to bed. At the back of the
+house was a long passage, which terminated at one end in the room where
+he slept, and at the other in that occupied by Elizabeth and Beatrice.
+This passage was lit by two windows, and built out of it were two more
+rooms--that of Mr. Granger, and another which had been Effie's. The
+windows of the passage, like most of the others in the Vicarage, were
+innocent of shutters, and Geoffrey stood for a moment at one of them,
+watching the lightning illumine the broad breast of the mountain behind.
+Then looking towards the door of Beatrice's room, he gazed at it with
+the peculiar reverence that sometimes afflicts people who are very much
+in love, and, with a sigh, turned and sought his own.
+
+He could not sleep, it was impossible. For nearly two hours he lay
+turning from side to side, and thinking till his brain seemed like to
+burst. To-morrow he must leave her, leave her for ever, and go back to
+his coarse unprofitable struggle with the world, where there would be no
+Beatrice to make him happy through it all. And she, what of her?
+
+The storm had lulled a little, now it came back in strength, heralded
+by the lightning. He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a window
+watching it. Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of some little
+of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have maddened him.
+
+In eight hours--eight short hours--this matter would be ended so far as
+concerned their actual intercourse. It would be a secret locked for ever
+in their two breasts, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as the worm
+that dieth not. Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart's thought
+towards his sleeping love. Then once more, as in a bygone night, there
+broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual sense. Stronger
+and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy unnatural waves,
+till his reason seemed to reel and sink, and he remembered naught but
+Beatrice, knew naught save that her very life was with him now.
+
+He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
+
+"Beatrice," he whispered to the empty air, "Beatrice! Oh, my love! my
+sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!"
+
+There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered in
+his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its power
+and across dividing space they were mingled in one being.
+
+A great gust shook the house and passed away along the roaring depths.
+
+Oh! what was this? Silently the door opened, and a white draped form
+passed its threshold. He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible joy,
+took possession of him. The lightning flared out wildly in the eastern
+sky. There in the fierce light she stood before him--she, Beatrice, a
+sight of beauty and of dread. She stood with white arms outstretched,
+with white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly beneath her
+night-dress, her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart, her face
+upturned, and a stamp of terrifying calm.
+
+"In the wide, blind eyes uplift Thro' the darkness and the drift."
+
+Great Heaven, she was asleep!
+
+Hush! she spoke.
+
+"You called me, Geoffrey," she said, in a still, unnatural voice. "You
+called me, my beloved, and I--have--come."
+
+He rose aghast, trembling like an aspen with doubt and fear, trembling
+at the sight of the conquering glory of the woman whom he worshipped.
+
+See! She drew on towards him, and she was _asleep_. Oh, what could he
+do?
+
+Suddenly the draught of the great gale rushing through the house caught
+the opened door and crashed it to.
+
+She awoke with a wild stare of terror.
+
+"Oh, God, where am I?" she cried.
+
+"Hush, for your life's sake!" he answered, his faculties returning.
+"Hush! or you are lost."
+
+But there was no need to caution here to silence, for Beatrice's senses
+failed her at the shock, and she sank swooning in his arms.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+A DAWN OF RAIN
+
+That crash of the closing door did not awake Beatrice only; it awoke
+both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Elizabeth sat up in bed straining her
+eyes through the gloom to see what had happened. They fell on Beatrice's
+bed--surely--surely----
+
+Elizabeth slipped up, cat-like she crept across the room and felt with
+her hand at the bed. Beatrice was not there. She sprang to the blind
+and drew it, letting in such light as there was, and by it searched the
+room. She spoke: "Beatrice, where are you?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Ah--h," said Elizabeth aloud; "I understand. At last--at last!"
+
+What should see do? Should she go and call her father and put them to
+an open shame? No. Beatrice must come back some time. The knowledge was
+enough; she wanted the knowledge to use if necessary. She did not wish
+to ruin her sister unless in self-defence, or rather, for the cause of
+self-advancement. Still less did she wish to injure Geoffrey, against
+whom she had no grudge. So she peeped along the passage, then returning,
+crept back to her bed like a snake into a hole and watched.
+
+Mr. Granger, hearing the crash, thought that the front door had blown
+open. Rising, he lit a candle and went to see.
+
+But of all this Geoffrey knew nothing, and Beatrice naturally less than
+nothing.
+
+She lay senseless in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder, her
+heavy hair streamed down his side almost to his knee. He lifted her,
+touched her on the forehead with his lips and laid her on the bed. What
+was to be done? Bring her back to life? No, he dared not--not here.
+While she lay thus her helplessness protected her; but if once more she
+was a living, loving woman here and so--oh, how should they escape? He
+dared not touch her or look towards her--till he had made up his mind.
+It was soon done. Here she must not bide, and since of herself she could
+not go, why he must take her now, this moment! However far Geoffrey fell
+short of virtue's stricter standard, let this always be remembered in
+his favour.
+
+He opened the door, and as he did so, thought that he heard some
+one stirring in the house. And so he did; it was Mr. Granger in the
+sitting-room. Hearing no more, Geoffrey concluded that it was the wind,
+and turning, groped his way to the bed where Beatrice lay as still as
+death. For one moment a horrible fear struck him that she might be dead.
+He had heard of cases of somnambulists who, on being startled from their
+unnatural sleep, only woke to die. It might be so with her. Hurriedly he
+placed his hand upon her breast. Yes, her heart stirred--faintly indeed,
+but still it stirred. She had only swooned. Then he set his teeth,
+and placing his arms about her, lifted her as though she were a babe.
+Beatrice was no slip of a girl, but a well-grown woman of full size. He
+never felt her weight; it seemed nothing to him. Stealthily as one bent
+on midnight murder, he stepped with her to the door and through it into
+the passage. Then supporting her with one arm, he closed the door with
+his left hand. Stealthily in the gloom he passed along the corridor, his
+bare feet making no noise upon the boarded floor, till he reached the
+bisecting passage leading from the sitting-rooms.
+
+He glanced up it apprehensively, and what he saw froze the blood in
+his veins, for there coming down it, not eight paces from him, was Mr.
+Granger, holding a candle in his hand. What could be done? To get
+back to his room was impossible--to reach that of Beatrice was also
+impossible. With an effort he collected his thoughts, and like a flash
+of light it passed into his mind that the empty room was not two paces
+from him. A stride and he had reached it. Oh, where was the handle? and
+oh, if the room should be locked! By a merciful chance it was not. He
+stepped through the door, knocking Beatrice's feet against the framework
+as he did so, closed it--to shut it he had no time--and stood gasping
+behind it.
+
+The gleam of light drew nearer. Merciful powers! he had been seen--the
+old man was coming in. What could he say? Tell the truth, that was
+all; but who would believe such a story? why, it was one that he should
+scarcely care to advance in a court of law. Could he expect a father to
+believe it--a father finding a man crouched like a thief behind a door
+at the dead of night with his lovely daughter senseless in his arms? He
+had already thought of going straight to Mr. Granger, but had abandoned
+the idea as hopeless. Who would believe this tale of sleep-walking?
+For the first time in his life Geoffrey felt terribly afraid, both for
+Beatrice and himself; the hair rose on his head, his heart stood still,
+and a cold perspiration started on to his face.
+
+"It's very odd," he heard the old man mutter to himself; "I could almost
+swear that I saw something white go into that room. Where's the handle?
+If I believed in ghosts--hullo! my candle has blown out! I must go and
+hunt for a match. Don't quite like going in there without a light."
+
+For the moment they were saved. The fierce draught rushing through the
+open crack of the door from the ill-fitting window had extinguished the
+candle.
+
+Geoffrey waited a few seconds to allow Mr. Granger to reach his room,
+and then once more started on his awful journey. He passed out of the
+room in safety; happily Beatrice showed no signs of recovery. A few
+quick steps and he was at her own door. And now a new terror seized him.
+What if Elizabeth was also walking the house or even awake? He thought
+of putting Beatrice down at the door and leaving her there, but
+abandoned the idea. To begin with, her father might see her, and then
+how could her presence be accounted for? or if he did not, she would
+certainly suffer ill effects from the cold. No, he must risk it, and
+at once, though he would rather have faced a battery of guns. The door
+fortunately was ajar. Geoffrey opened it with his foot, entered, and
+with his foot pushed it to again. Suddenly he remembered that he had
+never been in the room, and did not know which bed belonged to Beatrice.
+He walked to the nearest; a deep-drawn breath told him that it was the
+wrong one. Drawing some faint consolation from the fact that Elizabeth
+was evidently asleep, he groped his way to the second bed through
+the deep twilight of the room. The clothes were thrown back. He laid
+Beatrice down and threw them over her. Then he fled.
+
+As he reached the door he saw Mr. Granger's light disappear into his own
+room and heard his door close. After that it seemed to him that he took
+but two steps and was in his own place.
+
+He burst out laughing; there was as much hysteria in the laugh as a man
+gives way to. His nerves were shattered by struggle, love and fear, and
+sought relief in ghastly merriment. Somehow the whole scene reminded
+him of one in a comic opera. There was a ludicrous side to it. Supposing
+that the political opponents, who already hated him so bitterly, could
+have seen him slinking from door to door at midnight with an unconscious
+lady in his arms--what would they have said?
+
+He ceased laughing; the fit passed--indeed it was no laughing matter.
+Then he thought of the first night of their strange communion, that
+night before he had returned to London. The seed sown in that hour had
+blossomed and borne fruit indeed. Who would have dreamed it possible
+that he should thus have drawn Beatrice to him? Well, he ought to have
+known. If it was possible that the words which floated through her
+mind could arise in his as they had done upon that night, what was
+not possible? And were there not other words, written by the same
+master-hand, which told of such things as these:
+
+     "'Now--now,' the door is heard;
+     Hark, the stairs! and near--
+     Nearer--and here--
+     'Now'! and at call the third,
+     She enters without a word.
+
+     Like the doors of a casket shrine,
+     See on either side,
+     Her two arms divide
+     Till the heart betwixt makes sign,
+     'Take me, for I am thine.'
+
+     First, I will pray. Do Thou
+     That ownest the soul,
+     Yet wilt grant control
+     To another, nor disallow
+     For a time, restrain me now!"
+
+Did they not run thus? Oh, he should have known! This he could plead,
+and this only--that control had been granted to him.
+
+But how would Beatrice fare? Would she come to herself safely? He
+thought so, it was only a fainting fit. But when she did recover, what
+would she do? Nothing rash, he prayed. And what could be the end of
+it all? Who might say? How fortunate that the sister had been so sound
+asleep. Somehow he did not trust Elizabeth--he feared her.
+
+Well might Geoffrey fear her! Elizabeth's sleep was that of a weasel.
+She too was laughing at this very moment, laughing, not loud but
+long--the laugh of one who wins.
+
+She had seen him enter, his burden in his arms; saw him come with it to
+her own bedside, and had breathed heavily to warn him of his mistake.
+She had watched him put Beatrice on her bed, and heard him sigh and turn
+away; nothing had escaped her. As soon as he was gone, she had risen and
+crept up to Beatrice, and finding that she was only in a faint had left
+her to recover, knowing her to be in no danger. Elizabeth was not a
+nervous person. Then she had listened till at length a deep sigh told
+her of the return of her sister's consciousness. After this there was a
+pause, till presently Beatrice's long soft breaths showed that she had
+glided from swoon to sleep.
+
+The slow night wore away, and at length the cold dawn crept through
+the window. Elizabeth still watching, for she was not willing to lose a
+single scene of a drama so entrancing in itself and so important to her
+interests, saw her sister suddenly sit up in bed and press her hands
+to her forehead, as though she was striving to recall a dream. Then
+Beatrice covered her eyes with her hands and groaned heavily. Next she
+looked at her watch, rose, drank a glass of water, and dressed herself,
+even to the putting on of an old grey waterproof with a hood to it, for
+it was wet outside.
+
+"She is going to meet her lover," thought Elizabeth. "I wish I could be
+there to see that too, but I have seen enough."
+
+She yawned and appeared to wake. "What, Beatrice, going out already in
+this pouring rain?" she said, with feigned astonishment.
+
+"Yes, I have slept badly and I want to get some air," answered Beatrice,
+starting and colouring; "I suppose that it was the storm."
+
+"Has there been a storm?" said Elizabeth, yawning again. "I heard
+nothing of it--but then so many things happen when one is asleep of
+which one knows nothing at the time," she added sleepily, like one
+speaking at random. "Mind that you are back to say good-bye to Mr.
+Bingham; he goes by the early train, you know--but perhaps you will
+see him out walking," and appearing to wake up thoroughly, she raised
+herself in bed and gave her sister one piercing look.
+
+Beatrice made no answer; that look sent a thrill of fear through her.
+Oh; what had happened! Or was it all a dream? Had she dreamed that she
+stood face to face with Geoffrey in his room before a great darkness
+struck her and overwhelmed her? Or was it an awful truth, and if a
+truth, how came she here again? She went to the pantry, found a morsel
+of bread and ate it, for faintness still pursued her. Then feeling
+better, she left the house and set her face towards the beach.
+
+
+
+It was a dreary morning. The great wind had passed; now it only blew in
+little gusts heavy with driving rain. The sea was sullen and grey and
+grand. It beat in thunder on the shore and flew over the sunken rocks in
+columns of leaden spray. The whole earth seemed one desolation, and all
+its grief was centred in this woman's broken heart.
+
+Geoffrey, too, was up. How he had passed the remainder of that tragic
+night we need not inquire--not too happily we may be sure. He heard the
+front door close behind Beatrice, and followed out into the rain.
+
+On the beach, some half of a mile away, he found her gazing at the sea,
+a great white gull wheeling about her head. No word of greeting passed
+between them; they only grasped each other's hands and looked into each
+other's hollow eyes.
+
+"Come under the shelter of the cliff," he said, and she came. She stood
+beneath the cliff, her head bowed low, her face hidden by the hood, and
+spoke.
+
+"Tell me what has happened," she said; "I have dreamed something, a
+worse dream than any that have gone before--tell me if it is true. Do
+not spare me."
+
+And Geoffrey told her all.
+
+When he had finished she spoke again.
+
+"By what shall I swear," she said, "that I am not the thing which you
+must think me? Geoffrey, I swear by my love for you that I am innocent.
+If I came--oh, the shame of it! if I came--to your room last night, it
+was my feet which led me, not my mind that led my feet. I went to sleep,
+I was worn out, and then I knew no more till I heard a dreadful sound,
+and saw you before me in a blaze of light, after which there was
+darkness."
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, do not be distressed," he answered. "I saw that you were
+asleep. It is a dreadful thing which has happened, but I do not think
+that we were seen."
+
+"I do not know," she said. "Elizabeth looked at me very strangely this
+morning, and she sees everything. Geoffrey, for my part, I neither know
+nor care. What I do care for is, what must _you_ think of me? You must
+believe, oh!--I cannot say it. And yet I am innocent. Never, never did I
+dream of this. To come to you--thus--oh, it is shameless!"
+
+"Beatrice, do not talk so. I tell you I know it. Listen--I drew you. I
+did not mean that you should come. I did not think that you would come,
+but it was my doing. Listen to me, dear," and he told her that which
+written words can ill express.
+
+When he had finished, she looked up, with another face; the deep shadow
+of her shame had left her. "I believe you, Geoffrey," she said, "because
+I know that you have not invented this to shield me, for I have felt
+it also. See by it what you are to me. You are my master and my all. I
+cannot withstand you if I would. I have little will apart from yours
+if you choose to gainsay mine. And now promise me this upon your word.
+Leave me uninfluenced; do not draw me to you to be your ruin. I make
+no pretence, I have laid my life at your feet, but while I have any
+strength to struggle against it, you shall never take it up unless you
+can do so to your own honour, and that is not possible. Oh, my dear, we
+might have been very happy together, happier than men and women often
+are, but it is denied to us. We must carry our cross, we must crucify
+the flesh upon it; perhaps so--who can say?--we may glorify the spirit.
+I owe you a great deal. I have learnt much from you, Geoffrey. I have
+learned to hope again for a Hereafter. Nothing is left to me now--but
+that--that and an hour hence--your memory.
+
+"Oh, why should I weep? It is ungrateful, when I have your love, for
+which this misery is but a little price to pay. Kiss me, dear, and
+go--and never see me more. You will not forget me, I know now that you
+will _never_ forget me all your life. Afterwards--perhaps--who can tell?
+If not, why then--it will indeed be best--to die."
+
+* * * * *
+
+It is not well to linger over such a scene as this. After all, too, it
+is nothing. Only another broken heart or so. The world breaks so many
+this way and the other that it can have little pleasure in gloating over
+such stale scenes of agony.
+
+Besides we must not let our sympathies carry us away. Geoffrey and
+Beatrice deserved all they got; they had no business to put themselves
+into such a position. They had defied the customs of their world,
+and the world avenged itself upon them and their petty passions. What
+happens to the worm that tries to burrow on the highways? Grinding
+wheels and crushing feet; these are its portion. Beatrice and Geoffrey
+point a moral and adorn a tale. So far as we can see and judge there was
+no need for them to have plunged into that ever-running river of human
+pain. Let them struggle and drown, and let those who are on the bank
+learn wisdom from the sight, and hold out no hand to help them.
+
+Geoffrey drew a ring from his finger and gave it to his love. It was a
+common flat-sided silver ring that had been taken from the grave of a
+Roman soldier: one peculiarity it had, however; on its inner surface
+were roughly cut the words, "ave atque vale." Greeting and farewell! It
+was a fitting gift to pass between people in their position. Beatrice,
+trembling sorely, whispered that she would wear it on her heart, upon
+her hand she could not put it yet awhile--it might be recognised.
+
+Then thrice did they embrace there upon the desolate shore, once, as it
+were, for past joy, once for present pain, and once for future hope,
+and parted. There was no talk of after meetings--they felt them to
+be impossible, at any rate for many years. How could they meet as
+indifferent friends? Too much they loved for that. It was a final
+parting, than which death had been less dreadful--for Hope sits ever by
+the bed of death--and misery crushed them to the earth.
+
+
+
+He left her, and happiness went out of his life as at nightfall the
+daylight goes out of the day. Well, at least he had his work to go to.
+But Beatrice, poor woman, what had she?
+
+Geoffrey left her. When he had gone some thirty paces he turned again
+and gazed his last upon her. There she stood or rather leant, her hand
+resting against the wet rock, looking after him with her wide grey eyes.
+Even through the drizzling rain he could see the gleam of her rich
+hair, the marking of her lovely face, and the carmine of her lips. She
+motioned to him to go on. He went, and when he had traversed a hundred
+paces looked round once more. She was still there, but now her face was
+a blur, and again the great white gull hovered about her head.
+
+Then the mist swept up and hid her.
+
+
+
+Ah, Beatrice, with all your brains you could never learn those simple
+principles necessary to the happiness of woman; principles inherited
+through a thousand generations of savage and semi-civilized
+ancestresses. To accept the situation and the master that situation
+brings with it--this is the golden rule of well-being. Not to put out
+the hand of your affection further than you can draw it back, this is
+another, at least not until you are quite sure that its object is well
+within your grasp. If by misfortune, or the anger of the Fates, you
+are endowed with those deeper qualities, those extreme capacities of
+self-sacrificing affection, such as ruined your happiness, Beatrice,
+keep them in stock; do not expose them to the world. The world does not
+believe in them; they are inconvenient and undesirable; they are even
+immoral. What the world wants, and very rightly, in a person of your
+attractiveness is quiet domesticity of character, not the exhibition of
+attributes which though they might qualify you for the rank of heroine
+in a Greek drama, are nowadays only likely to qualify you for the
+reprobation of society.
+
+What? you would rather keep your love, your reprehensible love which
+never can be satisfied, and bear its slings and arrows, and die hugging
+a shadow to your heart, straining your eyes into the darkness of that
+beyond whither you shall go--murmuring with your pale lips that _there_
+you will find reason and fulfilment? Why it is folly. What ground have
+you to suppose that you will find anything of the sort? Go and take the
+opinion of some scientific person of eminence upon this infatuation of
+yours and those vague visions of glory that shall be. He will explain
+it clearly enough, will show you that your love itself is nothing but
+a natural passion, acting, in your case, on a singularly sensitive and
+etherealised organism. Be frank with him, tell him of your secret hopes.
+He will smile tenderly, and show you how those also are an emanation
+from a craving heart, and the innate superstitions of mankind. Indeed
+he will laugh and illustrate the absurdity of the whole thing by a few
+pungent examples of what would happen if these earthly affections could
+be carried beyond the grave. Take what you can _now_ will be the burden
+of his song, and for goodness' sake do not waste your precious hours in
+dreams of a To Be.
+
+Beatrice, the world does not want your spirituality. It is not a
+spiritual world; it has no clear ideas upon the subject--it pays its
+religious premium and works off its aspirations at its weekly church
+going, and would think the person a fool who attempted to carry theories
+of celestial union into an earthly rule of life. It can sympathise with
+Lady Honoria; it can hardly sympathise with _you_.
+
+And yet you will still choose this better part: you will still "live and
+love, and lose."
+
+"With blinding tears and passionate beseeching, And outstretched arms
+through empty silence reaching."
+
+Then, Beatrice, have your will, sow your seed of tears, and take your
+chance. You may find that you were right and the worldlings wrong, and
+you may reap a harvest beyond the grasp of their poor imaginations. And
+if you find that they are right and _you_ are wrong, what will it matter
+to you who sleep? For of this at least you are sure. If there is no
+future for such earthly love as yours, then indeed there is none for the
+children of this world and all their troubling.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+LADY HONORIA TAKES THE FIELD
+
+Geoffrey hurried to the Vicarage to fetch his baggage and say good-bye.
+He had no time for breakfast, and he was glad of it, for he could not
+have eaten a morsel to save his life. He found Elizabeth and her father
+in the sitting-room.
+
+"Why, where have you been this wet morning, Mr. Bingham?" said Mr.
+Granger.
+
+"I have been for a walk with Miss Beatrice; she is coming home by the
+village," he answered. "I don't mind rain, and I wanted to get as much
+fresh air as I could before I go back to the mill. Thank you--only a cup
+of tea--I will get something to eat as I go."
+
+"How kind of him," reflected Mr. Granger; "no doubt he has been speaking
+to Beatrice again about Owen Davies."
+
+"Oh, by the way," he added aloud, "did you happen to hear anybody moving
+in the house last night, Mr. Bingham, just when the storm was at its
+height? First of all a door slammed so violently that I got up to see
+what it was, and as I came down the passage I could almost have sworn
+that I saw something white go into the spare room. But my candle went
+out and by the time that I had found a light there was nothing to be
+seen."
+
+"A clear case of ghosts," said Geoffrey indifferently. It was indeed
+a "case of ghosts," and they would, he reflected, haunt him for many a
+day.
+
+"How very odd," put in Elizabeth vivaciously, her keen eyes fixed
+intently on his face. "Do you know I thought that I twice saw the door
+of our room open and shut in the most mysterious fashion. I think that
+Beatrice must have something to do with it; she is so uncanny in her
+ways."
+
+Geoffrey never moved a muscle, he was trained to keep his countenance.
+Only he wondered how much this woman knew. She must be silenced somehow.
+
+"Excuse me for changing the subject," he said, "but my time is short,
+and I have none to spare to hunt the 'Vicarage Ghost.' By the way,
+there's a good title for somebody. Mr. Granger, I believe that I may
+speak of business matters before Miss Elizabeth?"
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Bingham," said the clergyman; "Elizabeth is my right
+hand, and has the best business head in Bryngelly."
+
+Geoffrey thought that this was very evident, and went on. "I only want
+to say this. If you get into any further difficulties with your rascally
+tithe-payers, mind and let me know. I shall always be glad to help you
+while I can. And now I must be going."
+
+He spoke thus for two reasons. First, naturally enough, he meant to make
+it his business to protect Beatrice from the pressure of poverty, and
+well knew that it would be useless to offer her direct assistance.
+Secondly, he wished to show Elizabeth that it would not be to the
+advantage of her family to quarrel with him. If she _had_ seen a ghost,
+perhaps this fact would make her reticent on the subject. He did not
+know that she was playing a much bigger game for her own hand, a game
+of which the stakes were thousands a year, and that she was moreover mad
+with jealousy and what, in such a woman, must pass for love.
+
+Elizabeth made no comment on his offer, and before Mr. Granger's profuse
+thanks were nearly finished, Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+Three weeks passed at Bryngelly, and Elizabeth still held her hand.
+Beatrice, pale and spiritless, went about her duties as usual. Elizabeth
+never spoke to her in any sense that could awaken her suspicions, and
+the ghost story was, or appeared to be, pretty well forgotten. But at
+last an event occurred that caused Elizabeth to take the field. One day
+she met Owen Davies walking along the beach in the semi-insane way which
+he now affected. He stopped, and, without further ado, plunged into
+conversation.
+
+"I can't bear it any longer," he said wildly, throwing up his arms. "I
+saw her yesterday, and she cut me short before I could speak a word. I
+have prayed for patience and it will not come, only a Voice seemed
+to say to me that I must wait ten days more, ten short days, and then
+Beatrice, my beautiful Beatrice, would be my wife at last."
+
+"If you go on in this way, Mr. Davies," said Elizabeth sharply, her
+heart filled with jealous anger, "you will soon be off your head. Are
+you not ashamed of yourself for making such a fuss about a girl's pretty
+face? If you want to get married, marry somebody else."
+
+"Marry somebody else," he said dreamily; "I don't know anybody else whom
+I could marry except you, and you are not Beatrice."
+
+"No," answered Elizabeth angrily, "I should hope that I have more
+sense, and if you wanted to marry me you would have to set about it in
+a different way from this. I am not Beatrice, thank Heaven, but I am
+her sister, and I warn you that I know more about her than you do. As a
+friend I warn you to be careful. Supposing that Beatrice were not worthy
+of you, you would not wish to marry her, would you?"
+
+Now Owen Davies was at heart somewhat afraid of Elizabeth, like most
+other people who had the privilege of her acquaintance. Also, apart from
+matters connected with his insane passion, he was very fairly shrewd. He
+suspected Elizabeth of something, he did not know of what.
+
+"No, no, of course not," he said. "Of course I would not marry her if
+she was not fit to be my wife--but I must know that first, before I talk
+of marrying anybody else. Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. It will soon
+be settled now; it cannot go on much longer now. My prayers will be
+answered, I know they will."
+
+"You are right there, Owen Davies," thought Elizabeth, as she looked
+after him with ineffable bitterness, not to say contempt. "Your prayers
+shall be answered in a way that will astonish you. You shall not marry
+Beatrice, and you shall marry _me_. The fish has been on the line long
+enough, now I must begin to pull in."
+
+Curiously enough it never really occurred to Elizabeth that Beatrice
+herself might prove to be the true obstacle to the marriage she plotted
+to prevent. She knew that her sister was fond of Geoffrey Bingham, but,
+when it came to the point that she would absolutely allow her affection
+to interfere with so glorious a success in life, she never believed for
+one moment. Of course she thought it was possible that if Beatrice could
+get possession of Geoffrey she might prefer to do so, but failing him,
+judging from her own low and vulgar standard, Elizabeth was convinced
+that she would take Owen. It did not seem possible that what was so
+precious in her own eyes might be valueless and even hateful to those of
+her sister. As for that little midnight incident, well, it was one thing
+and marriage was another. People forget such events when they marry;
+sometimes even they marry in order to forget them.
+
+Yes, she must strike, but how? Elizabeth had feelings like other people.
+She did not mind ruining her sister and rival, but she would very much
+prefer it should not be known that hers was the hand to cut her down. Of
+course, if the worst came to the worst, she must do it. Meanwhile, might
+not a substitute be found--somebody in whom the act would seem not one
+of vengeance, but of virtue? Ah! she had it: Lady Honoria! Who could be
+better for such a purpose than the cruelly injured wife? But then how
+should she communicate the facts to her ladyship without involving
+herself? Again she hit upon a device much favoured by such people--"un
+vieux truc mais toujours bon"--the pristine one of an anonymous letter,
+which has the startling merit of not committing anybody to anything.
+An anonymous letter, to all appearance written by a servant: it was the
+very thing! Most likely it would result in a searching inquiry by Lady
+Honoria, in which event Elizabeth, of course against her will, would
+be forced to say what she knew; almost certainly it would result in a
+quarrel between husband and wife, which might induce the former to show
+his hand, or even to take some open step as regards Beatrice. She was
+sorry for Geoffrey, against whom she had no ill feeling, but it could
+not be helped; he must be sacrificed.
+
+That very evening she wrote her letter and sent it to be posted by
+an old servant living in London. It was a master-piece in its way,
+especially phonetically. This precious epistle, which was most
+exceedingly ill writ in a large coarse hand, ran thus:
+
+"My Ladi,--My consence druvs me to it, much again my will. I've tried
+hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i heve knowed
+good and peur and also for the sakes of your evil usband that wulf in
+scheeps cloathin. But when i think on you my ladi a lorful legel wife
+gud and virtus and peur and of the things as i hev seen which is enuf
+to bring a blush to the face of a stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to
+rite your ladishipp as follers. Your ladishipp forgif me but on the nite
+of whittsundey last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room
+of your bad usband--as I was to mi sham ther to se. Afterward more
+nor an hour, she cum out ain being carred _in his harmes_. And if your
+ladishipp dont believ me, let your ladishipp rite to miss elizbeth, as
+had this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,
+
+"The Riter."
+
+In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria, bearing
+a London post-mark. She read and re-read it, and soon mastered its
+meaning. Then, after a night's thought, she took the "Riter's" advice
+and wrote to Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her own),
+vehemently repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply that
+should dissipate this foul slander from her mind for ever.
+
+The answer came by return. It was short and artful.
+
+"Dear Lady Honoria Bingham," it ran, "you must forgive me if I decline
+to answer the questions in your letter. You will easily understand that
+between a desire to preserve a sister's reputation and an incapacity (to
+be appreciated by every Christian) to speak other than the truth--it
+is possible for a person to be placed in the most cruel of positions--a
+position which I am sure will command even your sympathy, though
+under such circumstances I have little right to expect any from a wife
+believing herself to have been cruelly wronged. Let me add that nothing
+short of the compulsion of a court of law will suffice to unseal my
+lips as to the details of the circumstances (which are, I trust,
+misunderstood) alluded to in the malicious anonymous letter of which you
+inclose a copy."
+
+That very evening, as the Fates would have it, Lady Honoria and her
+husband had a quarrel. As usual, it was about Effie, for on most other
+subjects they preserved an armed neutrality. Its details need not
+be entered into, but at last Geoffrey, who was in a sadly irritable
+condition of mind, fairly lost his temper.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "that you are not fit to look after the child.
+You only think of yourself, Honoria."
+
+She turned on him with a dangerous look upon her cold and handsome face.
+
+"Be careful what you say, Geoffrey. It is you who are not fit to have
+charge of Effie. Be careful lest I take her away from you altogether, as
+I can if I like."
+
+"What do you mean by that threat?" he asked.
+
+"Do you want to know? Then I will tell you. I understand enough law to
+be aware that a wife can get a separation from an unfaithful husband,
+and what is more, can take away his children."
+
+"Again I ask what you mean," said Geoffrey, turning cold with anger.
+
+"I mean this, Geoffrey. That Welsh girl is your mistress. She passed
+the night of Whit-Sunday in your room, and was carried from it in your
+arms."
+
+"It is a lie," he said; "she is nothing of the sort. I do not know who
+gave you this information, but it is a slanderous lie, and somebody
+shall suffer for it."
+
+"Nobody will suffer for it, Geoffrey, because you will not dare to stir
+the matter up--for the girl's sake if not for your own. Can you
+deny that you were seen carrying her in your arms from your room on
+Whit-Sunday night? Can you deny that you are in love with her?"
+
+"And supposing that I am in love with her, is it to be wondered at,
+seeing how you treat me and have treated me for years?" he answered
+furiously. "It is utterly false to say that she is my mistress."
+
+"You have not answered my question," said Lady Honoria with a smile of
+triumph. "Were you seen carrying that woman in your arms and from your
+room at the dead of night? Of course it meant nothing, nothing at all.
+Who would dare to asperse the character of this perfect, lovely, and
+intellectual schoolmistress? I am not jealous, Geoffrey----"
+
+"I should think not, Honoria, seeing how things are."
+
+"I am not jealous, I repeat, but please understand that I will not have
+this go on, in your own interests and mine. Why, what a fool you must
+be. Don't you know that a man who has risen, as you have, has a hundred
+enemies ready to spring on him like a pack of wolves and tear him to
+pieces? Why many even of those who fawn upon you and flatter you to your
+face, hate you bitterly in secret, because you have succeeded where they
+have failed. Don't you know also that there are papers here in London
+which would give hundreds of pounds for the chance of publishing such a
+scandal as this, especially against a powerful political opponent. Let
+it once come out that this obscure girl is your mistress----"
+
+"Honoria, I tell you she is nothing of the sort. It is true I carried
+her from my room in a fainting fit, but she came there in her sleep."
+
+Lady Honoria laughed. "Really, Geoffrey, I wonder that you think it
+worth while to tell me such nonsense. Keep it for the divorce court,
+if ever we get there, and see what a jury says to it. Look here; be
+sensible. I am not a moralist, and I am not going to play the outraged
+wife unless you force me to it. I do not mean to take any further notice
+of this interesting little tale as against you. But if you go on with
+it, beware! I will not be made to look a fool. If you are going to be
+ruined you can be ruined by yourself. I warn you frankly, that at
+the first sign of it, I shall put myself in the right by commencing
+proceedings against you. Now, of course, I know this, that in the event
+of a smash, you would be glad enough to be rid of me in order that you
+might welcome your dear Beatrice in my place. But there are two things
+to remember: first, that you could not marry her, supposing you to be
+idiot enough to wish to do so, because I should only get a judicial
+separation, and you would still have to support me. Secondly, if I go,
+Effie goes with me, for I have a right to claim her at law; and that
+fact, my dear Geoffrey, makes me mistress of the situation, because I
+do not suppose that you would part with Effie even for the sake of Miss
+Beatrice. And now I will leave you to think it over."
+
+And with a little nod she sailed out of the room, completely victorious.
+She was indeed, reflected Geoffrey, "mistress of the situation."
+Supposing that she brought a suit against him where would he be? She
+must have evidence, or she would not have known the story. The whole
+drama had clearly been witnessed by someone, probably either by
+Elizabeth or the servant girl, and that some one had betrayed it to
+Honoria and possibly to others. The thought made him sick. He was a
+man of the world, and a practical lawyer, and though, indeed, they were
+innocent, he knew that under the circumstances few would be found to
+believe it. At the very best there must be a terrible and shocking
+scandal, and Beatrice would lose her good name. He placed himself in the
+position of counsel for the petitioner in a like case, and thought how
+he would crush and crumple such a defence in his address to the jury. A
+probable tale forsooth!
+
+Undoubtedly, too, Honoria would be acting wisely from her point of view.
+Public sympathy would be with her throughout. He knew that, as it was,
+he was believed generally to owe much of his success to his handsome and
+high-born wife. Now it would be said that he had used her as a ladder
+and then thrown her over. With all this, however, he might cope; he
+could even bear with the vulgar attacks of a vulgar press, and the gibes
+and jeers of his political and personal enemies, but to lose Effie
+he could not bear. And if such a case were brought against him it was
+almost certain that he would lose her, for, if he was worsted, custody
+of the child would be given to the injured wife.
+
+Then there was Beatrice to be considered. The same malicious tongue that
+had revealed this matter to Honoria would probably reveal it to the rest
+of the world, and even if he escaped the worst penalties of outraged
+morality, they would certainly be wreaked upon her. Beatrice's
+reputation would be blasted, her employment lost, and her life made a
+burden to her. Yes, decidedly, Honoria had the best of the position;
+decidedly, also, she spoke words of weight and common sense.
+
+What was to be done? Was there no way out of it? All that night as
+Geoffrey sat in the House, his arms folded on his breast, and to
+appearance intently listening to the long harangues of the Opposition,
+this question haunted him. He argued the situation out this way and that
+way, till at the last he came to a conclusion. Either he must wait for
+the scandal to leak out, let Beatrice be ruined, and direct his efforts
+to the softening of Honoria, and generally to self-preservation, or he
+must take the bull by the horns, must abandon his great career and his
+country and seek refuge in another land, say America, taking Beatrice
+and Effie with him. Once the child was out of the jurisdiction, of
+course no court could force her from him.
+
+Of the two courses, even in so far as he himself was concerned, what
+between the urgency of the matter and the unceasing pressure of his
+passion, Geoffrey inclined to the latter. The relations between himself
+and Honoria had for years been so strained, so totally different
+from those which should exist between man and wife, that they greatly
+mitigated in his mind the apparent iniquity of such a step. Nor would he
+feel much compunction at removing the child from her mother, for
+there was no love lost between the two, and as time went on he guessed
+shrewdly there would be less and less. For the rest, he had some
+seventeen thousand pounds in hand; he would take half and leave Honoria
+half. He knew that he could always earn a living wherever he went, and
+probably much more than a living, and of whatever he earned a strict
+moiety should be paid to Honoria. But first and above everything, there
+was Beatrice to be considered. She must be saved, even if he ruined
+himself to save her.
+
+Lady Honoria, it is scarcely necessary to say, had little idea that she
+was driving her husband to such dangerous and determined councils. She
+wanted to frighten Geoffrey, not to lose him and all he meant to her;
+this was the last thing that she would wish to do. She did not greatly
+care about the Beatrice incident, but her shrewd common sense told her
+that it might well be used as an engine to ruin them all. Therefore she
+spoke as she did speak, though in reality matters would have to be bad
+indeed before she sought the aid of a court of law, where many things
+concerning herself might come to the light of day which she would prefer
+to leave in darkness.
+
+Nor did she stop here; she determined to attack Geoffrey's position in
+another way, namely, through Beatrice herself. For a long time Honoria
+hesitated as to the method of this attack. She had some knowledge of the
+world and of character, and from what she knew of Beatrice she came
+to the sound conclusion that she was not a woman to be threatened, but
+rather one to be appealed to. So after much thought she wrote to her
+thus:--
+
+"A story, which I still hesitate to believe, has come to me by means of
+anonymous letters, as to your conduct with my husband. I do not wish
+to repeat it now, further than to say that, if true, it establishes
+circumstances which leave no doubt as to the existence of relations so
+intimate between you as to amount to guilt. It may not be true or it
+may, in which latter event I wish to say this: With your morality I have
+nothing to do; it is your affair. Nor do I wish to plead to you as an
+injured wife or to reproach you, for there are things too wicked for
+mere reproach. But I will say this: if the story is true, I must presume
+that you have some affection for the partner of your shame. I put myself
+out of the question, and in the name of that affection, however guilty
+it may be, I ask you to push matters no further. To do so will be
+to bring its object to utter ruin. _If you care for him, sever all
+connection with him utterly and for ever._ Otherwise he will live to
+curse and hate you. Should you neglect this advice, and should the facts
+that I have heard become public property, I warn you, as I have already
+warned him, that in self-preservation and for the sake of self-respect,
+I shall be forced to appeal to the law for my remedy. Remember that his
+career is at stake, and that in losing it and me he will lose also his
+child. Remember that if this comes about it will be through _you_. Do
+not answer this, it will do no good, for I shall naturally put no faith
+in your protestations, but if you are in any way or measure guilty of
+this offence, appealing to you as one woman to another, and for the sake
+of the man who is dear to both, I say do your best to redeem the
+evil, _by making all further communication between yourself and him an
+impossibility_. H.B."
+
+It was a clever letter; Lady Honoria could not have devised one more
+powerful to work on a woman like Beatrice. The same post that took it to
+her took another from Geoffrey himself. It was long, though guarded, and
+need not be quoted in its entirety, but it put the whole position before
+her in somewhat veiled language, and ended by saying, "Marriage I cannot
+give you, only life-long love. In other circumstances to offer this
+would be an insult, but if things should be as a I fear, it is worth
+your consideration. I do not say to you _come_, I say come _if you
+wish_. No, Beatrice, I will not put this cruel burden of decision upon
+you. I say _come!_ I do not command you to come, because I promised to
+leave you uninfluenced. But I pray you to do so. Let us put an end to
+this wretchedness, and count the world well lost as our price of love.
+Come, dearest Beatrice--to leave me no more till death. I put my life
+in your hands; if you take it up, whatever trouble you may have to face,
+you will never lose my affection or esteem. Do not think of me, think of
+yourself. You have given me your love as you once gave me my life. I
+owe something in return; I cannot see you shamed and make no offer of
+reparation. Indeed, so far as I am concerned, I shall think all I lose
+as nothing compared to what I gain in gaining you. Will you come? If
+so, we will leave this country and begin afresh elsewhere. After all, it
+matters little, and will matter less when everything is said and done.
+My life has for years been but as an unwholesome dream. The one real
+thing, the one happy thing that I have found in it has been our love. Do
+not let us throw it away, Beatrice."
+
+By return of post he received this answer written in pencil.
+
+"No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+That was all.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+ELIZABETH SHOWS HER TEETH
+
+Hard had been Beatrice's hours since that grey morning of separation.
+She must bear all the inner wretchedness of her lot; she must conceal
+her grief, must suffer the slings and arrows of Elizabeth's sharp
+tongue, and strive to keep Owen Davies at a distance. Indeed, as the
+days went on, this last task grew more and more portentous. The man was
+quite unmanageable; his passion, which was humiliating and hateful to
+Beatrice, became the talk of the place. Everybody knew of it, except her
+father, and even his eyes began to be opened.
+
+One night--it was the same upon which Geoffrey and Honoria respectively
+had posted their letters to Beatrice--anybody looking into the little
+room at Bryngelly Castle, which served its owner for all purposes except
+that of sleeping, would have witnessed a very strange sight. Owen Davies
+was walking to and fro--walking rapidly with wild eyes and dishevelled
+hair. At the turn of each length of the apartment he would halt, and
+throwing his arms into the air ejaculate:
+
+"Oh, God, hear me, and give me my desire! Oh, God, answer me!"
+
+For two long hours thus he walked and thus cried aloud, till at length
+he sank panting and exhausted into a chair. Suddenly he raised his head,
+and appeared to listen intently.
+
+"The Voice," he said aloud; "the Voice again. What does it say?
+To-morrow, to-morrow I must speak; and I shall win her."
+
+He sprang up with a shout, and once more began his wild march. "Oh,
+Beatrice!" he said, "to-morrow you will promise to marry me; the Voice
+says so, and soon, soon, perhaps in one short month, you will be my
+own--mine only! Geoffrey Bingham shall not come between us then, for
+I will watch you day and night. You shall be my very, very own--my own
+beautiful Beatrice," and he stretched out his arms and clasped at the
+empty air--a crazy and unpleasant sight to see.
+
+And so he walked and spoke till the dawn was grey in the east. This
+occurred on the Friday night. It was on the following morning that
+Beatrice, the unfortunate and innocent object of these amorous
+invocations, received the two letters. She had gone to the post-office
+on her way to the school, on the chance of there being a note from
+Geoffrey. Poor woman, his letters were the one bright thing in her life.
+From motives of prudence they were written in the usual semi-formal
+style, but she was quick to read between the lines, and, moreover, they
+came from his dear hand.
+
+There was the letter sure enough, and another in a woman's writing. She
+recognised the hand as that of Lady Honoria, which she had often seen on
+envelopes directed to Geoffrey, and a thrill of fear shot through her.
+She took the letters, and walking as quickly as she could to the school,
+locked herself in her own little room, for it was not yet nine o'clock,
+and looked at them with a gathering terror. What was in them? Why did
+Lady Honoria write to her? Which should she read first? In a moment
+Beatrice had made up her mind. She would face the worst at once. With
+a set face she opened Lady Honoria's letter, unfolded it, and read. We
+already know its contents. As her mind grasped them her lips grew ashy
+white, and by the time that the horrible thing was done she was nigh to
+fainting.
+
+Anonymous letters! oh, who could have done this cruel thing? Elizabeth,
+it must be Elizabeth, who saw everything, and thus stabbed her in the
+back. Was it possible that her own sister could treat her so? She knew
+that Elizabeth disliked her; she could never fathom the cause, still she
+knew the fact. But if this were her doing, then she must hate her, and
+most bitterly; and what had she done to earn such hate? And now Geoffrey
+was in danger on her account, danger of ruin, and how could she prevent
+it? This was her first idea. Most people might have turned to their own
+position and been content to leave their lover to fight his own battle.
+But Beatrice thought little of herself. He was in danger, and how could
+she protect him? Why here in the letter was the answer! "If you care for
+him sever all connection with him utterly, and for ever. Otherwise, he
+will live to curse and hate you." No, no! Geoffrey would never do that.
+But Lady Honoria was quite right; in his interest, for his sake, she
+must sever all connection with him--sever it utterly and for ever. But
+how--how?
+
+She thrust the letter into her dress--a viper would have been a more
+welcome guest--and opened Geoffrey's.
+
+It told the same tale, but offered a different solution. The tears
+started to her eyes as she read his offer to take her to him for
+good and all, and go away with her to begin life afresh. It seemed a
+wonderful thing to Beatrice that he should be willing to sacrifice
+so much upon such a worthless altar as her love--a wonderful and most
+generous thing. She pressed the senseless paper to her heart, then
+kissed it again and again. But she never thought of yielding to this
+great temptation, never for one second. He prayed her to come, but that
+she would not do while her will remained. What, _she_ bring Geoffrey
+to ruin? No, she had rather starve in the streets or perish by slow
+torture. How could he ever think that she would consent to such a
+scheme? Indeed she never would; she had brought enough trouble on him
+already. But oh, she blessed him for that letter. How deeply must he
+love her when he could offer to do this for her sake!
+
+Hark! the children were waiting; she must go and teach. The letter,
+Geoffrey's dear letter, could be answered in the afternoon. So she
+thrust it in her breast with the other, but closer to her heart, and
+went.
+
+
+
+That afternoon as Mr. Granger, in a happy frame of mind--for were not
+his debts paid, and had he not found a most convenient way of providing
+against future embarrassment?--was engaged peaceably in contemplating
+his stock over the gate of his little farm buildings, he was much
+astonished suddenly to discover Owen Davies at his elbow.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" he said; "how quietly you must have come."
+
+"Yes," answered Owen absently. "The fact is, I have followed you because
+I want to speak to you alone--quite alone."
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Davies--well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You
+don't look very well."
+
+"Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there's nothing
+wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, I know that
+full surely."
+
+"Indeed," said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air,
+"and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your
+service, as you know," he added apologetically.
+
+"This," he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way
+that made him start.
+
+"What--my coat, do you mean?"
+
+"Don't be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice."
+
+"Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think
+that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I
+admit that the arithmetic----"
+
+"No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don't wish her to go to the
+school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I want
+to marry her."
+
+The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright?
+Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry
+his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be
+true!
+
+"I am indeed flattered," he said. "It is more than she could expect--not
+but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever," he added
+hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter's market
+value.
+
+"Good-looking--clever; she is an angel," murmured Owen.
+
+"Oh, yes, of course she is," said her father, "that is, if a woman--yes,
+of course--and what is more, I think she's very fond of you. I think she
+is pining for you. I've though so for a long time."
+
+"Is she?" said Owen anxiously. "Then all I have to say is that she takes
+a very curious way of showing it. She won't say a word to me; she puts
+me off on every occasion. But it will be all right now--all right now."
+
+"Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives.
+We know about all that," said Mr. Granger sententiously.
+
+His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it
+indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
+
+"Mr. Granger," he said, seizing his hand, "I want to make Beatrice my
+wife--I do indeed."
+
+"Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies."
+
+"If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters
+and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a settlement
+as any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a father, and I
+shall raise no difficulties."
+
+"Very right and proper, I am sure," said Mr. Granger, adopting a loftier
+tone as he discovered the advantages of his position. "But of course
+on such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer. I daresay that
+Mr. Bingham would advise me," he added, "as a friend of the family,
+you know. He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn't charge
+anything."
+
+"Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham," answered Owen anxiously. "I will do anything
+you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I'll pay the bill myself. But
+never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice first. Come
+along at once."
+
+"Eh, but hadn't you better arrange that part of the business privately?"
+
+"No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had
+better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won't speak to
+her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God
+directed me to do, and then it will be all right--I know it will."
+
+Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort,
+and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies's
+matrimonial intentions.
+
+"Ah, well," he said, "I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven;
+yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay
+that we shall find Beatrice in."
+
+So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet
+perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about
+the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to
+himself.
+
+In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
+
+"Where is Beatrice?" asked her father.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and
+troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
+
+"Ah, Beatrice," said her father, "we were just asking for you."
+
+She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly
+perceived that some new danger threatened her.
+
+"Indeed," she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born
+of fear. "What is it, father?"
+
+Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door.
+It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two
+persons principally concerned.
+
+"Don't go," said Owen Davies excitedly, "don't go, either of you; what I
+have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say it
+before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops."
+
+Elizabeth glared at him fiercely--glared first at him and then at the
+innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why
+had she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before?
+But the heart of Beatrice, who sat momentarily expecting to be publicly
+denounced, grew ever fainter. The waters of desolation were closing in
+over her soul.
+
+Mr. Granger sat down firmly and worked himself into the seat of his
+chair, as though to secure an additional fixedness of tenure. Elizabeth
+set her teeth, and leaned her elbow on the table, holding her hand so as
+to shade her face. Beatrice drooped upon her seat like a fading lily, or
+a prisoner in the dock. She was opposite to them, and Owen Davies, his
+face alight with wild enthusiasm, stood up and addressed them all like
+the counsel for the prosecution.
+
+"Last autumn," he began, speaking to Mr. Granger, who might have been
+a judge uncertain as to the merits of the case, "I asked your daughter
+Beatrice to marry me."
+
+Beatrice gave a sigh, and collected her scattered energies. The storm
+had burst at last, and she must face it.
+
+"I asked her to marry me, and she told me to wait a year. I have waited
+as long as I could, but I could not wait the whole year. I have prayed a
+great deal, and I am bidden to speak."
+
+Elizabeth made a gesture of impatience. She was a person of strong
+common sense, and this mixture of religion and eroticism disgusted her.
+She also know that the storm had burst, and that _she_ must face it.
+
+"So I come to tell you that I love your daughter Beatrice, and want to
+make her my wife. I have never loved anybody else, but I have loved her
+for years; and I ask your consent."
+
+"Very flattering, very flattering, I am sure, especially in these hard
+times," said Mr. Granger apologetically, shaking his thin hair down over
+his forehead, and then rumpling it up again. "But you see, Mr. Davies,
+you don't want to marry me" (here Beatrice smiled faintly)--"you want to
+marry my daughter, so you had better ask her direct--at least I suppose
+so."
+
+Elizabeth made a movement as though to speak, then changed her mind and
+listened.
+
+"Beatrice," said Owen Davies, "you hear. I ask you to marry me."
+
+There was a pause. Beatrice, who had sat quite silent, was gathering up
+her strength to answer. Elizabeth, watching her from beneath her
+hand, thought that she read upon her face irresolution, softening into
+consent. What she really saw was but doubt as to the fittest and most
+certain manner of refusal. Like lightning it flashed into Elizabeth's
+mind that she must strike now, or hold her hand for ever. If once
+Beatrice spoke that fatal "yes," her revelations might be of no avail.
+And Beatrice would speak it; she was sure she would. It was a golden
+road out of her troubles.
+
+"Stop!" said Elizabeth in a shrill, hard voice. "Stop! I must speak;
+it is my duty as a Christian. I must tell the truth. I cannot allow an
+honest man to be deceived."
+
+There was an awful pause. Beatrice broke it. Now she saw all the truth,
+and knew what was at hand. She placed her hand upon her heart to still
+its beating.
+
+"Oh, Elizabeth," she said, "in our dead mother's name----" and she
+stopped.
+
+"Yes," answered her sister, "in our dead mother's name, which you have
+dishonoured, I will do it. Listen, Owen Davies, and father: Beatrice,
+who sits there"--and she pointed at her with her thin hand--"_Beatrice
+is a scarlet woman!_"
+
+"I really don't understand," gasped Mr. Granger, while Owen looked round
+wildly, and Beatrice sunk her head upon her breast.
+
+"Then I will explain," said Elizabeth, still pointing at her sister.
+"She is Geoffrey Bingham's _mistress_. On the night of Whit-Sunday last
+she rose from bed and went into his room at one in the morning. I saw
+her with my own eyes. Afterwards she was brought back to her bed in his
+arms--I saw it with my own eyes, and I heard him kiss her." (This was
+a piece of embroidery on Elizabeth's part.) "She is his lover, and has
+been in love with him for months. I tell you this, Owen Davies, because,
+though I cannot bear to bring disgrace upon our name and to defile my
+lips with such a tale, neither can I bear that you should marry a girl,
+believing her to be good, when she is what Beatrice is."
+
+"Then I wish to God that you had held your wicked tongue," said Mr.
+Granger fiercely.
+
+"No, father. I have a duty to perform, and I will perform it at any
+cost, and however much it pains me. You know that what I say is true.
+You heard the noise on the night of Whit-Sunday, and got up to see what
+it was. You saw the white figure in the passage--it was Geoffrey Bingham
+with Beatrice in his arms. Ah! well may she hang her head. Let her deny
+if it she can. Let her deny that she loves him to her shame, and that
+she was alone in his room on that night."
+
+Then Beatrice rose and spoke. She was pale as death and more beautiful
+in her shame and her despair than ever she had been before; her glorious
+eyes shone, and there were deep black lines beneath them.
+
+"My heart is my own," she said, "and I will make no answer to you about
+it. Think what you will. For the rest, it is not true. I am not what
+Elizabeth tells you that I am. I am _not_ Geoffrey Bingham's mistress.
+It is true that I was in his room that night, and it is true that he
+carried me back to my own. But it was in my sleep that I went there, not
+of my own free will. I awoke there, and fainted when I woke, and then at
+once he bore me back."
+
+Elizabeth laughed shrill and loud--it sounded like the cackle of a
+fiend.
+
+"In her sleep," she said; "oh, she went there in her sleep!"
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, in my sleep. You do not believe me, but it is true. You
+do not wish to believe me. You wish to bring the sister whom you should
+love, who has never offended against you by act or word, to utter
+disgrace and ruin. In your cowardly spite you have written anonymous
+letters to Lady Honoria Bingham, to prevail upon her to strike the blow
+that should destroy her husband and myself, and when you fear that this
+has failed, you come forward and openly accuse us. You do this in the
+name of Christian duty; in the name of love and charity, you believe the
+worst, and seek to ruin us. Shame on you, Elizabeth! shame on you! and
+may the same measure that you have meted out to me never be paid back to
+you. We are no longer sisters. Whatever happens, I have done with you.
+Go your ways."
+
+Elizabeth shrank and quailed beneath her sister's scorn. Even her
+venomous hatred could not bear up against the flash of those royal eyes,
+and the majesty of that outraged innocence. She gasped and bit her lip
+till the blood started, but she said nothing.
+
+Then Beatrice turned to her father, and spoke in another and a pleading
+voice, stretching out her arms towards him.
+
+"Oh, father," she said, "at least tell me that _you_ believe me. Though
+you may think that I might love to all extremes, surely, having known
+me so many years, you cannot think that I would lie even for my love's
+sake."
+
+The old man looked wildly round, and shook his head.
+
+"In his room and in his arms," he said. "I saw it, it seems. You, too,
+who have never been known to walk in your sleep from a child; and you
+will not say that you do not love him--the scoundrel. It is wicked of
+Elizabeth--jealousy bitter as the grave. It is wicked of her to tell the
+tale; but as it is told, how can I say that I do not believe it?"
+
+Then Beatrice, her cup being full, once more dropped her head, and
+turned to go.
+
+"Stop," said Owen Davies in a hoarse voice, and speaking for the first
+time. "Hear what _I_ have to say."
+
+She lifted her eyes. "With you, Mr. Davies, I have nothing to do; I am
+not answerable to you. Go and help your accomplice," and she pointed to
+Elizabeth, "to cry this scandal over the whole world."
+
+"Stop," he said again. "I will speak. I believe that it is true. I
+believe that you are Geoffrey Bingham's mistress, curse him! but I do
+not care. I am still willing to marry you."
+
+Elizabeth gasped. Was this to be the end of her scheming? Would the
+blind passion of this madman prevail over her revelations, and Beatrice
+still become his rich and honoured wife, while she was left poor and
+disgraced? Oh, it was monstrous! Oh, she had never dreamed of this!
+
+"Noble, noble!" murmured Mr. Granger; "noble! God bless you!"
+
+So the position was not altogether beyond recovery. His erring daughter
+might still be splendidly married; he might still look forward to peace
+and wealth in his old age.
+
+Only Beatrice smiled faintly.
+
+"I thank you," she said. "I am much honoured, but I could never have
+married you because I do not love you. You must understand me very
+little if you think that I should be the more ready to do so on account
+of the danger in which I stand," and she ceased.
+
+"Listen, Beatrice," Owen went on, an evil light shining on his heavy
+face, while Elizabeth sat astounded, scarcely able to believe her ears.
+"I want you, and I mean to marry you; you are more to me than all the
+world. I can give you everything, and you had better yield to me, and
+you shall hear no more of this. But if you won't, then this is what I
+will do. I will be revenged upon you--terribly revenged."
+
+Beatrice shook her head and smiled again, as though to bid him do his
+worst.
+
+"And look, Beatrice," he went on, waxing almost eloquent in his jealous
+despair, "I have another argument to urge on you. I will not only be
+revenged on you, I will be revenged upon your lover--on this Geoffrey
+Bingham."
+
+"_Oh!_" said Beatrice sharply, like one in pain. He had found the way
+to move her now, and with the cunning of semi-madness he drove the point
+home.
+
+"Yes, you may start--I will. I tell you that I will never rest till I
+have ruined him, and I am rich and can do it. I have a hundred thousand
+pounds, that I will spend on doing it. I have nothing to fear, except
+an action for libel. Oh, I am not a fool, though you think I am, I know.
+Well, I can pay for a dozen actions. There are papers in London that
+will be glad to publish all this--yes, the whole story--with plans
+and pictures too. Just think, Beatrice, what it will be when all
+England--yes, and all the world--is gloating over your shame, and
+half-a-dozen prints are using the thing for party purposes, clamouring
+for the disgrace of the man who ruined you, and whom you will ruin. He
+has a fine career; it shall be utterly destroyed. By God! I will hunt
+him to his grave, unless you promise to marry me, Beatrice. Do that, and
+not a word of this shall be said. Now answer."
+
+Mr. Granger sank back in his chair; this savage play of human passions
+was altogether beyond his experience--it overwhelmed him. As for
+Elizabeth, she bit her thin fingers, and glared from one to the other.
+"He reckons without me," she thought. "He reckons without me--I will
+marry him yet."
+
+But Beatrice leant for a moment against the wall and shut her eyes
+to think. Oh, she saw it all--the great posters with her name and
+Geoffrey's on them, the shameless pictures of her in his arms, the
+sickening details, the letters of the outraged matrons, the "Mothers of
+ten," and the moral-minded colonels--all, all! She heard the prurient
+scream of every male Elizabeth in England; the allusions in the
+House--the jeers, the bitter attacks of enemies and rivals. Then Lady
+Honoria would begin her suit, and it would all be dragged up afresh,
+and Geoffrey's fault would be on every lip, till he was _ruined_. For
+herself she did not care; but could she bring this on one whose only
+crime was that she had learned to love him? No, no; but neither could
+she marry this hateful man. And yet what escape was there? She flung
+herself upon her woman's wit, and it did not fail her. In a few seconds
+she had thought it all out and made up her mind.
+
+"How can I answer you at a moment's notice, Mr. Davies?" she said. "I
+must have time to think it over. To threaten such revenge upon me is not
+manly, but I know that you love me, and therefore I excuse it. Still, I
+must have time. I am confused."
+
+"What, another year? No, no," he said. "You must answer."
+
+"I do not ask a year or a month. I only ask for one week. If you will
+not give me that, then I will defy you, and you may do your worst. I
+cannot answer now."
+
+This was a bold stroke, but it told. Mr. Davies hesitated.
+
+"Give the girl a week," said her father to him. "She is not herself."
+
+"Very well; one week, no more," said he.
+
+"I have another stipulation to make," said Beatrice, "You are all to
+swear to me that for that week no word of this will pass your mouths;
+that for that week I shall not be annoyed or interfered with, or spoken
+to on the subject, not by one of you. If at the end of it I still refuse
+to accept your terms, you can do your worst, but till then you must hold
+your hand."
+
+Owen Davies hesitated; he was suspicious.
+
+"Remember," Beatrice went on, raising her voice, "I am a desperate
+woman. I may turn at bay, and do something which you do not expect, and
+that will be very little to the advantage of any of you. Do you swear?"
+
+"Yes," said Owen Davies.
+
+Then Beatrice looked at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked at her. She saw
+that the matter had taken a new form. She saw what her jealous folly
+had hitherto hidden from her--that Beatrice did not mean to marry Owen
+Davies, that she was merely gaining time to execute some purpose of
+her own. What this might be Elizabeth cared little so that it did not
+utterly extinguish chances that at the moment seemed faint enough. She
+did not want to push matters against her sister, or her lover Geoffrey,
+beyond the boundary of her own interests. Beatrice should have her
+week, and be free from all interference so far as she was concerned. She
+realised now that it was too late how great had been her error. Oh, if
+only she had sought Beatrice's confidence at first! But it had seemed to
+her impossible that she would really throw away such an opportunity in
+life.
+
+"Certainly I promise, Beatrice," she said mildly. "I do not swear,
+for 'swear not at all,' you know. I only did what I thought my duty in
+warning Mr. Davies. If he chooses to go on with the matter, it is no
+affair of mine. I had no wish to hurt you, or Mr. Bingham. I acted
+solely from my religious convictions."
+
+"Oh, stop talking religion, Elizabeth, and practise it a little
+more!" said her father, for once in his life stirred out of his feeble
+selfishness. "We have all undertaken to keep our mouths sealed for this
+week."
+
+Then Beatrice left the room, and after her went Owen Davies without
+another word.
+
+"Elizabeth," said her father, rising, "you are a wicked woman! What did
+you do this for?"
+
+"Do you want to know, father?" she said coolly; "then I will tell you.
+Because I mean to marry Owen Davies myself. We must all look after
+ourselves in this world, you know; and that is a maxim which you never
+forget, for one. I mean to marry him; and though I seem to have failed,
+marry him I will, yet! And now you know all about it; and if you are
+not a fool, you will hold your tongue and let me be!" and she went also,
+leaving him alone.
+
+Mr. Granger held up his hands in astonishment. He was a selfish,
+money-seeking old man, but he felt that he did not deserve to have such
+a daughter as this.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+WHAT BEATRICE SWORE
+
+Beatrice went to her room, but the atmosphere of the place seemed to
+stifle her. Her brain was reeling, she must go out into the air--away
+from her tormentors. She had not yet answered Geoffrey's letter, and
+it must be answered by this post, for there was none on Sunday. It was
+half-past four--the post went out at five; if she was going to write,
+she should do so at once, but she could not do so here. Besides, she
+must find time for thought. Ah, she had it; she would take her canoe and
+paddle across the bay to the little town of Coed and write her letter
+there. The post did not leave Coed till half-past six. She put on her
+hat and jacket, and taking a stamp, a sheet of paper, and an envelope
+with her, slipped quietly from the house down to old Edward's boat-house
+where the canoe was kept. Old Edward was not there himself, but his
+son was, a boy of fourteen, and by his help Beatrice was soon safely
+launched. The sea glittered like glass, and turning southwards,
+presently she was paddling round the shore of the island on which the
+Castle stood towards the open bay.
+
+As she paddled her mind cleared, and she was able to consider the
+position. It was bad enough. She saw no light, darkness hemmed her in.
+But at least she had a week before her, and meanwhile what should she
+write to Geoffrey?
+
+Then, as she thought, a great temptation assailed Beatrice, and for the
+first time her resolution wavered. Why should she not accept Geoffrey's
+offer and go away with him--far away from all this misery? Gladly would
+she give her life to spend one short year at his dear side. She had but
+to say the word, and he would take her to him, and in a month from now
+they would be together in some foreign land, counting the world well
+lost, as he had said. Doubtless in time Lady Honoria would get a
+divorce, and they might be married. A day might even come when all this
+would seem like a forgotten night of storm and fear; when, surrounded by
+the children of their love, they would wend peaceably, happily, through
+the evening of their days towards a bourne robbed of half its terrors by
+the fact that they would cross it hand-in-hand.
+
+Oh, that would be well for her; but would it be well for him? When the
+first months of passion had passed by, would he not begin to think of
+all that he had thrown away for the sake of a woman's love? Would not
+the burst of shame and obloquy which would follow him to the remotest
+corners of the earth wear away his affection, till at last, as Lady
+Honoria said, he learned to curse and hate her. And if it did not--if
+he still loved her through it all--as, being what he was, he well might
+do--could she be the one to bring this ruin on him? Oh, it would have
+been more kind to let him drown on that night of the storm, when fate
+first brought them together to their undoing.
+
+No, no; once and for all, once and for ever, she would _not_ do it.
+Cruel as was her strait, heavy as was her burden, not one feather's
+weight of it should he carry, if by any means in her poor power she
+could hold it from his back. She would not even tell him of what had
+happened--at any rate, not now. It would distress him; he might take
+some desperate step; it was almost certain that he would do so. Her
+answer must be very short.
+
+She was quite close to Coed now, and the water lay calm as a pond. So
+calm was it that she drew the sheet of paper and the envelope from her
+pocket, and leaning forward, rested them on the arched covering of the
+canoe, and pencilled those words which we have already read.
+
+"No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+Thus she wrote. Then she paddled to the shore. A fisherman standing on
+the beach caught her canoe and pulled it up. Leaving it in his charge,
+she went into the quaint little town, directed and posted her letter,
+and bought some wool. It was an excuse for having been there should any
+one ask questions. After that she returned to her canoe. The fisherman
+was standing by it. She offered him sixpence for his trouble, but he
+would not take it.
+
+"No, miss," he said, "thanking you kindly--but we don't often get a peep
+at such sweet looks. It's worth sixpence to see you, it is. But, miss,
+if I may make so bold as to say so, it isn't safe for you to cruise
+about in that craft, any ways not alone."
+
+Beatrice thanked him and blushed a little. Vaguely it occurred to her
+that she must have more than a common share of beauty, when a rough man
+could be so impressed with it. That was what men loved women for, their
+beauty, as Owen Davies loved and desired her for this same cause and
+this only.
+
+Perhaps it was the same with Geoffrey--no, she did not believe it. He
+loved her for other things besides her looks. Only if she had not been
+beautiful, perhaps he would not have begun to love her, so she was
+thankful for her eyes and hair, and form.
+
+Could folly and infatuation go further? This woman in the darkest hour
+of her bottomless and unhorizoned despair, with conscience gnawing at
+her heart, with present misery pressing on her breast, and shame to come
+hanging over her like a thunder cloud, could yet feel thankful that she
+had won this barren love, the spring of all her woe. Or was her folly
+deep wisdom in disguise?--is there something divine in a passion that
+can so override and defy the worst agonies of life?
+
+She was at sea again now, and evening was falling on the waters softly
+as a dream. Well, the letter was posted. Would it be the last, she
+wondered? It seemed as though she must write no more letters. And what
+was to be done? She would _not_ marry Owen Davies--never would she do
+it. She could not so shamelessly violate her feelings, for Beatrice was
+a woman to whom death would be preferable to dishonour, however legal.
+No, for her own sake she would not be soiled with that disgrace. Did she
+do this, she would hold herself the vilest of the vile. And still less
+would she do it for Geoffrey's sake. Her instinct told her what he would
+feel at such a thing, though he might never say a word. Surely he would
+loathe and despise her. No, that idea was done with--utterly done with.
+
+Then what remained to her? She would not fly with Geoffrey, since to
+do so would be to ruin him. She would not marry Owen, and not to do so
+would still be to ruin Geoffrey. She was no fool, she was innocent in
+act, but she knew that her innocence would indeed be hard to prove--even
+her own father did not believe in it, and her sister would openly accuse
+her to the world. What then should she do? Should she hide herself in
+some remote half-civilised place, or in London? It was impossible; she
+had no money, and no means of getting any. Besides, they would hunt
+her out, both Owen Davies and Geoffrey would track her to the furthest
+limits of the earth. And would not the former think that Geoffrey had
+spirited her away, and at once put his threats into execution? Obviously
+he would. There was no hope in that direction. Some other plan must be
+found or her lover would still be ruined.
+
+So argued Beatrice, still thinking not of herself, but of Geoffrey,
+of that beloved one who was more to her than all the world, more, a
+thousand times, than her own safety or well-being. Perhaps she overrated
+the matter. Owen Davies, Lady Honoria, and even Elizabeth might have
+done all they threatened; the first of them, perhaps the first two
+of them, certainly would have done so. But still Geoffrey might have
+escaped destruction. Public opinion, or the sounder part of it, is
+sensibly enough hard to move in such a matter, especially when the
+person said to have been wronged is heart and soul on the side of him
+who is said to have wronged her.
+
+Moreover there might have been ways out of it, of which she knew
+nothing. But surrounded as she was by threatening powers--by Lady
+Honoria threatening actions in the Courts on one side, by Owen Davies
+threatening exposure on another, by Elizabeth ready and willing to
+give the most damning evidence on the third, to Beatrice the worst
+consequences seemed an absolutely necessary sequence. Then there was her
+own conscience arrayed against her. This particular charge was a lie,
+but it was not a lie that she loved Geoffrey, and to her the two things
+seemed very much the same thing. Hers was not a mind to draw fine
+distinctions in such matters. _Se posuit ut culpabilem_: she "placed
+herself as guilty," as the old Court rolls put it in miserable Latin,
+and this sense of guilt disarmed her. She did not realise the enormous
+difference recognised by the whole civilised world between thought and
+act, between disposing mind and inculpating deed. Beatrice looked at the
+question more from the scriptural point of view, remembering that in
+the Bible such fine divisions are expressly stated to be distinctions
+without a difference.
+
+Had she gone to Geoffrey and told him her whole story it is probable
+that he would have defied the conspiracy, faced it out, and possibly
+come off victorious. But, with that deadly reticence of which women
+alone are capable, this she did not and would not do. Sweet loving woman
+that she was, she would not burden him with her sorrows, she would bear
+them alone--little reckoning that thereby she was laying up a far, far
+heavier load for him to carry through all his days.
+
+So Beatrice accepted the statements of the plaintiff's attorney for
+gospel truth, and from that false standpoint she drew her auguries.
+
+
+
+Oh, she was weary! How lovely was the falling night, see how it brooded
+on the seas! and how clear were the waters--there a fish passed by her
+paddle--and there the first start sprang into the sky! If only Geoffrey
+were here to see it with her. Geoffrey! she had lost him; she was alone
+in the world now--alone with the sea and the stars. Well, they were
+better than men--better than all men except one. Theirs was a divine
+companionship, and it soothed her. Ah, how hateful had been Elizabeth's
+face, more hateful even than the half-crazed cunning of Owen Davies,
+when she stretched her hand towards her and called her "a scarlet
+woman." It was so like Elizabeth, this mixing up of Bible terms with her
+accusation. And after all perhaps it was true.--What was it, "Though thy
+sins be as scarlet, yet shall they be white as snow." But that was only
+if one repented. She did not repent, not in the least. Conscience, it
+is true, reproached her with a breach of temporal and human law, but her
+heart cried that such love as she had given was immortal and divine, and
+therefore set beyond the little bounds of time and man. At any rate,
+she loved Geoffrey and was proud and glad to love him. The circumstances
+were unfortunate, but she did not make the world or its social
+arrangements any more than she had made herself, and she could not help
+that. The fact remained, right or wrong--she loved him, loved him!
+
+How clear were the waters! What was that wild dream which she had
+dreamt about herself sitting at the bottom of the sea, and waiting for
+him--till at last he came. Sitting at the bottom of the sea--why did
+it strike her so strangely--what unfamiliar thought did it waken in her
+mind? Well, and why not? It would be pleasant there, better at any rate
+than on the earth. But things cannot be ended so; one is burdened with
+the flesh, and one must wear it till it fails. Why must she wear it?
+Was not the sea large enough to hide her bones? Look now, she had but
+to slip over the edge of the canoe, slip without a struggle into those
+mighty arms, and in a few short minutes it would all be done and gone!
+
+She gasped as the thought struck home. _Here_ was the answer to her
+questionings, the same answer that is given to every human troubling,
+to all earthly hopes and fears and strivings. One stroke of that black
+knife and everything would be lost or found. Would it be so great a
+thing to give her life for Geoffrey?--why she had well nigh done as much
+when she had known him but an hour, and now that he was all in all,
+oh, would it be so great a thing? If she died--died secretly, swiftly,
+surely--Geoffrey would be saved; they would not trouble him then, there
+would be no one to trouble about: Owen Davies could not marry her then,
+Geoffrey could not ruin himself over her, Elizabeth could pursue her no
+further. It would be well to do this thing for Geoffrey, and he would
+always love her, and beyond that black curtain there might be something
+better.
+
+They said that it was sin. Yes, it might be sin to act thus for oneself
+alone. But to do it for another--how of that! Was not the Saviour whom
+they preached a Man of Sacrifice? Would it be a sin in her to die for
+Geoffrey, to sacrifice herself that Geoffrey might go free?
+
+Oh, it would be no great merit. Her life was not so easy that she should
+fear this pure embrace. It would be better, far better, than to marry
+Owen Davies, than to desecrate their love and teach Geoffrey to despise
+her. And how else could she ward this trouble from him except by her
+death, or by a marriage that in her eyes was more dreadful than any
+death?
+
+
+
+She could not do it yet. She could not die until she had once more seen
+his face, even though he did not see hers. No, not to-night would
+she seek this swift solution. She had words to say--or words to
+write--before the end. Already they rushed in upon her mind!
+
+But if no better plan presented itself she would do it, she was sure
+that she would. It was a sin--well, let it be a sin; what did she care
+if she sinned for Geoffrey? He would not think the worse of her for it.
+And she had hope, yes, Geoffrey had taught her to hope. If there was a
+Hell, why it was here. And yet not all a Hell, for in it she had found
+her love!
+
+
+
+It grew dark; she could hear the whisper of the waves upon Bryngelly
+beach. It grew dark; the night was closing round. She paddled to within
+a few fathoms of the shore, and called in her clear voice.
+
+"Ay, ay, miss," answered old Edward from the beach. "Come in on the next
+wave."
+
+She came in accordingly and her canoe was caught and dragged high and
+dry.
+
+"What, Miss Beatrice," said the old man shaking his head and grumbling,
+"at it again! Out all alone in that thing," and he gave the canoe a
+contemptuous kick, "and in the dark, too. You want a husband to look
+after you, you do. You'll never rest till you're drowned."
+
+"No, Edward," she answered with a little laugh. "I don't suppose that I
+shall. There is no peace for the wicked above seas, you know. Now do not
+scold. The canoe is as safe as church in this weather and in the bay."
+
+"Oh, yes, it's safe enough in the calm and the bay," he answered, "but
+supposing it should come on to blow and supposing you should drift
+beyond the shelter of Rumball Point there, and get the rollers down on
+you--why you would be drowned in five minutes. It's wicked, miss, that's
+what it is."
+
+Beatrice laughed again and went.
+
+"She's a funny one she is," said the old man scratching his head as he
+looked after her, "of all the woman folk as ever I knowed she is the
+rummest. I sometimes thinks she wants to get drowned. Dash me if I
+haven't half a mind to stave a hole in the bottom of that there damned
+canoe, and finish it."
+
+Beatrice reached home a little before supper time. Her first act was
+to call Betty the servant and with her assistance to shift her bed and
+things into the spare room. With Elizabeth she would have nothing more
+to do. They had slept together since they were children, now she had
+done with her. Then she went in to supper, and sat through it like a
+statue, speaking no word. Her father and Elizabeth kept up a strained
+conversation, but they did not speak to her, nor she to them. Elizabeth
+did not even ask where she had been, nor take any notice of her change
+of room.
+
+One thing, however, Beatrice learnt. Her father was going on the Monday
+to Hereford by an early train to attend a meeting of clergymen collected
+to discuss the tithe question. He was to return by the last train on
+the Tuesday night, that is, about midnight. Beatrice now discovered
+that Elizabeth proposed to accompany him. Evidently she wished to see as
+little as possible of her sister during this week of truce--possibly she
+was a little afraid of her. Even Elizabeth might have a conscience.
+
+So she should be left alone from Monday morning till Tuesday night. One
+can do a good deal in forty hours.
+
+After supper Beatrice rose and left the room, without a word, and they
+were glad when she went. She frightened them with her set face and
+great calm eyes. But neither spoke to the other on the subject. They had
+entered into a conspiracy of silence.
+
+Beatrice locked her door and then sat at the window lost in thought.
+When once the idea of suicide has entered the mind it is apt to grow
+with startling rapidity. She reviewed the whole position; she went
+over all the arguments and searched the moral horizon for some feasible
+avenue of escape. But she could find none that would save Geoffrey,
+except this. Yes, she would do it, as many another wretched woman had
+done before her, not from cowardice indeed, for had she alone been
+concerned she would have faced the thing out, fighting to the bitter
+end--but for this reason only, it would cut off the dangers which
+threatened Geoffrey at their very root and source. Of course there must
+be no scandal; it must never be known that she had killed herself, or
+she might defeat her own object, for the story would be raked up. But
+she well knew how to avoid such a possibility; in her extremity Beatrice
+grew cunning as a fox. Yes, and there might be an inquest at which
+awkward questions would be asked. But, as she well knew also, before
+an inquest can be held there must be something to hold it on, and that
+something would not be there.
+
+
+
+And so in the utter silence of the night and in the loneliness of her
+chamber did Beatrice dedicate herself to sacrifice upon the altar of
+her immeasurable love. She would face the last agonies of death when the
+bloom of her youthful strength and beauty was but opening as a rose in
+June. She would do more, she would brave the threatened vengeance of the
+most High, coming before Him a self murderess, and with but one plea for
+pity--that she loved so well: _quia multum amavit_. Yes, she would do
+all this, would leave the warm world in the dawning summer of her days,
+and alone go out into the dark--alone would face those visions which
+might come--those Shapes of terror, and those Things of fear, that
+perchance may wait for sinful human kind. Alone she would go--oh, hand
+in hand with him it had been easy, but this must not be. The door of
+utter darkness would swing to behind her, and who could say if in time
+to come it should open to Geoffrey's following feet, or if he might ever
+find the path that she had trod. It must be done, it should be done!
+Beatrice rose from her seat with bright eyes and quick-coming breath,
+and swore before God, if God there were, that she would do it, trusting
+to Him for pardon and for pity, or failing these--for sleep.
+
+Yes, but first she must once more look upon Geoffrey's dear face--and
+then farewell!
+
+Pity her! poor mistaken woman, making of her will a Providence, rushing
+to doom. Pity her, but do not blame her overmuch, or if you do, then
+blame Judith and Jephtha's daughter and Charlotte Corday, and all the
+glorious women who from time to time have risen on this sordid world of
+self, and given themselves as an offering upon the altars of their love,
+their religion, their honour or their country!
+
+
+
+It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was
+to come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been,
+Beatrice lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
+
+Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
+feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class as
+usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she was
+with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of
+the Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
+father's oath.
+
+Nearly all the rest of the day and evening she spent in writing that
+which we shall read in time--only in the late afternoon she went out for
+a little while in her canoe. Another thing Beatrice did also: she called
+at the lodging of her assistant, the head school teacher, and told
+her it was possible that she would not be in her place on the Tuesday
+(Monday was, as it chanced, a holiday). If anybody inquired as to her
+absence, perhaps she would kindly tell them that Miss Granger had an
+appointment to keep, and had taken a morning's holiday in order to do
+so. She should, however, be back that afternoon. The teacher assented
+without suspicion, remarking that if Beatrice could not take a morning's
+holiday, she was sure she did not know who could.
+
+Next morning they breakfasted very early, because Mr. Granger and
+Elizabeth had to catch the train. Beatrice sat through the meal in
+silence, her calm eyes looking straight before her, and the others,
+gazing on them, and at the lovely inscrutable face, felt an indefinable
+fear creep into their hearts. What did this woman mean to do? That was
+the question they asked of themselves, though not of each other. That
+she meant to do something they were sure, for there was purpose written
+on every line of her cold face.
+
+Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
+flashed like an arrow into Beatrice's heart, and pierced it. This was
+the last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last time
+that she could ever see her father's and her sister's faces. For her
+sister, well, it might pass--for there are some things which even a
+woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive--but she loved her father.
+She loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-seeking had
+become endeared to her by long and wondering contemplation. Besides, he
+was her father; he gave her the life she was about to cast away. And she
+should never see him more. Not on that account did she hesitate in her
+purpose, which was now set in her mind, like Bryngelly Castle on its
+rock, but at the thought tears rushed unbidden to her eyes.
+
+Just then breakfast came to an end, and Elizabeth hurried from the room
+to fetch her bonnet.
+
+"Father," said Beatrice, "if you can before you go, I should like
+to hear you say that you do not believe that I told you what was
+false--about that story."
+
+"Eh, eh!" answered the old man nervously, "I thought that we had agreed
+to say nothing about the matter at present."
+
+"Yes, but I should like to hear you say it, father. It cuts me that
+you should think that I would lie to you, for in my life I have never
+wilfully told you what was not true;" and she clasped her hands about
+his arms, and looked into his face.
+
+He gazed at her doubtfully. Was it possible after all she was speaking
+the truth? No; it was not possible.
+
+"I can't, Beatrice," he said--"not that I blame you overmuch for trying
+to defend yourself; a cornered rat will show fight."
+
+"May you never regret those words," she said; "and now good-bye," and
+she kissed him on the forehead.
+
+At this moment Elizabeth entered, saying that it was time to start, and
+he did not return the kiss.
+
+"Good-bye, Elizabeth," said Beatrice, stretching out her hand. But
+Elizabeth affected not to see it, and in another moment they were gone.
+She followed them to the gate and watched them till they vanished down
+the road. Then she returned, her heart strained almost to bursting. But
+she wept no tear.
+
+Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to her father and her sister.
+
+"Elizabeth," said Mr. Granger, as they drew near to the station, "I am
+not easy in my thoughts about Beatrice. There was such a strange look in
+her eyes; it--in short, it frightens me. I have half a mind to give up
+Hereford, and go back," and he stopped upon the road, hesitating.
+
+"As you like," said Elizabeth with a sneer, "but I should think that
+Beatrice is big enough and bad enough to look after herself."
+
+"Before the God who made us," said the old man furiously, and striking
+the ground with his stick, "she may be bad, but she is not so bad as you
+who betrayed her. If Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman Judas; and
+I believe that you hate her, and would be glad to see her dead."
+
+Elizabeth made no answer. They were nearing the station, for her father
+had started on again, and there were people about. But she looked at
+him, and he never forgot the look. It was quite enough to chill him into
+silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.
+
+
+
+When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations. Her wild
+purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey's face
+in the House of Commons, if possible, and then return. She put on her
+bonnet and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple grey
+cloth, but on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it she
+thrust the letter which she had written on the previous day. A small
+hand-bag, with some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a cloak,
+made up the total of her baggage.
+
+The train, which did not stop at Bryngelly, left Coed at ten, and Coed
+was an hour and a half's walk. She must be starting. Of course, she
+would have to be absent for the night, and she was sorely puzzled how
+to account for her absence to Betty, the servant girl; the others
+being gone there was no need to do so to anybody else. But here fortune
+befriended her. While she was thinking the matter over, who should come
+in but Betty herself, crying. She had just heard, she said, that her
+little sister, who lived with their mother at a village about ten miles
+away, had been knocked down by a cart and badly hurt. Might she go home
+for the night? She could come back on the morrow, and Miss Beatrice
+could get somebody in to sleep if she was lonesome.
+
+Beatrice sympathised, demurred, and consented, and Betty started at
+once. As soon as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the house, put the
+key in her pocket, and started on her five miles' tramp. Nobody saw her
+leave the house, and she passed by a path at the back of the village, so
+that nobody saw her on the road. Reaching Coed Station quite unobserved,
+and just before the train was due, she let down her veil, and took a
+third-class ticket to London. This she was obliged to do, for her
+stock of money was very small; it amounted, altogether, to thirty-six
+shillings, of which the fare to London and back would cost her
+twenty-eight and fourpence.
+
+In another minute she had entered an empty carriage, and the train had
+steamed away.
+
+She reached Paddington about eight that night, and going to the
+refreshment room, dined on some tea and bread and butter. Then she
+washed her hands, brushed her hair, and started.
+
+Beatrice had never been in London before, and as soon as she left
+the station the rush and roar of the huge city took hold of her, and
+confused her. Her idea was to walk to the Houses of Parliament at
+Westminster. She would, she thought, be sure to see Geoffrey there,
+because she had bought a daily paper in which she had read that he was
+to be one of the speakers in a great debate on the Irish Question, which
+was to be brought to a close that night. She had been told by a friendly
+porter to follow Praed Street till she reached the Edgware Road, then to
+walk on to the Marble Arch, and ask again. Beatrice followed the first
+part of this programme--that is, she walked as far as the Edgware Road.
+Then it was that confusion seized her and she stood hesitating. At this
+juncture, a coarse brute of a man came up and made some remark to her.
+It was impossible for a woman like Beatrice to walk alone in the streets
+of London at night, without running the risk of such attentions. She
+turned from him, and as she did so, heard him say something about her
+beauty to a fellow Arcadian. Close to where she was stood two hansom
+cabs. She went to the first and asked the driver for how much he would
+take her to the House of Commons.
+
+"Two bob, miss," he answered.
+
+Beatrice shook her head, and turned to go again. She was afraid to spend
+so much on cabs, for she must get back to Bryngelly.
+
+"I'll take yer for eighteenpence, miss," called out the other driver.
+This offer she was about to accept when the first man interposed.
+
+"You leave my fare alone, will yer? Tell yer what, miss, I'm a
+gentleman, I am, and I'll take yer for a bob."
+
+She smiled and entered the cab. Then came a whirl of great gas-lit
+thoroughfares, and in a quarter of an hour they pulled up at the
+entrance to the House. Beatrice paid the cabman his shilling, thanked
+him, and entered, only once more to find herself confused with a vision
+of white statues, marble floors, high arching roofs, and hurrying
+people. An automatic policeman asked her what she wanted. Beatrice
+answered that she wished to get into the House.
+
+"Pass this way, then, miss--pass this way," said the automatic officer
+in a voice of brass. She passed, and passed, and finally found herself
+in a lobby, among a crowd of people of all sorts--seedy political touts,
+Irish priests and hurrying press-men. At one side of the lobby were more
+policemen and messengers, who were continually taking cards into the
+House, then returning and calling out names. Insensibly she drifted
+towards these policemen.
+
+"Ladies' Gallery, miss?" said a voice; "your order, please, though I
+think it's full."
+
+Here was a fresh complication. Beatrice had no order. She had no idea
+that one was necessary.
+
+"I haven't got an order," she said faintly. "I did not know that I must
+have one. Can I not get in without?"
+
+"Most certainly _not_, miss," answered the voice, while its owner,
+suspecting dynamite, surveyed her with a cold official eye. "Now make
+way, make way, please."
+
+Beatrice's grey eyes filled with tears, as she turned to go in
+bitterness of heart. So all her labour was in vain, and that which would
+be done must be done without the mute farewell she sought. Well, when
+sorrow was so much, what mattered a little more? She turned to go, but
+not unobserved. A certain rather youthful Member of Parliament, with an
+eye for beauty in distress, had been standing close to her, talking to
+a constituent. The constituent had departed to wherever constituents
+go--and many representatives, if asked, would cheerfully point out a
+locality suitable to the genus, at least in their judgment--and the
+member had overheard the conversation and seen Beatrice's eyes fill with
+tears. "What a lovely woman!" he had said to himself, and then did what
+he should have done, namely, lifted his hat and inquired if, as a member
+of the House, he could be of any service to her. Beatrice listened,
+and explained that she was particularly anxious to get into the Ladies'
+Gallery.
+
+"I think that I can help you, then," he said. "As it happens a lady, for
+whom I got an order, has telegraphed to say that she cannot come. Will
+you follow me? Might I ask you to give me your name?"
+
+"Mrs. Everston," answered Beatrice, taking the first that came into her
+head. The member looked a little disappointed. He had vaguely hoped that
+this lovely creature was unappropriated. Surely her marriage could not
+be satisfactory, or she would not look so sad.
+
+Then came more stairs and passages, and formalities, till presently
+Beatrice found herself in a kind of bird-cage, crowded to suffocation
+with every sort of lady.
+
+"I'm afraid--I am very much afraid----" began her new-found friend,
+surveying the mass with dismay.
+
+But at that moment, a stout lady in front feeling faint with the heat,
+was forced to leave the Gallery, and almost before she knew where she
+was, Beatrice was installed in her place. Her friend had bowed and
+vanished, and she was left to all purposes alone, for she never
+heeded those about her, though some of them looked at her hard enough,
+wondering at her form and beauty, and who she might be.
+
+She cast her eye down over the crowded House, and saw a vision of hats,
+collars, and legs, and heard a tumult of sounds: the sharp voice of
+a speaker who was rapidly losing his temper, the plaudits of the
+Government benches, the interruptions from the Opposition--yes, even
+yells, and hoots, and noises, that reminded her remotely of the crowing
+of cocks. Possibly had she thought of it, Beatrice would not have been
+greatly impressed with the dignity of an assembly, at the doors of
+which so many of its members seemed to leave their manners, with their
+overcoats and sticks; it might even have suggested the idea of a bear
+garden to her mind. But she simply did not think about it. She searched
+the House keenly enough, but it was to find one face, and one only--Ah!
+there he was.
+
+And now the House of Commons might vanish into the bottomless abyss,
+and take with it the House of Lords, and what remained of the British
+Constitution, and she would never miss them. For, at the best of times,
+Beatrice--in common with most of her sex--in all gratitude be it said,
+was _not_ an ardent politician.
+
+There Geoffrey sat, his arms folded--the hat pushed slightly from his
+forehead, so that she could see his face. There was her own beloved,
+whom she had come so far to see, and whom to-morrow she would dare
+so much to save. How sad he looked--he did not seem to be paying
+much attention to what was going on. She knew well enough that he was
+thinking of her; she could feel it in her head as she had often felt it
+before. But she dared not let her mind go out to him in answer, for, if
+once she did so, she knew also that he would discover her. So she sat,
+and fed her eyes upon his face, taking her farewell of it, while round
+her, and beneath her, the hum of the House went on, as ever present and
+as unnoticed as the hum of bees upon a summer noon.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had been so kind to her, sat down in
+the next seat to Geoffrey, and began to whisper to him, as he did so
+glancing once or twice towards the grating behind which she was.
+She guessed that he was telling him the story of the lady who was so
+unaccountably anxious to hear the debate, and how pretty she was. But it
+did not seem to interest Geoffrey much, and Beatrice was feminine enough
+to notice it, and to be glad of it. In her gentle jealousy, she did not
+like to think of Geoffrey as being interested in accounts of mysterious
+ladies, however pretty.
+
+At length a speaker rose--she understood from the murmur of those around
+her that he was one of the leaders of the Opposition, and commenced a
+powerful and bitter speech. She noticed that Geoffrey roused himself at
+this point, and began to listen with attention.
+
+"Look," said one of the ladies near her, "Mr. Bingham is taking notes.
+He is going to speak next--he speaks wonderfully, you know. They say
+that he is as good as anybody in the House, except Gladstone, and Lord
+Randolph."
+
+"Oh!" answered another lady. "Lady Honoria is not here, is she? I don't
+see her."
+
+"No," replied the first; "she is a dear creature, and so handsome
+too--just the wife for a rising man--but I don't think that she takes
+much interest in politics. Are not her dinners charming?"
+
+At this moment, a volley of applause from the Opposition benches drowned
+the murmured conversation.
+
+This speaker spoke for about three-quarters of an hour, and then at last
+Geoffrey stood up. One or two other members rose at the same time, but
+ultimately they gave way.
+
+He began slowly--and somewhat tamely, as it seemed to Beatrice, whose
+heart was in her mouth--but when he had been speaking for about five
+minutes, he warmed up. And then began one of the most remarkable
+oratorical displays of that Parliament. Geoffrey had spoken well before,
+and would speak well again, but perhaps he never spoke so well as he
+did upon that night. For nearly an hour and a half he held the House in
+chains, even the hoots and interruptions died away towards the end of
+his oration. His powerful presence seemed to tower in the place, like
+that of a giant among pigmies, and his dark, handsome face, lit with the
+fires of eloquence, shone like a lamp. He leaned forward with a slight
+stoop of his broad shoulders, and addressed himself, nominally to the
+Speaker, but really to the Opposition. He took their facts one by one,
+and with convincing logic showed that they were no facts; amid a hiss of
+anger he pulverised their arguments and demonstrated their motives. Then
+suddenly he dropped them altogether, and addressing himself to the House
+at large, and the country beyond the House, he struck another note, and
+broke out into that storm of patriotic eloquence which confirmed his
+growing reputation, both in Parliament and in the constituencies.
+
+Beatrice shut her eyes and listened to the deep, rich voice as it rose
+from height to height and power to power, till the whole place seemed
+full of it, and every contending sound was hushed.
+
+Suddenly, after an invocation that would have been passionate had it
+not been so restrained and strong, he stopped. She opened her eyes and
+looked. Geoffrey was seated as before, with his hat on. He had been
+speaking for an hour and a half, and yet, to her, it seemed but a few
+minutes since he rose. Then broke out a volley of cheers, in the midst
+of which a leader of the Opposition rose to reply, not in the very best
+of tempers, for Geoffrey's speech had hit them hard.
+
+He began, however, by complimenting the honourable member on his
+speech, "as fine a speech as he had listened to for many years, though,
+unfortunately, made from a mistaken standpoint and the wrong side of
+the House." Then he twitted the Government with not having secured
+the services of a man so infinitely abler than the majority of their
+"items," and excited a good deal of amusement by stating, with some
+sarcastic humour, that, should it ever be his lot to occupy the front
+Treasury bench, he should certainly make a certain proposal to the
+honourable member. After this good-natured badinage, he drifted off into
+the consideration of the question under discussion, and Beatrice paid no
+further attention to him, but occupied herself in watching Geoffrey drop
+back into the same apparent state of cold indifference, from which the
+necessity of action had aroused him.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had found her the seat came up and spoke to
+her, asking her how she was getting on. Very soon he began to speak of
+Geoffrey's speech, saying that it was one of the most brilliant of the
+session, if not the most brilliant.
+
+"Then Mr. Bingham is a rising man, I suppose?" Beatrice said.
+
+"Rising? I should think so," he answered. "They will get him into
+the Government on the first opportunity after this; he's too good to
+neglect. Very few men can come to the fore like Mr. Bingham. We call him
+the comet, and if only he does not make a mess of his chances by
+doing something foolish, there is no reason why he should not be
+Attorney-General in a few years."
+
+"Why should he do anything foolish?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, for no reason on earth, that I know of; only, as I daresay you have
+noticed, men of this sort are very apt to do ridiculous things, throw
+up their career, get into a public scandal, run away with somebody or
+something. Not that there should be any fear of such a thing where Mr.
+Bingham is concerned, for he has a charming wife, and they say that she
+is a great help to him. Why, there is the division bell. Good-bye, Mrs.
+Everston, I will come back to see you out."
+
+"Good-bye," Beatrice answered, "and in case I should miss you, I wish
+to say something--to thank you for your kindness in helping me to get in
+here to-night. You have done me a great service, a very great service,
+and I am most grateful to you."
+
+"It is nothing--nothing," he answered. "It has been a pleasure to help
+you. If," he added with some confusion, "you would allow me to call some
+day, the pleasure will be all the greater. I will bring Mr. Bingham with
+me, if you would like to know him--that is, if I can."
+
+Beatrice shook her head. "I cannot," she answered, smiling sadly. "I
+am going on a long journey to-morrow, and I shall not return here.
+Good-bye."
+
+In another second he was gone, more piqued and interested about this
+fair unknown than he had been about any woman for years. Who could she
+be? and why was she so anxious to hear the debate? There was a mystery
+in it somewhere, and he determined to solve it if he could.
+
+Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked
+back, and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition
+cheers, the victory of the Government was announced. Then came the usual
+formalities, and the members began to melt away. Beatrice saw the leader
+of the House and several members of the Government go up to Geoffrey,
+shake his hand, and congratulate him. Then, with one long look, she
+turned and went, leaving him in the moment of his triumph, that seemed
+to interest him so little, but which made Beatrice more proud at heart
+than if she had been declared empress of the world.
+
+Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over
+his fellow men--and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable
+existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never!
+There should be no "public scandal" on her account.
+
+She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.
+Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of
+its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past
+her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught
+the sound of Geoffrey's name, coupled with such words as "splendid
+speech," and other terms of admiration.
+
+"Move on, move on," said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice
+turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself,
+leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who
+had been so kind to her walking along together. They came through the
+gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her.
+Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow.
+Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar. The light of
+the match flared upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so
+well. How tired he looked. A great longing took possession of her to
+step forward and speak to him, but she restrained herself almost by
+force.
+
+Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
+
+"Such a lovely woman," he was saying, "with the clearest and most
+beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I
+can't find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business."
+
+"You are falling in love, Tom," answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw
+away the match and walked on. "Don't do that; it is an unhappy thing to
+do," and he sighed.
+
+He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold
+horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She trembled
+so much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she looked after
+him, with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who had repented
+him of his forbearance, and was returning to send her away, stood
+astonished. The two men had gone about ten yards, when something
+induced Beatrice's friend to look back. His eye fell upon the white,
+agony-stricken face, now in the full glare of the gas lamp.
+
+Beatrice saw him turn, and understood her danger. "Oh, good-bye,
+Geoffrey!" she murmured, for a second allowing her heart to go forth
+towards him. Then realising what she had done, she dropped her veil,
+and went swiftly. The gentleman called "Tom"--she never learnt his
+name--stood for a moment dumbfounded, and at that instant Geoffrey
+staggered, as though he had been struck by a shot, turned quite white,
+and halted.
+
+"Why," said his companion, "there is that lady again; we must have
+passed quite close to her. She was looking after us, I saw her face in
+the gaslight--and I never want to see such another."
+
+Geoffrey seized him by the arm. "Where is she?" he asked, "and what was
+she like?"
+
+"She was there a second ago," he said, pointing to the pillar, "but I've
+lost her now--I fancy she went towards the railway station, but I could
+not see. Stop, is that she?" and he pointed to a tall person walking
+towards the Abbey.
+
+Quickly they moved to intercept her, but the result was not
+satisfactory, and they retreated hastily from the object of their
+attentions.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice found herself opposite the entrance to the
+Westminster Bridge Station. A hansom was standing there; she got into it
+and told the man to drive to Paddington.
+
+Before the pair had retraced their steps she was gone. "She has
+vanished again," said "Tom," and went on to give a description of her to
+Geoffrey. Of her dress he had unfortunately taken little note. It might
+be one of Beatrice's, or it might not. It seemed almost inconceivable to
+Geoffrey that she should be masquerading about London, under the name of
+Mrs. Everston. And yet--and yet--he could have sworn--but it was folly!
+
+Suddenly he bade his friend good-night, and took a hansom. "The mystery
+thickens," said the astonished "Tom," as he watched him drive away.
+"I would give a hundred pounds to find out what it all means. Oh! that
+woman's face--it haunts me. It looked like the face of an angel bidding
+farewell to Heaven."
+
+But he never did find out any more about it, though the despairing eyes
+of Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still sometimes haunt his
+sleep.
+
+Geoffrey reflected rapidly. The thing was ridiculous, and yet it was
+possible. Beyond that brief line in answer to his letter, he had heard
+nothing from Beatrice. Indeed he was waiting to hear from her before
+taking any further step. But even supposing she were in London, where
+was he to look for her? He knew that she had no money, he could not
+stay there long. It occurred to him there was a train leaving Euston for
+Wales about four in the morning. It was just possible that she might
+be in town, and returning by this train. He told the cabman to drive to
+Euston Station, and on arrival, closely questioned a sleepy porter, but
+without satisfactory results.
+
+Then he searched the station; there were no traces of Beatrice. He did
+more; he sat down, weary as he was, and waited for an hour and a
+half, till it was time for the train to start. There were but three
+passengers, and none of them in the least resembled Beatrice.
+
+"It is very strange," Geoffrey said to himself, as he walked away. "I
+could have sworn that I felt her presence just for one second. It must
+have been nonsense. This is what comes of occult influences, and that
+kind of thing. The occult is a nuisance."
+
+If he had only gone to Paddington!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+I WILL WAIT FOR YOU
+
+Beatrice drove back to Paddington, and as she drove, though her face did
+not change from its marble cast of woe the great tears rolled down it,
+one by one.
+
+They reached the deserted-looking station, and she paid the man out of
+her few remaining shillings--seeing that she was a stranger, he insisted
+upon receiving half-a-crown. Then, disregarding the astonished stare
+of a night porter, she found her way to the waiting room, and sat down.
+First she took the letter from her breast, and added some lines to it
+in pencil, but she did not post it yet; she knew that if she did so
+it would reach its destination too soon. Then she laid her head back
+against the wall, and utterly outworn, dropped to sleep--her last sleep
+upon this earth, before the longest sleep of all.
+
+And thus Beatrice waited and slept at Paddington, while her lover waited
+and watched at Euston.
+
+At five she woke, and the heavy cloud of sorrow, past, present, and to
+come, rushed in upon her heart. Taking her bag, she made herself as tidy
+as she could. Then she stepped outside the station into the deserted
+street, and finding a space between the houses, watched the sun rise
+over the waking world. It was her last sunrise, Beatrice remembered.
+
+She came back filled with such thoughts as might well strike the heart
+of a woman about to do the thing she had decreed. The refreshment bar
+was open now, and she went to it, and bought a cup of coffee and some
+bread and butter. Then she took her ticket, not to Bryngelly or to Coed,
+but to the station on this side of Bryngelly, and three miles from it.
+She would run less risk of being noticed there. The train was shunted
+up; she took her seat in it. Just as it was starting, an early newspaper
+boy came along, yawning. Beatrice bought a copy of the _Standard_, out
+of the one and threepence that was left of her money, and opened it at
+the sheet containing the leading articles. The first one began, "The
+most powerful, closely reasoned, and eloquent speech made last night by
+Mr. Bingham, the Member for Pillham, will, we feel certain, produce as
+great an effect on the country as it did in the House of Commons. We
+welcome it, not only on account of its value as a contribution to the
+polemics of the Irish Question, but as a positive proof of what has
+already been suspected, that the Unionist party has in Mr. Bingham a
+young statesman of a very high order indeed, and one whom remarkable and
+rapid success at the Bar has not hampered, as is too often the case, in
+the larger and less technical field of politics."
+
+And so on. Beatrice put the paper down with a smile of triumph.
+Geoffrey's success was splendid and unquestioned. Nothing could stop
+him now. During all the long journey she pleased her imagination by
+conjuring up picture after picture of that great future of his, in which
+she would have no share. And yet he would not forget her; she was sure
+of this. Her shadow would go with him from year to year, even to the
+end, and at times he might think how proud she would have been could she
+be present to record his triumphs. Alas! she did not remember that when
+all is lost which can make life beautiful, when the sun has set, and
+the spirit gone out of the day, the poor garish lights of our little
+victories can but ill atone for the glories that have been. Happiness
+and content are frail plants which can only flourish under fair
+conditions if at all. Certainly they will not thrive beneath the gloom
+and shadow of a pall, and when the heart is dead no triumphs, however
+splendid, and no rewards, however great, can compensate for an utter and
+irredeemable loss. She never guessed, poor girl, that time upon time, in
+the decades to be, Geoffrey would gladly have laid his honours down in
+payment for one year of her dear and unforgotten presence. She was too
+unselfish; she did not think that a man could thus prize a woman's
+love, and took it for an axiom that to succeed in life was his one real
+object--a thing to which so divine a gift as she had given Geoffrey is
+as nothing. It was therefore this Juggernaut of her lover's career that
+Beatrice would cast down her life, little knowing that thereby she must
+turn the worldly and temporal success, which he already held so cheap,
+to bitterness and ashes.
+
+At Chester Beatrice got out of the train and posted her letter to
+Geoffrey. She would not do so till then because it might have reached
+him too soon--before all was finished! Now it would be delivered to him
+in the House after everything had been accomplished in its order. She
+looked at the letter; it was, she thought, the last token that could
+ever pass between them on this earth. Once she pressed it to her heart,
+once she touched it with her lips, and then put it from her beyond
+recall. It was done; there was no going back now. And even as she stood
+the postman came up, whistling, and opening the box carelessly swept its
+contents into his canvas bag. Could he have known what lay among them he
+would have whistled no more that day.
+
+Beatrice continued her journey, and by three o'clock arrived safely at
+the little station next to Bryngelly. There was a fair at Coed that day,
+and many people of the peasant class got in here. Amidst the confusion
+she gave up her ticket to a small boy, who was looking the other way at
+the time, and escaped without being noticed by a soul. Indeed, things
+happened so that nobody in the neighbourhood of Bryngelly ever knew that
+Beatrice had been to London and back upon those dreadful days.
+
+Beatrice walked along the cliff, and in an hour was at the door of
+the Vicarage, from which she seemed to have been away for years. She
+unlocked it and entered. In the letter-box was a post-card from her
+father stating that he and Elizabeth had changed their plans and would
+not be back till the train which arrived at half-past eight on the
+following morning. So much the better, she thought. Then she disarranged
+the clothes upon her bed to make it seem as though it had been slept it,
+lit the kitchen fire, and put the kettle on to boil, and as soon as it
+was ready she took some food. She wanted all her nerve, and that could
+not be kept up without food.
+
+Shortly after this the girl Betty returned, and went about her duties in
+the house quite unconscious that Beatrice had been away from it for
+the whole night. Her sister was much better, she said, in answer to
+Beatrice's inquiries.
+
+When she had eaten what she could--it was not much--Beatrice went to her
+room, undressed herself, bathed, and put on clean, fresh things. Then
+she unbound her lovely hair, and did it up in a coronet upon her head.
+It was a fashion that she did not often adopt, because it took too much
+time, but on this day, of all days, she had a strange fancy to look
+her best. Also her hair had been done like this on the afternoon when
+Geoffrey first met her. Next she put on the grey dress once more which
+she had worn on her journey to London, and taking the silver Roman ring
+that Geoffrey had given her from the string by which she wore it about
+her neck, placed it on the third finger of her left hand.
+
+All this being done, Beatrice visited the kitchen and ordered the
+supper. She went further in her innocent cunning. Betty asked her what
+she would like for breakfast on the following morning, and she told her
+to cook some bacon, and to be careful how she cut it, as she did not
+like thick bacon. Then, after one long last look at the Vicarage, she
+started for the lodging of the head teacher of the school, and, having
+found her, inquired as to the day's work.
+
+Further, Beatrice told her assistant that she had determined to alter
+the course of certain lessons in the school. The Wednesday arithmetic
+class had hitherto been taken before the grammar class. On the morrow
+she had determined to change this; she would take the grammar class
+at ten and the arithmetic class at eleven, and gave her reasons for so
+doing. The teacher assented, and Beatrice shook hands with her and bade
+her good-night. She would have wished to say how much she felt indebted
+to her for her help in the school, but did not like to do so, fearing
+lest, in the light of pending events, the remark might be viewed with
+suspicion.
+
+Poor Beatrice, these were the only lies she ever told!
+
+She left the teacher's lodgings, and was about to go down to the beach
+and sit there till it was time, when she was met by the father of the
+crazed child, Jane Llewellyn.
+
+"Oh, Miss Beatrice," he said, "I have been looking for you everywhere.
+We are in sad trouble, miss. Poor Jane is in a raving fit, and talking
+about hell and that, and the doctor says she's dying. Can you come,
+miss, and see if you can do anything to quiet her? It's a matter of life
+and death, the doctor says, miss."
+
+Beatrice smiled sadly; matters of life and death were in the air. "I
+will come," she said, "but I shall not be able to stay long."
+
+How could she better spend her last hour?
+
+She accompanied the man to his cottage. The child, dressed only in a
+night-shirt, was raving furiously, and evidently in the last stage of
+exhaustion, nor could the doctor or her mother do anything to quiet her.
+
+"Don't you see," she screamed, pointing to the wall, "there's the Devil
+waiting for me? And, oh, there's the mouth of hell where the minister
+said I should go! Oh, hold me, hold me, hold me!"
+
+Beatrice walked up to her, took the thin little hands in hers, and
+looked her fixedly in the eyes.
+
+"Jane," she said. "Jane, don't you know me?"
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," she said, "I know the lesson; I will say it
+presently."
+
+Beatrice took her in her arms, and sat down on the bed. Quieter and
+quieter grew the child till suddenly an awful change passed over her
+face.
+
+"She is dying," whispered the doctor.
+
+"Hold me close, hold me close!" said the child, whose senses returned
+before the last eclipse. "Oh, Miss Granger, I shan't go to hell, shall
+I? I am afraid of hell."
+
+"No, love, no; you will go to heaven."
+
+Jane lay still awhile. Then seeing the pale lips move, Beatrice put her
+ear to the child's mouth.
+
+"Will you come with me?" she murmured; "I am afraid to go alone."
+
+And Beatrice, her great grey eyes fixed steadily on the closing eyes
+beneath, whispered back so that no other soul could hear except the
+dying child:
+
+"Yes, I will come presently." But Jane heard and understood.
+
+"Promise," said the child.
+
+"Yes, I promise," answered Beatrice in the same inaudible whisper.
+"Sleep, dear, sleep; I will join you very soon."
+
+And the child looked up, shivered, smiled--and slept.
+
+Beatrice gave it back to the weeping parents and went her way. "What a
+splendid creature," said the doctor to himself as he looked after her.
+"She has eyes like Fate, and the face of Motherhood Incarnate. A great
+woman, if ever I saw one, but different from other women."
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice made her way to old Edward's boat-shed. As she
+expected, there was nobody there, and nobody on the beach. Old Edward
+and his son were at tea, with the rest of Bryngelly. They would come
+back after dark and lock up the boat-house.
+
+She looked at the sea. There were no waves, but the breeze freshened
+every minute, and there was a long slow swell upon the water. The
+rollers would be running beyond the shelter of Rumball Point, five miles
+away.
+
+The tide was high; it mounted to within ten yards of the end of the
+boat-house. She opened the door, and dragged out her canoe, closing
+the door again after her. The craft was light, and she was strong for a
+woman. Close to the boat-house one of the timber breakwaters, which
+are common at sea-side places, ran down into the water. She dragged the
+canoe to its side, and then pushed it down the beach till its bow was
+afloat. Next, mounting on the breakwater, she caught hold of the little
+chain in the bow, and walking along the timber baulks, pulled with all
+her force till the canoe was quite afloat. On she went, dragging it
+after her, till the waves washing over the breakwater wetted her shoes.
+
+Then she brought the canoe quite close, and, watching her opportunity,
+stepped into it, nearly falling into the water as she did so. But she
+recovered her balance, and sat down. In another minute she was paddling
+out to sea with all her strength.
+
+For twenty minutes or more she paddled unceasingly. Then she rested
+awhile, only keeping the canoe head on to the sea, which, without being
+rough, was running more and more freshly. There, some miles away, was
+the dark mass of Rumball Point. She must be off it before the night
+closed in. There would be sea enough there; no such craft as hers could
+live in it for five minutes, and the tide was on the turn. Anything
+sinking in those waters would be carried far away, and never come back
+to the shore of Wales.
+
+She turned her head and looked at Bryngelly, and the long familiar
+stretch of cliff. How fair it seemed, bathed in the quiet lights of
+summer afternoon. Oh! was there any afternoon where the child had gone,
+and where she was following fast?--or was it all night, black, eternal
+night, unbroken by the dram of dear remembered things?
+
+There were the Dog Rocks, where she had stood on that misty autumn
+day, and seen the vision of her coffined mother's face. Surely it was a
+presage of her fate. There beyond was the Bell Rock, where in that same
+hour Geoffrey and she had met, and behind it was the Amphitheatre, where
+they had told their love. Hark! what was that sound pealing faintly at
+intervals across the deep? It was the great ship's bell that, stirred
+from time to time by the wash of the high tide, solemnly tolled her
+passing soul.
+
+She paddled on; the sound of that death-knell shook her nerves, and made
+her feel faint and weak. Oh, it would have been easier had she been as
+she was a year ago, before she learned to love, and hand in hand had
+seen faith and hope re-arise from the depths of her stirred soul. Then
+being but a heathen, she could have met her end with all a heathen's
+strength, knowing what she lost, and believing, too, that she would
+find but sleep. And now it was otherwise, for in her heart she did not
+believe that she was about utterly to perish. What, could the body live
+on in a thousand forms, changed indeed but indestructible and immortal,
+while the spiritual part, with all its hopes and loves and fears, melted
+into nothingness? It could not be; surely on some new shore she should
+once again greet her love. And if it was not, how would they meet her
+in that under world, coming self-murdered, her life-blood on her hands?
+Would her mother turn away from her? and the little brother, whom she
+had loved, would he reject her? And what Voice of Doom might strike her
+into everlasting hopelessness?
+
+But, be the sin what it might, yet would she sin it for the sake of
+Geoffrey; ay, even if she must reap a harvest of eternal woe. She bent
+her head and prayed. "Oh, Power, that art above, from whom I come, to
+whom I go, have mercy on me! Oh, Spirit, if indeed thy name is Love,
+weigh my love in thy balance, and let it lift the scale of sin. Oh, God
+of Sacrifice, be not wroth at my deed of sacrifice and give me pardon,
+give me life and peace, that in a time to come I may win the sight of
+him for whom I die."
+
+A somewhat heathenish prayer indeed, and far too full of human passion
+for one about to leave the human shores. But, then--well, it was
+Beatrice who prayed--Beatrice, who could realise no heaven beyond the
+limits of her passion, who still thought more of her love than of saving
+her own soul alive. Perhaps it found a home--perhaps, like her who
+prayed it, it was lost upon the pitiless deep.
+
+Then Beatrice prayed no more. Short was her time. See, there sank the
+sun in glory; and there the great rollers swept along past the sullen
+headland, where the undertow met wind and tide. She would think no more
+of self; it was, it seemed to her, so small, this mendicant calling on
+the Unseen, not for others, but for self: aid for self, well-being for
+self, salvation for self--this doing of good that good might come to
+self. She had made her prayer, and if she prayed again it should be for
+Geoffrey, that he might prosper and be happy--that he might forgive the
+trouble her love had brought into his life. That he might forget her she
+could not pray. She had prayed her prayer and said her say, and it was
+done with. Let her be judged as it seemed good to Those who judge! Now
+she would fix her thoughts upon her love, and by its strength would she
+triumph over the bitterness of death. Her eyes flashed and her breast
+heaved: further out to sea, further yet--she would meet those rollers
+a knot or more from the point of the headland, that no record might
+remain.
+
+Was it her wrong if she loved him? She could not help it, and she was
+proud to love him. Even now, she would not undo the past. What were
+the lines that Geoffrey had read to her. They haunted her mind with a
+strange persistence--they took time to the beat of her falling paddle,
+and would not leave her:
+
+     "Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
+     Alas, my love, Love's eyes are very blind!
+     What would they have us do? Sunflowers and poppies
+     Stoop to the wind----"[*]
+
+     [*] Oliver Madox Brown.
+
+Yes, yes, Love's eyes are very blind, but in their blindness there was
+more light than in all other earthly things. Oh, she could not live for
+him, and with him--it was denied to her--but she still could die for
+him, her darling, her darling!
+
+
+
+"Geoffrey, hear me--I die for you; accept my sacrifice, and forget me
+not." So!--she is in the rollers--how solemn they are with their hoary
+heads of foam, as one by one they move down upon her.
+
+The first! it towers high, but the canoe rides it like a cork. Look! the
+day is dying on the distant land, but still his glory shines across the
+sea. Presently all will be finished. Here the breeze is strong; it tears
+the bonnet from her head, it unwinds the coronet of braided locks,
+and her bright hair streams out behind her. Feel how the spray stings,
+striking like a whip. No, not this wave, she rides that also; she
+will die as she has lived--fighting to the last; and once more, never
+faltering, she sets her face towards the rollers and consigns her soul
+to doom.
+
+Ah! that struck her full. Oh, see! Geoffrey's ring has slipped from her
+wet hand, falling into the bottom of the boat. Can she regain it? she
+would die with that ring upon her finger--it is her marriage-ring,
+wedding her through death to Geoffrey, upon the altar of the sea. She
+stoops! oh, what a shock of water at her breast! What was it--what was
+it?--_Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?_ She must soon
+learn now!
+
+"Geoffrey! hear me, Geoffrey!--I die, I die for you! I will wait for you
+at the foundations of the sea, on the topmost heights of heaven, in the
+lowest deeps of hell--wherever I am I will always wait for you!"
+
+It sinks--it has sunk--she is alone with God, and the cruel waters.
+The sun goes out! Look on that great white wave seething through the
+deepening gloom; hear it rushing towards her, big with fate.
+
+"Geoffrey, my darling--I will wait----"
+
+
+
+Farewell to Beatrice! The light went out of the sky and darkness
+gathered on the weltering sea. Farewell to Beatrice, and all her love
+and all her sin.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A WOMAN'S LAST WORD
+
+Geoffrey came down to breakfast about eleven o'clock on the morning of
+that day the first hours of which he had spent at Euston Station. Not
+seeing Effie, he asked Lady Honoria where she was, and was informed that
+Anne, the French _bonne_, said the child was not well and that she had
+kept her in bed to breakfast.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the matter
+with her?" asked Geoffrey.
+
+"No, not yet," answered his wife. "I have had the dressmaker here with
+my new dress for the duchess's ball to-morrow; it's lovely, but I think
+that there is a little too much of that creamy lace about it."
+
+With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He
+found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide open,
+and her little hands quite hot.
+
+"Send for the doctor at once," he said.
+
+The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her
+feet lately.
+
+"Yes, I did, two days ago. I wet my feet in a puddle in the street," she
+answered. "But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, if I held
+them to the fire, because my other boots was not clean. Oh, my head does
+ache, daddie."
+
+"Ah," said the doctor, and then covering the child up, took Geoffrey
+aside and told him that his daughter had a mild attack of inflammation
+of the lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked
+after and guarded from chills.
+
+Geoffrey asked if he should send for a trained nurse.
+
+"Oh, no," said the doctor. "I do not think it is necessary, at any rate
+at present. I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubtless your wife
+will keep an eye on her."
+
+So Anne was called up, and vowed that she would guard the cherished
+child like the apple of her eye. Indeed, no, the boots were not
+wet--there was a little, a very little mud on them, that was all.
+
+"Well, don't talk so much, but see that you attend to her properly,"
+said Geoffrey, feeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust Anne.
+However, he thought he would see himself that there was no neglect. When
+she heard what was the matter, Lady Honoria was much put out.
+
+"Really," she said, "children are the most vexatious creatures in
+the world. The idea of her getting inflammation of the lungs in this
+unprovoked fashion. The end of it will be that I shall not be able to go
+to the duchess's ball to-morrow night, and she was so kind about it, she
+made quite a point of my coming. Besides I have bought that lovely
+new dress on purpose. I should never have dreamed of going to so much
+expense for anything else."
+
+"Don't trouble yourself," said Geoffrey. "The House does not sit
+to-morrow; I will look after her. Unless Effie dies in the interval, you
+will certainly be able to go to the ball."
+
+"Dies--what nonsense! The doctor says that it is a very slight attack.
+Why should she die?"
+
+"I am sure I hope that there is no fear of anything of the sort,
+Honoria. Only she must be properly looked after. I do not trust this
+woman Anne. I have half a mind to get in a trained nurse after all."
+
+"Well, if you do, she will have to sleep out of the house, that's
+all. Amelia (Lady Garsington) is coming up to-night, and I must have
+somewhere to put her maid, and there is no room for another bed in
+Effie's room."
+
+"Oh, very well, very well," said Geoffrey, "I daresay that it will be
+all right, but if Effie gets any worse, you will please understand that
+room must be made."
+
+But Effie did not get worse. She remained much about the same. Geoffrey
+sat at home all day and employed himself in reading briefs; fortunately
+he had not to go to court. About six o'clock he went down to the House,
+and having dined very simply and quietly, took his seat and listened
+to some dreary talk, which was being carried on for the benefit of the
+reporters, about the adoption of the Welsh language in the law courts of
+Wales.
+
+Suddenly he became aware of a most extraordinary sense of oppression.
+An indefinite dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with
+terrible apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knock at
+the portals of his sense, a horror which he could not grasp. His mind
+was confused, but little by little it grew clearer, and he began to
+understand that a danger threatened Beatrice, that she was in great
+peril. He was sure of it. Her agonised dying cries reached him where he
+was, though in no form which he could understand; once more her thought
+beat on his thought--once more and for the last time her spirit spoke to
+his.
+
+Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his
+hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he
+heard the dreary orator and saw the members slipping away to dinner. The
+conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had been.
+Nor was this strange! For the link was broken. Beatrice was _dead_. She
+had passed into the domains of impenetrable silence.
+
+
+
+Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in his
+hand. It was addressed in Beatrice's handwriting and bore the Chester
+postmark. A chill fear seized him. What did it contain? He hurried with
+it into a private room and opened it. It was dated from Bryngelly on the
+previous Sunday and had several inclosures.
+
+"My dearest Geoffrey," it began, "I have never before addressed you thus
+on paper, nor should I do so now, knowing to what risks such written
+words might put you, were it not that occasions may arise (as in this
+case) which seem to justify the risk. For when all things are ended
+between a man and a woman who are to each other what we have been, then
+it is well that the one who goes should speak plainly before speech
+becomes impossible, if only that the one who is left should not
+misunderstand that which has been done.
+
+"Geoffrey, it is probable--it is almost certain--that before your eyes
+read these words I shall be where in the body they can never see me
+more. I write to you from the brink of the grave; when you read it, it
+will have closed over me.
+
+"Geoffrey, I shall be dead.
+
+"I received your dear letter (it is destroyed now) in which you
+expressed a wish that I should come away with you to some other country,
+and I answered it in eight brief words. I dared not trust myself to
+write more, nor had I any time. How could you think that I should ever
+accept such an offer for my own sake, when to do so would have been to
+ruin you? But first I will tell you all that has happened here." (Here
+followed a long and exact description of those events with which we
+are already acquainted, including the denunciation of Beatrice by her
+sister, the threats of Owen Davies as regards Geoffrey himself, and the
+measures which she had adopted to gain time.)
+
+"Further," the letter continued, "I inclose you your wife's letter to
+me. And here I wish to state that I have not one word to say against
+Lady Honoria or her letter. I think that she was perfectly justified in
+writing as she did, for after all, dear Geoffrey, you are her husband,
+and in loving each other we have offended against her. She tells me
+truly that it is my duty to make all further communications between us
+impossible. There is only one way to do this, and I take it.
+
+"And now I have spoken enough about myself, nor do I wish to enter into
+details that could only give you pain. There will be no scandal, dear,
+and if any word should be raised against you after I am gone, I have
+provided an answer in the second letter which I have inclosed. You can
+print it if necessary; it will be a sufficient reply to any talk. Nobody
+after reading it can believe that you were in any way connected with the
+accident which will happen. Dear, one word more--still about myself, you
+see! Do not blame yourself in this matter, for you are not to blame; of
+my own free will I do it, because in the extremity of the circumstances
+I think it best that one should go and the other be saved, rather than
+that both should be involved in a common ruin.
+
+"Dear, do you remember how in that strange vision of mine, I dreamed
+that you came and touched me on the breast and showed me light? So it
+has come to pass, for you have given me love--that is light; and now in
+death I shall seek for wisdom. And this being fulfilled, shall not the
+rest be fulfilled in its season? Shall I not sit in those cloudy halls
+till I see you come to seek me, the word of wisdom on your lips? And
+since I cannot have you to myself, and be all in all to you, why I am
+glad to go. For here on the world is neither rest nor happiness; as in
+my dream, too often does 'Hope seem to rend her starry robes.'
+
+"I am glad to go from such a world, in which but one happy thing has
+found me--the blessing of your love. I am worn out with the weariness
+and struggle, and now that I have lost you I long for rest. I do not
+know if I sin in what I do; if so, may I be forgiven. If forgiveness is
+impossible, so be it! You will forgive me, Geoffrey, and you will always
+love me, however wicked I may be; even if, at the last, you go where I
+am not, you will remember and love the erring woman to whom, being
+so little, you still were all in all. We are not married, Geoffrey,
+according to the customs of the world, but two short days hence I shall
+celebrate a service that is greater and more solemn than any of the
+earth. For Death will be the Priest and that oath which I shall take
+will be to all eternity. Who can prophesy of that whereof man has no
+sure knowledge? Yet I do believe that in a time to come we shall look
+again into each other's eyes, and kiss each other's lips, and be one for
+evermore. If this is so, it is worth while to have lived and died; if
+not, then, Geoffrey, farewell!
+
+"If I may I will always be near you. Listen to the night wind and you
+shall hear my voice; look on the stars, you will see my eyes; and my
+love shall be as the air you breathe. And when at last the end comes,
+remember me, for if I live at all I shall be about you then. What have
+I more to say? So much, my dear, that words cannot convey it. Let it be
+untold; but whenever you hear or read that which is beautiful or tender,
+think 'this is what Beatrice would have said to me and could not!'
+
+"You will be a great man, dear, the foremost or one of the foremost of
+your age. You have already promised me to persevere to this end: I will
+not ask you to promise afresh. Do not be content to accept the world as
+women must. Great men do not accept the world; they reform it--and you
+are of their number. And when you are great, Geoffrey, you will use your
+power, not for self-interest, but to large and worthy ends; you will
+always strive to help the poor, to break down oppression from those who
+have to bar it, and to advance the honour of your country. You will
+do all this from your own heart and not because I ask it of you, but
+remember that your fame will be my best monument--though none shall ever
+know the grave it covers.
+
+"Farewell, farewell, farewell! Oh, Geoffrey, my darling, to whom I have
+never been a wife, to whom I am more than any wife--do not forget me in
+the long years which are to come. Remember me when others forsake you.
+Do not forget me when others flatter you and try to win your love, for
+none can be to you what I have been--none can ever love you more than
+that lost Beatrice who writes these heavy words to-night, and who will
+pass away blessing you with her last breath, to await you, if she may,
+in the land to which your feet also draw daily on."
+
+Then came a tear-stained postscript in pencil dated from Paddington
+Station on that very morning.
+
+"I journeyed to London to see you, Geoffrey. I could not die without
+looking on your face once more. I was in the gallery of the House and
+heard your great speech. Your friend found me a place. Afterwards I
+touched your coat as you passed by the pillar of the gateway. Then I ran
+away because I saw your friend turn and look at me. I shall kiss this
+letter--just here before I close it--kiss it there too--it is our last
+cold embrace. Before the end I shall put on the ring you gave me--on my
+hand, I mean. I have always worn it upon my breast. When I touched you
+as you passed through the gateway I thought that I should have broken
+down and called to you--but I found strength not to do so. My heart is
+breaking and my eyes are blind with tears; I can write no more; I
+have no more to say. Now once again good-bye. _Ave atque vale_--oh, my
+love!--B."
+
+The second letter was a dummy. That is to say it purported to be such an
+epistle as any young lady might have written to a gentleman friend.
+It began, "Dear Mr. Bingham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Beatrice
+Granger," was filled with chit-chat, and expressed hopes that he would
+be able to come down to Bryngelly again later in the summer, when they
+would go canoeing.
+
+It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if Geoffrey was accused by Owen
+Davies or anybody else of being concerned with her mysterious end, the
+production of such a frank epistle written two days previously would
+demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she was full of
+precautions!
+
+
+
+Let him who may imagine the effect produced upon Geoffrey by this
+heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face
+when he had finished reading it she would never have committed suicide.
+In a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole truth sank
+into his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, of unavailing woe
+and hopelessness swept across his soul, that for a moment he thought his
+vital forces must give way beneath it, and that he should die, as indeed
+in this dark hour he would have rejoiced to do. Oh, how pitiful it
+was--how pitiful and how awful! To think of this love, so passionately
+pure, wasted on his own unworthiness. To think of this divine woman
+going down to lonely death for him--a strong man; to picture her
+crouching behind that gateway pillar and touching him as he passed,
+while he, the thrice accursed fool, knew nothing till too late; to
+know that he had gone to Euston and not to Paddington; to remember the
+matchless strength and beauty of the love which he had lost, and that
+face which he should never see again! Surely his heart would break. No
+man could bear it!
+
+And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was already
+dead! Oh, he would kill Owen Davies--yes, and Elizabeth too, were it not
+that she was a woman; and as for Honoria he had done with her. Scandal,
+what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there should be a
+scandal indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this reptile, who
+did not hesitate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the fulfilling of
+his lust--yes, and then drag him to the Continent and kill him there.
+Only vengeance was left to him!
+
+Stop, he must not give way--perhaps she was not dead--perhaps that
+horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm was but a
+dream. Could he telegraph? No, it was too late; the office at Bryngelly
+would be closed--it was past eight now. But he could go. There was a
+train leaving a little after nine--he should be there by half-past six
+to-morrow. And Effie was ill--well, surely they could look after her for
+twenty-four hours; she was in no danger, and he must go--he could not
+bear this torturing suspense. Great God! how had she done the deed!
+
+Geoffrey snatched a sheet of paper and tried to write. He could not, his
+hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshment room
+swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit took
+effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a sheet of
+paper:
+
+"I have been called away upon important business and shall probably not
+be back till Thursday morning. See that Effie is properly attended
+to. If I am not back you must not go to the duchess's ball.--Geoffrey
+Bingham."
+
+Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoria and dispatched a
+commissionaire with it. This done, he called a cab and bade the cabman
+drive to Euston as fast as his horse could go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+AVE ATQUE VALE
+
+That frightful journey--no nightmare was ever half so awful! But it came
+to an end at last--there was the Bryngelly Station. Geoffrey sprang from
+the train, and gave his ticket to the porter, glancing in his face as he
+did so. Surely if there had been a tragedy the man would know of it, and
+show signs of half-joyous emotion as is the fashion of such people when
+something awful and mysterious has happened to somebody else. But
+he showed no such symptoms, and a glimmer of hope found its way into
+Geoffrey's tormented breast.
+
+He left the station and walked rapidly towards the Vicarage. Those who
+know what a pitch of horror suspense can reach may imagine his feelings
+as he did so. But it was soon to be put an end to now. As he drew
+near the Vicarage gate he met the fat Welsh servant girl Betty running
+towards him. Then hope left Geoffrey.
+
+The girl recognised him, and in her confusion did not seem in the least
+astonished to see him walking there at a quarter to seven on a summer
+morning. Indeed, even she vaguely connected Geoffrey with Beatrice in
+her mind, for she at once said in her thick English:
+
+"Oh, sir, do you know where Miss Beatrice is?"
+
+"No," he answered, catching at a railing for support. "Why do you ask? I
+have not seen her for weeks."
+
+Then the girl plunged into a long story. Mr. Granger and Miss Granger
+were away from home, and would not be back for another two hours. Miss
+Beatrice had gone out yesterday afternoon, and had not come back to tea.
+She, Betty, had not thought much of it, believing that she had stopped
+to spend the evening somewhere, and, being very tired, had gone to bed
+about eight, leaving the door unlocked. This morning, when she woke, it
+was to find that Miss Beatrice had not slept in the house that night,
+and she came out to see if she could find her.
+
+"Where was she going when she went out?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+She did not know, but she thought that Miss Beatrice was going out in
+the canoe. Leastways she had put on her tennis shoes, which she always
+wore when she went out boating.
+
+Geoffrey understood it all now. "Come to the boat-house," he said.
+
+They went down to the beach, where as yet none were about except a few
+working people. Near the boat-house Geoffrey met old Edward walking
+along with a key in his hand.
+
+"Lord, sir!" he said. "You here, sir! and in that there queer hat, too.
+What is it, sir?"
+
+"Did Miss Beatrice go out in her canoe yesterday evening, Edward?"
+Geoffrey asked hoarsely.
+
+"No, sir; not as I know on. My boy locked up the boat-house last
+night, and I suppose he looked in it first. What! You don't mean to
+say----Stop; we'll soon know. Oh, Goad! the canoe's gone!"
+
+There was a silence, an awful silence. Old Edward broke it.
+
+"She's drowned, sir--that's what she is--drowned at last; and she the
+finest woman in Wales. I knewed she would be one day, poor dear! and
+she the beauty that she was; and all along of that damned unlucky little
+craft. Goad help her! She's drowned, I say----"
+
+Betty burst out into loud weeping at his words.
+
+"Stop that noise, girl," said Geoffrey, turning his pale face towards
+her. "Go back to the Vicarage, and if Mr. Granger comes home before I
+get back, tell him what we fear. Edward, send some men to search the
+shore towards Coed, and some more in a sailing boat. I will walk towards
+the Bell Rock--you can follow me."
+
+He started and swiftly tramped along the sands, searching the sea with
+his eye. On he walked sullenly, desperately striving to hope against
+hope. On, past the Dog Rocks, round the long curve of beach till he came
+to the Amphitheatre. The tide was high again; he could barely pass the
+projecting point. He was round it, and his heart stood still. For there,
+bottom upwards, and gently swaying to and fro as the spent waves rocked
+it, was Beatrice's canoe.
+
+Sadly, hopelessly, heavily, Geoffrey waded knee deep into the water, and
+catching the bow of the canoe, dragged it ashore. There was, or appeared
+to be, nothing in it; of course he could not expect anything else. Its
+occupant had sunk and been carried out to sea by the ebb, whereas the
+canoe had drifted back to shore with the morning tide.
+
+He reared it upon its end to let the water drain out of it, and from the
+hollow of the bow arch something came rolling down, something bright and
+heavy, followed by a brown object. Hastily he lowered the canoe again,
+and picked up the bright trinket. It was his own ring come back to
+him--the Roman ring he had given Beatrice, and which she told him in the
+letter she would wear in her hour of death. He touched it with his lips
+and placed it back upon his hand, this token from the beloved dead,
+vowing that it should never leave his hand in life, and that after death
+it should be buried on him. And so it will be, perhaps to be dug up
+again thousands of years hence, and once more to play a part in the
+romance of unborn ages.
+
+_Ave atque vale_--that was the inscription rudely cut within its
+round. Greeting and farewell--her own last words to him. Oh, Beatrice,
+Beatrice! to you also _ave atque vale_. You could not have sent a fitter
+message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all? Within the circle
+of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life: here were the
+beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and fear, of Joy and
+Sorrow.
+
+Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
+earthward shall cry "_Greeting_," in another tongue, and Death,
+descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
+shall answer "_Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!_"
+
+And what was this other relic? He lifted it--it was Beatrice's tennis
+shoe, washed from her foot--Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied it.
+
+Then Geoffrey broke down--it was too much. He threw himself upon the
+great rock and sobbed--that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
+had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions of
+emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He could not
+have borne it for long.
+
+He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old Edward
+and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up the
+little shoe.
+
+"Ah," said the old man, "as I thought. Goad help her! She's gone; she'll
+never come ashore no more, she won't. She's twenty miles away by now,
+she is, breast up, with the gulls a-screaming over her. It's that there
+damned canoe, that's what it is. I wish to Goad I had broke it up long
+ago. I'd rather have built her a boat for nothing, I would. Damn the
+unlucky craft!" screamed the old man at the top of his voice, and
+turning his head to hide the tears that were streaming down his rugged
+face. "And her that I nursed and pulled out of the waters once all but
+dead. Damn it, I say! There, take that, you Sea Witch, you!" and he
+picked up a great boulder and crashed it through the bottom of the
+canoe with all his strength. "You shan't never drown no more. But it has
+brought you good luck, it has, sir; you'll be a fortunit man all your
+life now. It has brought you the _Drowned One's shoe_."
+
+"Don't break it any more," said Geoffrey. "She used to value it. You had
+better bring it along between you--it may be wanted. I am going to the
+Vicarage."
+
+He walked back. Mr. Granger and Elizabeth had not yet arrived, but they
+were expected every minute. He went into the sitting-room. It was full
+of memories and tokens of Beatrice. There lay a novel which he had given
+her, and there was yesterday's paper that she had brought from town, the
+_Standard_, with his speech in it.
+
+Geoffrey covered his eyes with his hand, and thought. None knew that she
+had committed suicide except himself. If he revealed it things might be
+said of her; he did not care what was said of him, but he was jealous of
+her dead name. It might be said, for instance, that the whole tale
+was true, and that Beatrice died because she could no longer face life
+without being put to an open shame. Yes, he had better hold his tongue
+as to how and why she died. She was dead--nothing could bring her back.
+But how then should he account for his presence there? Easily enough.
+He would say frankly that he came because Beatrice had written to him
+of the charges made against her and the threats against himself--came
+to find her dead. And on that point he would still have a word with Owen
+Davies and Elizabeth.
+
+Scarcely had he made up his mind when Elizabeth and her father entered.
+Clearly from their faces they had as yet heard nothing.
+
+Geoffrey rose, and Elizabeth caught sight of him standing with glowing
+eyes and a face like that of Death himself. She recoiled in alarm.
+
+"What brings you here, Mr. Bingham?" she said, in her hard voice.
+
+"Cannot you guess, Miss Granger?" he said sternly. "A few days back you
+made certain charges against your sister and myself in the presence of
+your father and Mr. Owen Davies. These charges have been communicated to
+me, and I have come to answer them and to demand satisfaction for them."
+
+Mr. Granger fidgeted nervously and looked as though he would like to
+escape, but Elizabeth, with characteristic courage, shut the door and
+faced the storm.
+
+"Yes, I did make those charges, Mr. Bingham," she said, "and they are
+true charges. But stop, we had better send for Beatrice first."
+
+"You may send, but you will not find her."
+
+"What do you mean?--what do you mean?" asked her father apprehensively.
+
+"It means that he has hidden her away, I suppose," said Elizabeth with a
+sneer.
+
+"I mean, Mr. Granger, that your daughter Beatrice is _dead_."
+
+For once startled out of her self-command, Elizabeth gave a little cry,
+while her father staggered back against the wall.
+
+"Dead! dead! What do you mean? How did she die?" he asked.
+
+"That is known to God and her alone," answered Geoffrey. "She went out
+last evening in her canoe. When I arrived here this morning she was
+missed for the first time. I walked along the beach and found the canoe
+and this inside of it," and he placed the sodden shoe upon the table.
+
+There was a silence. In the midst of it, Owen Davies burst into the room
+with wild eyes and dishevelled hair.
+
+"Is it true?" he cried, "tell me--it cannot be true that Beatrice is
+drowned. She cannot have been taken from me just when I was going to
+marry her. Say that it is not true!"
+
+A great fury filled Geoffrey's heart. He walked down the room and shut
+the door, a red light swimming before his eyes. Then he turned and
+gripped Owen Davies's shoulder like a vice.
+
+"You accursed blackguard--you unmanly cur!" he said; "you and that
+wicked woman," and he shook his hand at Elizabeth, "conspired together
+to bring a slur upon Beatrice. You did more: you threatened to attack
+me, to try and ruin me if she would not give herself up to you. You
+loathsome hypocrite, you tortured her and frightened her; now I am here
+to frighten _you_. You said that you would make the country ring with
+your tales. I tell you this--are you listening to me? If you dare to
+mention her name in such a sense, or if that woman dares, I will break
+every bone in your wretched body--by Heaven I will kill you!" and he
+cast Davies from him, and as he did so, struck him heavily across the
+face with the back of his hand.
+
+The man took no notice either of his words or of the deadly insult of
+the blow.
+
+"Is it true?" he screamed, "is it true that she is dead?"
+
+"Yes," said Geoffrey, following him, and bending his tall square frame
+over him, for Davies had fallen against the wall, "yes, it is true--she
+is dead--and beyond your reach for ever. Pray to God that you may not
+one day be called her murderers, all of you--you shameless cowards."
+
+Owen Davies gave one shrill cry and sank in a huddled heap upon the
+ground.
+
+"There is no God," he moaned; "God promised her to me, to be my own--you
+have killed her; you--you seduced her first and then you killed her. I
+believe you killed her. Oh, I shall go mad!"
+
+"Mad or sane," said Geoffrey, "say those words once more and I will
+stamp the life out of you where you are. You say that God promised her
+to you--promised that woman to a hound like you. Ah, be careful!"
+
+Owen Davies made no answer. Crouched there upon the ground he rocked
+himself to and fro, and moaned in the madness of his baulked desire.
+
+"This man," said Geoffrey, turning towards and pointing to Elizabeth,
+who was glaring at him like a wild cat from the corner of the room,
+"said that there is no God. I say that there is a God, and that one day,
+soon or late, vengeance will find you out--you murderess, you writer
+of anonymous letters; you who, to advance your own wicked ends whatever
+they may be, were not ashamed to try to drag your innocent sister's name
+into the dirt. I never believed in a hell till now, but there must be
+a hell for such as you, Elizabeth Granger. Go your ways; live out your
+time; but live every hour of it in terror of the vengeance that shall
+come so surely as you shall die.
+
+"Now for you, sir," he went on, addressing the trembling father. "I do
+not blame you so much, because I believe that this viper poisoned your
+mind. You might have thought that the tale was true. It is not true; it
+was a lie. Beatrice, who now is dead, came into my room in her sleep,
+and was carried from it as she came. And you, her father, allowed this
+villain and your daughter to use her distress against her; you allowed
+him to make a lever of it, with which to force her into a marriage that
+she loathed. Yes, cover up your face--you may well do so. Do your worst,
+one and all of you, but remember that this time you have to deal with a
+man who can and will strike back, not a poor friendless girl."
+
+"Before Heaven, it was not my fault, Mr. Bingham," gasped the old man.
+"I am innocent of it. That Judas-woman Elizabeth betrayed her sister
+because she wanted to marry him herself," and he pointed to the Heap
+upon the floor. "She thought that it would prejudice him against
+Beatrice, and he--he believed that she was attached to you, and tried to
+work upon her attachment."
+
+"So," said Geoffrey, "now we have it all. And you, sir, stood by and
+saw this done. You stood by thinking that you would make a profit of
+her agony. Now I will tell you what I meant to hide from you. I did love
+her. I do love her--as she loved me. I believe that between you, you
+drove her to her grave. Her blood be on your heads for ever and for
+ever!"
+
+"Oh, take me home," groaned the Heap upon the floor--"take me home,
+Elizabeth! I daren't go alone. Beatrice will haunt me. My brain goes
+round and round. Take me away, Elizabeth, and stop with me. You are not
+afraid of her, you are afraid of nothing."
+
+Elizabeth sidled up to him, keeping her fierce eyes on Geoffrey all
+the time. She was utterly cowed and terrified, but she could still look
+fierce. She took the Heap by the hand and drew him thence still moaning
+and quite crazed. She led him away to his castle and his wealth. Six
+months afterwards she came forth with him to marry him, half-witted as
+he was. A year and eight months afterwards she came out again to bury
+him, and found herself the richest widow in Wales.
+
+
+
+They went forth, leaving Geoffrey and Mr. Granger alone. The old man
+rested his head upon the table and wept bitterly.
+
+"Be merciful," he said, "do not say such words to me. I loved her,
+indeed I did, but Elizabeth was too much for me, and I am so poor. Oh,
+if you loved her also, be merciful! I do not reproach you because you
+loved her, although you had no right to love her. If you had not loved
+her, and made her love you, all this would never have happened. Why do
+you say such dreadful things to me, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"I loved her, sir," answered Geoffrey, humbly enough now that his fury
+had passed, "because being what she was all who looked on her must love
+her. There is no woman left like her in the world. But who am I that I
+should blame you? God forgive us all! I only live henceforth in the hope
+that I may one day rejoin her where she has gone."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Mr. Granger," said Geoffrey presently, "never trouble yourself about
+money. You were her father; anything you want and what I have is yours.
+Let us shake hands and say good-bye, and let us never meet again. As I
+said, God forgive us all!"
+
+"Thank you--thank you," said the old man, looking up through the white
+hair that fell about his eyes. "It is a strange world and we are all
+miserable sinners. I hope there is a better somewhere. I'm well-nigh
+tired of this, especially now that Beatrice has gone. Poor girl, she was
+a good daughter and a fine woman. Good-bye. Good-bye!"
+
+Then Geoffrey went.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+THE DUCHESS'S BALL
+
+Geoffrey reached Town a little before eleven o'clock that night--a
+haunted man--haunted for life by a vision of that face still lovely
+in death, floating alone upon the deep, and companioned only by the
+screaming mews--or perchance now sinking or sunk to an unfathomable
+grave. Well might such a vision haunt a man, the man whom alone of all
+men those cold lips had kissed, and for whose dear sake this dreadful
+thing was done.
+
+He took a cab directing the driver to go to Bolton Street and to stop
+at his club as he passed. There might be letters for him there, he
+thought--something which would distract his mind a little. As it chanced
+there was a letter, marked "private," and a telegram; both had been
+delivered that evening, the porter said, the former about an hour ago by
+hand.
+
+Idly he opened the telegram--it was from his lawyers: "Your cousin, the
+child George Bingham, is, as we have just heard, dead. Please call on us
+early to-morrow morning."
+
+He started a little, for this meant a good deal to Geoffrey. It meant a
+baronetcy and eight thousand a year, more or less. How delighted Honoria
+would be, he thought with a sad smile; the loss of that large income had
+always been a bitter pill to her, and one which she had made him swallow
+again and again. Well, there it was. Poor boy, he had always been
+ailing--an old man's child!
+
+He put the telegram in his pocket and got into the hansom again. There
+was a lamp in it and by its light he read the letter. It was from the
+Prime Minister and ran thus:
+
+"My dear Bingham,--I have not seen you since Monday to thank you for
+the magnificent speech you made on that night. Allow me to add my
+congratulations to those of everybody else. As you know, the Under
+Secretaryship of the Home Office is vacant. On behalf of my colleagues
+and myself I write to ask if you will consent to fill it for a time,
+for we do not in any way consider that the post is one commensurate with
+your abilities. It will, however, serve to give you practical experience
+of administration, and us the advantage of your great talents to an even
+larger extent than we now enjoy. For the future, it must of course take
+care of itself; but, as you know, Sir ----'s health is not all that
+could be desired, and the other day he told me that it was doubtful if
+he would be able to carry on the duties of the Attorney-Generalship for
+very much longer. In view of this contingency I venture to suggest that
+you would do well to apply for silk as soon as possible. I have spoken
+to the Lord Chancellor about it, and he says that there will be no
+difficulty, as although you have only been in active practice for so
+short a while, you have a good many years' standing as a barrister. Or
+if this prospect does not please doubtless some other opening to the
+Cabinet can be found in time. The fact is, that we cannot in our own
+interest overlook you for long."
+
+Geoffrey smiled again as he finished this letter. Who could have
+believed a year ago that he would have been to-day in a position to
+receive such an epistle from the Prime Minister of England? Ah, here was
+the luck of the Drowned One's shoe with a vengeance. And what was it all
+worth to him now?
+
+He put the letter in his pocket with the telegram and looked out. They
+were turning into Bolton Street. How was little Effie, he wondered? The
+child seemed all that was left him to care for. If anything happened to
+her--bah, he would not think of it!
+
+He was there now. "How is Miss Effie?" he asked of the servant who
+opened the door. At that moment his attention was attracted by the dim
+forms of two people, a man and a woman, who were standing not far from
+the area gate, the man with his arm round the woman's waist. Suddenly
+the woman appeared to catch sight of the cab and retired swiftly down
+the area. It crossed his mind that her figure was very like that of
+Anne, the French nurse.
+
+"Miss Effie is doing nicely, sir, I'm told," answered the man.
+
+Geoffrey breathed more freely. "Where is her ladyship?" he asked. "In
+Effie's room?"
+
+"No, sir," answered the man, "her ladyship has gone to a ball. She left
+this note for you in case you should come in."
+
+He took the note from the hall table and opened it.
+
+"Dear Geoffrey," it ran, "Effie is so much better that I have made up my
+mind to go to the duchess's ball after all. She would be so disappointed
+if I did not come, and my dress is quite _lovely_. Had your mysterious
+business anything to do with _Bryngelly_?--
+
+"Yours, Honoria."
+
+"She would go on to a ball from her mother's funeral," said Geoffrey to
+himself, as he walked up to Effie's room; "well, it is her nature and
+there's an end of it."
+
+He knocked at the door of Effie's room. There was no answer, so he
+walked in. The room was lit but empty--no, not quite! On the floor,
+clothed only in her white night-shirt, lay his little daughter, to all
+appearance dead.
+
+With something like an oath he sprang to her and lifted her. The face
+was pale and the small hands were cold, but the breast was still hot and
+fevered, and the heart beat. A glance showed him what had happened. The
+child being left alone, and feeling thirsty, had got out of bed and gone
+to the water bottle--there was the tumbler on the floor. Then weakness
+had overcome her and she had fainted--fainted upon the cold floor with
+the inflammation still on her.
+
+At that moment Anne entered the room sweetly murmuring, "Ça va bien,
+chérie?"
+
+"Help me to put the child into bed," said Geoffrey sternly. "Now ring
+the bell--ring it again.
+
+"And now, woman--go. Leave this house at once, this very night. Do you
+hear me? No, don't stop to argue. Look here! If that child dies I will
+prosecute you for manslaughter; yes, I saw you in the street," and he
+took a step towards her. Then Anne fled, and her face was seen no more
+in Bolton Street or indeed in this country.
+
+"James," said Geoffrey to the servant, "send the cook up here--she is
+a sensible woman; and do you take a hansom and drive to the doctor, and
+tell him to come here at once, and if you cannot find him go for another
+doctor. Then go to the Nurses' Home, near St. James' Station, and get a
+trained nurse--tell them one must be had from somewhere instantly."
+
+"Yes, sir. And shall I call for her ladyship at the duchess's, sir?"
+
+"No," he answered, frowning heavily, "do not disturb her ladyship. Go
+now."
+
+"That settles it," said Geoffrey, as the man went. "Whatever happens,
+Honoria and I must part. I have done with her."
+
+He had indeed, though not in the way he meant. It would have been
+well for Honoria if her husband's contempt had not prevented him from
+summoning her from her pleasure.
+
+The cook came up, and between them they brought the child back to life.
+
+She opened her eyes and smiled. "Is that you, daddy," she whispered, "or
+do I dreams?"
+
+"Yes, dear, it is I."
+
+"Where has you been, daddy--to see Auntie Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, love," he said, with a gasp.
+
+"Oh, daddy, my head do feel funny; but I don't mind now you is come
+back. You won't go away no more, will you, daddy?"
+
+"No, dear, no more."
+
+After that she began to wander a little, and finally dropped into a
+troubled sleep.
+
+Within half an hour both the doctor and the nurse arrived. The former
+listened to Geoffrey's tale and examined the child.
+
+"She may pull through it," he said, "she has got a capital constitution;
+but I'll tell you what it is--if she had lain another five minutes in
+that draught there would have been an end of her. You came in the nick
+of time. And now if I were you I should go to bed. You can do no good
+here, and you look dreadfully ill yourself."
+
+But Geoffrey shook his head. He said he would go downstairs and smoke a
+pipe. He did not want to go to bed at present; he was too tired.
+
+
+
+Meanwhile the ball went merrily. Lady Honoria never enjoyed herself
+more in her life. She revelled in the luxurious gaiety around her like
+a butterfly in the sunshine. How good it all was--the flash of diamonds,
+the odour of costly flowers, the homage of well-bred men, the envy of
+other women. Oh! it was a delightful world after all--that is when one
+did not have to exist in a flat near the Edgware Road. But Heaven be
+praised! thanks to Geoffrey's talents, there was an end of flats and
+misery. After all, he was not a bad sort of husband, though in many ways
+a perfect mystery to her. As for his little weakness for the Welsh girl,
+really, provided that there was no scandal, she did not care twopence
+about it.
+
+"Yes, I am so glad you admire it. I think it is rather a nice dress,
+but then I always say that nobody in London can make a dress like Madame
+Jules. Oh, no, Geoffrey did not choose it; he thinks of other things."
+
+"Well, I'm sure you ought to be proud of him, Lady Honoria," said the
+handsome Guardsman to whom she was talking; "they say at mess that he is
+one of the cleverest men in England. I only wish I had a fiftieth part
+of his brains."
+
+"Oh, please do not become clever, Lord Atleigh; please don't, or I
+shall really give you up. Cleverness is all very well, but it isn't
+everything, you know. Yes, I will dance if you like, but you must go
+slowly; to be quite honest, I am afraid of tearing my lace in this
+crush. Why, I declare there is Garsington, my brother, you know," and
+she pointed to a small red-haired man who was elbowing his way towards
+them. "I wonder what he wants; it is not at all in his line to come to
+balls. You know him, don't you? he is always racing horses, like you."
+
+But the Guardsman had vanished. For reasons of his own he did not wish
+to meet Garsington. Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain club.
+
+"Oh, there you are, Honoria," said her brother, "I thought that I should
+be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash. Look here, I have
+something to tell you."
+
+"Good news or bad?" said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. "If it is
+bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don't want my
+evening spoilt."
+
+"Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it's jolly good, about as
+good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think?
+that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or
+some one, you know, is----"
+
+"Not dead, not dead?" said Honoria in deep agitation.
+
+"Dead as ditch-water," replied his lordship. "I heard it at the club.
+There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they
+got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, 'Oh, he's Sir Geoffrey
+Bingham now. Old Sir Robert's heir is dead. I saw the telegram myself.'"
+
+"Oh, this is almost too good to be true," said Honoria. "Why, it means
+eight thousand a year to us."
+
+"I told you it was pretty good," said her brother. "You ought to stand
+me a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let's go and drink to the
+news. Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must screw
+myself up."
+
+Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung
+stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.
+
+"Ah, Lady Honoria," said the great Person, "I have something to say that
+will please you, I think," and he bent towards her, and spoke very low,
+then, with a little bow, passed on.
+
+"What is the old boy talking about?" asked her brother.
+
+"Why, what do you think? We are in luck's way to-night. He says that
+they are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home Office."
+
+"He'll be a bigger prig than ever now," growled Lord Garsington. "Yes,
+it is luck though; let us hope it won't turn."
+
+They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been
+dining, helped himself pretty freely to champagne. Before them was a
+silver candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little painted
+paper shade. One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to reach over
+Lord Garsington's head to put it straight.
+
+"I'll do it," said he.
+
+"No, no; let the man," said Lady Honoria. "Look! it is going to catch
+fire!"
+
+"Nonsense," he answered, rising solemnly and reaching his arm towards
+the shade. As he touched it, it caught fire; indeed, by touching it he
+caused it to catch fire. He seized hold of it, and made an effort to put
+it out, but it burnt his fingers.
+
+"Curse the thing!" he said aloud, and threw it from him. It fell flaming
+in his sister's dress among the thickest of the filmy laces; they
+caught, and instantly two wreathing snakes of fire shot up her. She
+sprang from her seat and rushed screaming down the room, an awful mass
+of flame!
+
+
+
+In ten more minutes Lady Honoria had left this world and its pleasures
+to those who still lived to taste them.
+
+
+
+An hour passed. Geoffrey still sat brooding heavily over his pipe in the
+study in Bolton Street and waiting for Honoria, when a knock came to his
+door. The servants had all gone to bed, all except the sick nurse.
+He rose and opened it himself. A little red-haired, pale-faced man
+staggered in.
+
+"Why, Garsington, is it you? What do you want at this hour?"
+
+"Screw yourself up, Bingham, I've something to tell you," he answered in
+a thick voice.
+
+"What is it? another disaster, I suppose. Is somebody else dead?"
+
+"Yes; somebody is. Honoria's dead. Burnt to death at the ball."
+
+"Great God! Honoria burnt to death. I had better go----"
+
+"I advise you not, Bingham. I wouldn't go to the hospital if I were you.
+Screw yourself up, and if you can, give me something to drink--I'm about
+done--I must screw myself up."
+
+
+
+And here we may leave this most fortunate and gifted man. Farewell to
+Geoffrey Bingham.
+
+
+
+ENVOL
+
+Thus, then, did these human atoms work out their destinies, these little
+grains of animated dust, blown hither and thither by a breath which came
+they knew not whence.
+
+If there be any malicious Principle among the Powers around us that
+deigns to find amusement in the futile vagaries of man, well might it
+laugh, and laugh again, at the great results of all this scheming,
+of all these desires, loves and hates; and if there be any pitiful
+Principle, well might it sigh over the infinite pathos of human
+helplessness. Owen Davies lost in his own passion; Geoffrey crowned with
+prosperity and haunted by undying sorrow; Honoria perishing wretchedly
+in her hour of satisfied ambition; Beatrice sacrificing herself in love
+and blindness, and thereby casting out her joy.
+
+Oh, if she had been content to humbly trust in the Providence above her;
+if she had but left that deed undared for one short week!
+
+But Geoffrey still lived, and the child recovered, after hanging for
+a while between life and death, and was left to comfort him. May she
+survive to be a happy wife and mother, living under conditions more
+favourable to her well-being than those which trampled out the life of
+that mistaken woman, the ill-starred, great-souled Beatrice, and broke
+her father's heart.
+
+
+
+Say--what are we? We are but arrows winged with fears and shot from
+darkness into darkness; we are blind leaders of the blind, aimless
+beaters of this wintry air; lost travellers by many stony paths ending
+in one end. Tell us, you, who have outworn the common tragedy and passed
+the narrow way, what lies beyond its gate? You are dumb, or we cannot
+hear you speak.
+
+
+
+But Beatrice knows to-day!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
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diff --git a/old/3096-8.zip b/old/3096-8.zip
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Beatrice
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 5, 2006 [EBook #3096]
+Last Updated: September 23, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BEATRICE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      by H. Rider Haggard
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      First Published in 1893.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                                       TO
+
+                                    BEATRICE
+</pre>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+             &ldquo;Oh, kind is Death that Life&rsquo;s long trouble closes,
+              Yet at Death&rsquo;s coming Life shrinks back affright;
+              It sees the dark hand,&mdash;not that it encloses
+                  A cup of light.
+
+              So oft the Spirit seeing Love draw nigh
+              As &lsquo;neath the shadow of destruction, quakes,
+              For Self, dark tyrant of the Soul, must die,
+                  When Love awakes.
+
+              Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,&mdash;
+              Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!&rdquo;
+ 
+              Rückert. Translated by F. W. B.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>BEATRICE</b></big> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BEATRICE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A MIST WRAITH
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy weather,
+      but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost in slowly
+      darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It seemed to
+      sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide. The eye could
+      not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon the farthest point
+      of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown weeds which clung about
+      their sides began to lift as the water took their weight, till at last the
+      delicate pattern floated out and lay like a woman&rsquo;s hair upon the green
+      depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was growing dense and soft upon the quiet
+      waters. It was not blown up from the west, it simply grew like the
+      twilight, making the silence yet more silent and blotting away the
+      outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the seaweed and watched
+      the gathering of these fleecy hosts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a curious evening,&rdquo; she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low
+      full voice. &ldquo;I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that is
+      seven years ago. I&rsquo;ve grown since then, grown every way,&rdquo; and she laughed
+      somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She could not have looked at anything more charming, for it would have
+      been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as on this
+      her twenty-second birthday, she stood and gazed into that misty sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of rather more than middle height, and modelled like a statue, strength
+      and health seemed to radiate from her form. But it was her face with the
+      stamp of intellect and power shadowing its woman&rsquo;s loveliness that must
+      have made her remarkable among women even more beautiful than herself.
+      There are many girls who have rich brown hair, like some autumn leaf here
+      and there just yellowing into gold, girls whose deep grey eyes can grow
+      tender as a dove&rsquo;s, or flash like the stirred waters of a northern sea,
+      and whose bloom can bear comparison with the wilding rose. But few can
+      show a face like that which upon this day first dawned on Geoffrey Bingham
+      to his sorrow and his hope. It was strong and pure and sweet as the keen
+      sea breath, and looking on it one must know that beneath this fair cloak
+      lay a wit as fair. And yet it was all womanly; here was not the hard
+      sexless stamp of the &ldquo;cultured&rdquo; female. She who owned it was capable of
+      many things. She could love and she could suffer, and if need be, she
+      could dare or die. It was to be read upon that lovely brow and face, and
+      in the depths of those grey eyes&mdash;that is, by those to whom the book
+      of character is open, and who wish to study it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Beatrice was not thinking of her loveliness as she gazed into the
+      water. She knew that she was beautiful of course; her beauty was too
+      obvious to be overlooked, and besides it had been brought home to her in
+      several more or less disagreeable ways.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seven years,&rdquo; she was thinking, &ldquo;since the night of the &lsquo;death fog;&rsquo; that
+      was what old Edward called it, and so it was. I was only so high then,&rdquo;
+       and following her thoughts she touched herself upon the breast. &ldquo;And I was
+      happy too in my own way. Why can&rsquo;t one always be fifteen, and believe
+      everything one is told?&rdquo; and she sighed. &ldquo;Seven years and nothing done
+      yet. Work, work, and nothing coming out of the work, and everything fading
+      away. I think that life is very dreary when one has lost everything, and
+      found nothing, and loves nobody. I wonder what it will be like in another
+      seven years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She covered her eyes with her hands, and then taking them away, once more
+      looked at the water. Such light as struggled through the fog was behind
+      her, and the mist was thickening. At first she had some difficulty in
+      tracing her own likeness upon the glassy surface, but gradually she marked
+      its outline. It stretched away from her, and its appearance was as though
+      she herself were lying on her back in the water wrapped about with the
+      fleecy mist. &ldquo;How curious it seems,&rdquo; she thought; &ldquo;what is it that
+      reflection reminds me of with the white all round it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Next instant she gave a little cry and turned sharply away. She knew now.
+      It recalled her mother as she had last seen her seven years ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      AT THE BELL ROCK
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and further
+      up the coast-line, a second group of rocks, known from their colour as the
+      Red Rocks, or sometimes, for another reason, as the Bell Rocks, juts out
+      between half and three-quarters of a mile into the waters of the Welsh Bay
+      that lies behind Rumball Point. At low tide these rocks are bare, so that
+      a man may walk or wade to their extremity, but when the flood is full only
+      one or two of the very largest can from time to time be seen projecting
+      their weed-wreathed heads through the wash of the shore-bound waves. In
+      certain sets of the wind and tide this is a terrible and most dangerous
+      spot in rough weather, as more than one vessel have learnt to their cost.
+      So long ago as 1780 a three-decker man-of-war went ashore there in a
+      furious winter gale, and, with one exception, every living soul on board
+      of her, to the number of seven hundred, was drowned. The one exception was
+      a man in irons, who came safely and serenely ashore seated upon a piece of
+      wreckage. Nobody ever knew how the shipwreck happened, least of all the
+      survivor in irons, but the tradition of the terror of the scene yet lives
+      in the district, and the spot where the bones of the drowned men still
+      peep grimly through the sand is not unnaturally supposed to be haunted.
+      Ever since this catastrophe a large bell (it was originally the bell of
+      the ill-fated vessel itself, and still bears her name, &ldquo;H.M.S. Thunder,&rdquo;
+       stamped upon its metal) has been fixed upon the highest rock, and in times
+      of storm and at high tide sends its solemn note of warning booming across
+      the deep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the bell was quiet now, and just beneath it, in the shadow of the rock
+      whereon it was placed, a man half hidden in seaweed, with which he
+      appeared to have purposely covered himself, was seated upon a piece of
+      wreck. In appearance he was a very fine man, big-shouldered and broad
+      limbed, and his age might have been thirty-five or a little more. Of his
+      frame, however, what between the mist and the unpleasantly damp seaweed
+      with which he was wreathed, not much was to be seen. But such light as
+      there was fell upon his face as he peered eagerly over and round the rock,
+      and glinted down the barrels of the double ten-bore gun which he held
+      across his knee. It was a striking countenance, with its brownish eyes,
+      dark peaked beard and strong features, very powerful and very able. And
+      yet there was a certain softness in the face, which hovered round the
+      region of the mouth like light at the edge of a dark cloud, hinting at
+      gentle sunshine. But little of this was visible now. Geoffrey Bingham,
+      barrister-at-law of the Inner Temple, M.A., was engaged with a very
+      serious occupation. He was trying to shoot curlew as they passed over his
+      hiding-place on their way to the mud banks where they feed further along
+      the coast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of man&rsquo;s
+      every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may wait for an
+      hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an oyster-catcher. Then
+      at last from miles away comes the faint wild call of curlew on the wing.
+      He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but nothing can he see. At
+      last, seventy yards or more to the right, he catches sight of the flicker
+      of beating wings, and, like a flash, they are gone. Again a call&mdash;the
+      curlew are flighting. He looks and looks, in his excitement struggling to
+      his feet and raising his head incautiously far above the sheltering rock.
+      There they come, a great flock of thirty or more, bearing straight down on
+      him, a hundred yards off&mdash;eighty&mdash;sixty&mdash;now. Up goes the
+      gun, but alas and alas! they catch a glimpse of the light glinting on the
+      barrels, and perhaps of the head behind them, and in another second they
+      have broken and scattered this way and that way, twisting off like a wisp
+      of gigantic snipe, to vanish with melancholy cries into the depth of mist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and waits,
+      listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue is
+      rewarded. First of all two wild duck come over, cleaving the air like
+      arrows. The mallard is missed, but the left barrel reaches the duck, and
+      down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have the cartridges
+      been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once more heard&mdash;quite
+      close this time. There they are, looming large against the fog. Bang! down
+      goes the first and lies flapping among the rocks. Like a flash the second
+      is away to the left. Bang! after him, and caught him too! Hark to the
+      splash as he falls into the deep water fifty yards away. And then the mist
+      closes in so densely that shooting is done with for the day. Well, that
+      right and left has been worth three hours&rsquo; wait in the wet seaweed and the
+      violent cold that may follow&mdash;that is, to any man who has a soul for
+      true sport.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just such an experience as this had befallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had
+      bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew&mdash;that is, he had bagged
+      one of them, for the other was floating in the sea&mdash;when a sudden
+      increase in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations. He
+      shook the wet seaweed off his rough clothes, and, having lit a short briar
+      pipe, set to work to hunt for the duck and the first curfew. He found them
+      easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of the rocks, up the sides of
+      which the tide was gradually creeping, peered into the mist to see if he
+      could find the other. Presently the fog lifted a little, and he discovered
+      the bird floating on the oily water about fifty yards away. A little to
+      the left the rocks ran out in a peak, and he knew from experience that the
+      tide setting towards the shore would carry the curlew past this peak. So
+      he went to its extremity, sat down upon a big stone and waited. All this
+      while the tide was rising fast, though, intent as he was upon bringing the
+      curlew to bag, he did not pay much heed to it, forgetting that it was
+      cutting him off from the land. At last, after more than half-an-hour of
+      waiting, he caught sight of the curlew again, but, as bad luck would have
+      it, it was still twenty yards or more from him and in deep water. He was
+      determined, however, to get the bird if he could, for Geoffrey hated
+      leaving his game, so he pulled up his trousers and set to work to wade
+      towards it. For the first few steps all went well, but the fourth or fifth
+      landed him in a hole that wet his right leg nearly up to the thigh and
+      gave his ankle a severe twist. Reflecting that it would be very awkward if
+      he sprained his ankle in such a lonely place, he beat a retreat, and
+      bethought him, unless the curlew was to become food for the dog-fish, that
+      he had better strip bodily and swim for it. This&mdash;for Geoffrey was a
+      man of determined mind&mdash;he decided to do, and had already taken off
+      his coat and waistcoat to that end, when suddenly some sort of a boat&mdash;he
+      judged it to be a canoe from the slightness of its shape&mdash;loomed up
+      in the mist before him. An idea struck him: the canoe or its occupant, if
+      anybody could be insane enough to come out canoeing in such water, might
+      fetch the curlew and save him a swim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi!&rdquo; he shouted in stentorian tones. &ldquo;Hullo there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered a woman&rsquo;s gentle voice across the waters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he replied, struggling to get into his waistcoat again, for the
+      voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I
+      beg your pardon, but would you do me a favour? There is a dead curlew
+      floating about, not ten yards from your boat. If you wouldn&rsquo;t mind&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on towards the bird.
+      Presently the hand plunged downwards into the misty waters and the curlew
+      was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with his waistcoat,
+      the canoe sped towards him like a dream boat, and in another moment it was
+      beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was looking up into his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be peculiar
+      to the recorder of things done), and see how it came about that Beatrice
+      Granger was present to retrieve Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s dead curlew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately after the unpleasant idea recorded in the last, or, to be more
+      accurate, in the first chapter of this comedy, had impressed itself upon
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s mind, she came to the conclusion that she had seen enough of
+      the Dog Rocks for one afternoon. Thereon, like a sensible person, she set
+      herself to quit them in the same way that she had reached them, namely by
+      means of a canoe. She got into her canoe safely enough, and paddled a
+      little way out to sea, with a view of returning to the place whence she
+      came. But the further she went out, and it was necessary that she should
+      go some way on account of the rocks and the currents, the denser grew the
+      fog. Sounds came through it indeed, but she could not clearly distinguish
+      whence they came, till at last, well as she knew the coast, she grew
+      confused as to whither she was heading. In this dilemma, while she rested
+      on her paddle staring into the dense surrounding mist and keeping her grey
+      eyes as wide open as nature would allow, and that was very wide, she heard
+      the report of a gun behind her to the right. Arguing to herself that some
+      wild-fowler on the water must have fired it who would be able to direct
+      her, she turned the canoe round and paddled swiftly in the direction
+      whence the sound came. Presently she heard the gun again; both barrels
+      were fired, in there to the right, but some way off. She paddled on
+      vigorously, but now no more shots came to guide her, therefore for a while
+      her search was fruitless. At last, however, she saw something looming
+      through the mist ahead; it was the Red Rocks, though she did not know it,
+      and she drew near with caution till Geoffrey&rsquo;s shout broke upon her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She picked up the dead bird and paddled towards the dim figure who was
+      evidently wrestling with something, she could not see what.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is the curlew, sir,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, thank you,&rdquo; answered the figure on the rock. &ldquo;I am infinitely obliged
+      to you. I was just going to swim for it, I can&rsquo;t bear losing my game. It
+      seems so cruel to shoot birds for nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say that you will not make much use of it now that you have got
+      it,&rdquo; said the gentle voice in the canoe. &ldquo;Curlew are not very good
+      eating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is scarcely the point,&rdquo; replied the Crusoe on the rock. &ldquo;The point
+      is to bring them home. <i>Après cela&mdash;&mdash;</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The birdstuffer?&rdquo; said the voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Crusoe, &ldquo;the cook&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A laugh came back from the canoe&mdash;and then a question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray, Mr. Bingham, can you tell me where I am? I have quite lost my
+      reckoning in the mist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started. How did this mysterious young lady in a boat know his name?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are at the Red Rocks; there is the bell, that grey thing, Miss&mdash;Miss&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice Granger,&rdquo; she put in hastily. &ldquo;My father is the clergyman of
+      Bryngelly. I saw you when you and Lady Honoria Bingham looked into the
+      school yesterday. I teach in the school.&rdquo; She did not tell him, however,
+      that his face had interested her so much that she had asked his name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he started. He had heard of this young lady. Somebody had told him
+      that she was the prettiest girl in Wales, and the cleverest, but that her
+      father was not a gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, taking off his hat in the direction of the canoe. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it
+      a little risky, Miss Granger, for you to be canoeing alone in this mist?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered frankly, &ldquo;but I am used to it; I go out canoeing in
+      all possible weathers. It is my amusement, and after all the risk does not
+      matter much,&rdquo; she added, more to herself than to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While he was wondering what she meant by that dark saying, she went on
+      quickly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know, Mr. Bingham, I think that you are in more danger than I am.
+      It must be getting near seven o&rsquo;clock, and the tide is high at a quarter
+      to eight. Unless I am mistaken there is by now nearly half a mile of deep
+      water between you and the shore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My word!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I forgot all about the tide. What between the
+      shooting and looking for that curlew, and the mist, it never occurred to
+      me that it was getting late. I suppose I must swim for it, that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered earnestly, &ldquo;it is very dangerous swimming here; the
+      place is full of sharp rocks, and there is a tremendous current.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, what is to be done? Will your canoe carry two? If so, perhaps
+      you would kindly put me ashore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;it is a double canoe. But I dare not take you ashore
+      here; there are too many rocks, and it is impossible to see the ripple on
+      them in this mist. We should sink the canoe. No, you must get in and I
+      must paddle you home to Bryngelly, that&rsquo;s all. Now that I know where I am
+      I think that I can find the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you are very good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;you see I must go myself anyhow, so I shall
+      be glad of your help. It is nearly five miles by water, you know, and not
+      a pleasant night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was truth in this. Geoffrey was perfectly prepared to risk a swim to
+      the shore on his own account, but he did not at all like the idea of
+      leaving this young lady to find her own way back to Bryngelly through the
+      mist and gathering darkness, and in that frail canoe. He would not have
+      liked it if she had been a man, for he knew that there was great risk in
+      such a voyage. So after making one more fruitless suggestion that they
+      should try and reach the shore, taking the chance of rocks, sunken or
+      otherwise, and then walk home, to which Beatrice would not consent, he
+      accepted her offer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the least you will allow me to paddle,&rdquo; he said, as she skilfully
+      brought the canoe right under his rock, which the tide was now high enough
+      to allow her to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you like,&rdquo; she answered doubtfully. &ldquo;My hands are a little sore, and,
+      of course,&rdquo; with a glance at his broad shoulders, &ldquo;you are much stronger.
+      But if you are not used to it I dare say that I should get on as well as
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; he said sharply. &ldquo;I will not allow you to paddle me for five
+      miles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She yielded without another word, and very gingerly shifted her seat so
+      that her back was towards the bow of the canoe, leaving him to occupy the
+      paddling place opposite to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he handed her his gun, which, together with the dead birds, she
+      carefully stowed in the bottom of the frail craft. Next, with great
+      caution, he slid down the rock till his feet rested in the canoe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be careful or you will upset us,&rdquo; she said, leaning forward and
+      stretching out her hand for him to support himself by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was, as he took it, that he for the first time really saw her
+      face, with the mist drops hanging to the bent eyelashes, and knew how
+      beautiful it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A CONFESSION OF FAITH
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you ready?&rdquo; he said, recovering himself from the pleasing shock of
+      this serge-draped vision of the mist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Beatrice. &ldquo;You must head straight out to sea for a little&mdash;not
+      too far, for if we get beyond the shelter of Rumball Point we might
+      founder in the rollers&mdash;there are always rollers there&mdash;then
+      steer to the left. I will tell you when. And, Mr. Bingham, please be
+      careful of the paddle; it has been spliced, and won&rsquo;t bear rough usage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he answered, and they started gaily enough, the light canoe
+      gliding swiftly forward beneath his sturdy strokes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice was leaning back with her head bent a little forward, so that he
+      could only see her chin and the sweet curve of the lips above it. But she
+      could see all his face as it swayed towards her with each motion of the
+      paddle, and she watched it with interest. It was a new type of face to
+      her, so strong and manly, and yet so gentle about the mouth&mdash;almost
+      too gentle she thought. What made him marry Lady Honoria? Beatrice
+      wondered; she did not look particularly gentle, though she was such a
+      graceful woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus they went on for some time, each wondering about the other and at
+      heart admiring the other, which was not strange, for they were a very
+      proper pair, but saying no word till at last, after about a quarter of an
+      hour&rsquo;s hard paddling, Geoffrey paused to rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you do much of this kind of thing, Miss Granger?&rdquo; he said with a gasp,
+      &ldquo;because it is rather hard work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed. &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I thought you would scarcely go on paddling
+      at that rate. Yes, I canoe a great deal in the summer time. It is my way
+      of taking exercise, and I can swim well, so I am not afraid of an upset.
+      At least it has been my way for the last two years since a lady who was
+      staying here gave me the canoe when she went away. Before that I used to
+      row in a boat&mdash;that is, before I went to college.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;College? What college? Girton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, nothing half so grand. It was a college where you get
+      certificates that you are qualified to be a mistress in a Board school. I
+      wish it had been Girton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo;&mdash;you are too good for that, he was going to add, but
+      changed it to&mdash;&ldquo;I think you were as well away. I don&rsquo;t care about the
+      Girton stamp; those of them whom I have known are so hard.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So much the better for them,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I should like to be hard as
+      a stone; a stone cannot feel. Don&rsquo;t you think that women ought to learn,
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you learnt anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have taught myself a little and picked up something at the college. But
+      I have no real knowledge, only a smattering of things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you know&mdash;French and German?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Latin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know something of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Greek?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can read it fairly, but I am not a Greek scholar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mathematics?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I gave them up. There is no human nature about mathematics. They work
+      everything to a fixed conclusion that must result. Life is not like that;
+      what ought to be a square comes out a right angle, and <i>x</i> always
+      equals an unknown quantity, which is never ascertained till you are dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good gracious!&rdquo; thought Geoffrey to himself between the strokes of the
+      paddle, &ldquo;what an extraordinary girl. A flesh-and-blood blue-stocking, and
+      a lovely one into the bargain. At any rate I will bowl her out this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you have read law too?&rdquo; he said with suppressed sarcasm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have read some,&rdquo; she answered calmly. &ldquo;I like law, especially Equity
+      law; it is so subtle, and there is such a mass of it built upon such a
+      small foundation. It is like an overgrown mushroom, and the top will fall
+      off one day, however hard the lawyers try to prop it up. Perhaps you can
+      tell me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m sure I cannot,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not a Chancery man. I am Common
+      law, and <i>I</i> don&rsquo;t take all knowledge for <i>my</i> province. You
+      positively alarm me, Miss Granger. I wonder that the canoe does not sink
+      beneath so much learning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I?&rdquo; she answered sweetly. &ldquo;I am glad that I have lived to frighten
+      somebody. I meant that I like Equity to study; but if I were a barrister,
+      I would be Common law, because there is so much more life and struggle
+      about it. Existence is not worth having unless one is struggling with
+      something and trying to overcome it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me, what a reposeful prospect,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, aghast. He had
+      certainly never met such a woman as this before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Repose is only good when it is earned,&rdquo; went on the fair philosopher,
+      &ldquo;and in order to fit one to earn some more, otherwise it becomes idleness,
+      and that is misery. Fancy being idle when one has such a little time to
+      live. The only thing to do is to work and stifle thought. I suppose that
+      you have a large practice, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should not ask a barrister that question,&rdquo; he answered, laughing; &ldquo;it
+      is like looking at the pictures which an artist has turned to the wall.
+      No, to be frank, I have not. I have only taken to practising in earnest
+      during the last two years. Before I was a barrister in name, and that is
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why did you suddenly begin to work?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I lost my prospects, Miss Granger&mdash;from necessity, in
+      short.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I beg your pardon!&rdquo; she said, with a blush, which of course he could
+      not see. &ldquo;I did not mean to be rude. But it is very lucky for you, is it
+      not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Some people don&rsquo;t think so. Why is it lucky?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you will now rise and become a great man, and that is more than
+      being a rich man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why do you think that I shall become a great man?&rdquo; he asked, stopping
+      paddling in his astonishment and looking at the dim form before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! because it is written on your face,&rdquo; she answered simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her words rang true; there was no flattery or artifice in them. Geoffrey
+      felt that the girl was saying just what she thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you study physiognomy as well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Well, Miss Granger, it is
+      rather odd, considering all things, but I will say to you what I have
+      never said to any one before. I believe that you are right. I shall rise.
+      If I live I feel that I have it in me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point it possibly occurred to Beatrice that, considering the
+      exceeding brevity of their acquaintance, they were drifting into somewhat
+      confidential conversation. At any rate, she quickly changed the topic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid you are growing tired,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but we must be getting on.
+      It will soon be quite dark and we have still a long way to go. Look
+      there,&rdquo; and she pointed seaward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked. The whole bank of mist was breaking up and bearing down on them
+      in enormous billows of vapour. Presently, these were rolling over them, so
+      darkening the heavy air that, though the pair were within four feet of
+      each other, they could scarcely see one another&rsquo;s faces. As yet they felt
+      no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen, impelling air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm,&rdquo; said
+      Beatrice, a little anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away from
+      them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of it was
+      left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their faces. Far in
+      the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the foam. A great red
+      ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the awakened waters, like a path
+      of fire. The ominous light fell full upon the little boat and full upon
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s lips. Then it passed on and lost itself in the deep mists which
+      still swathed the coast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how beautiful it is!&rdquo; she cried, raising herself and pointing to the
+      glory of the dying sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is beautiful indeed!&rdquo; he answered, but he looked, not at the sunset,
+      but at the woman&rsquo;s face before him, glowing like a saint&rsquo;s in its golden
+      aureole. For this also was most beautiful&mdash;so beautiful that it
+      stirred him strangely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is like&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; she began, and broke off suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it like?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is like finding truth at last,&rdquo; she answered, speaking as much to
+      herself as to him. &ldquo;Why, one might make an allegory out of it. We wander
+      in mist and darkness shaping a vague course for home. And then suddenly
+      the mists are blown away, glory fills the air, and there is no more doubt,
+      only before us is a splendour making all things clear and lighting us over
+      a deathless sea. It sounds rather too grand,&rdquo; she added, with a charming
+      little laugh; &ldquo;but there is something in it somewhere, if only I could
+      express myself. Oh, look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As she spoke a heavy storm-cloud rolled over the vanishing rim of the sun.
+      For a moment the light struggled with the eclipsing cloud, turning its
+      dull edge to the hue of copper, but the cloud was too strong and the light
+      vanished, leaving the sea in darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;your allegory would have a dismal end if you worked it
+      out. It is getting as dark as pitch, and there&rsquo;s a good deal in <i>that</i>,
+      if only <i>I</i> could express myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice dropped poetry, and came down to facts in a way that was very
+      commendable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is a squall coming up, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you must paddle as
+      hard as you can. I do not think we are more than two miles from Bryngelly,
+      and if we are lucky we may get there before the weather breaks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, <i>if</i> we are lucky,&rdquo; he said grimly, as he bent himself to the
+      work. &ldquo;But the question is where to paddle to&mdash;it&rsquo;s so dark. Had not
+      we better run for the shore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are in the middle of the bay now,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;and almost as far
+      from the nearest land as we are from Bryngelly, besides it is all rocks.
+      No, you must go straight on. You will see the Poise light beyond Coed
+      presently. You know Coed is four miles on the other side of Bryngelly, so
+      when you see it head to the left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He obeyed her, and they neither of them spoke any more for some time.
+      Indeed the rising wind made conversation difficult, and so far as Geoffrey
+      was concerned he had little breath left to spare for words. He was a
+      strong man, but the unaccustomed labour was beginning to tell on him, and
+      his hands were blistering. For ten minutes or so he paddled on through a
+      darkness which was now almost total, wondering where on earth he was
+      wending, for it was quite impossible to see. For all he knew to the
+      contrary, he might be circling round and round. He had only one thing to
+      direct him, the sweep of the continually rising wind and the wash of the
+      gathering waves. So long as these struck the canoe, which now began to
+      roll ominously, on the starboard side, he must, he thought, be keeping a
+      right course. But in the turmoil of the rising gale and the confusion of
+      the night, this was no very satisfactory guide. At length, however, a
+      broad and brilliant flash sprung out across the sea, almost straight ahead
+      of him. It was the Poise light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He altered his course a little and paddled steadily on. And now the squall
+      was breaking. Fortunately, it was not a very heavy one, or their frail
+      craft must have sunk and they with it. But it was quite serious enough to
+      put them in great danger. The canoe rose to the waves like a feather, but
+      she was broadside on, and rise as she would they began to ship a little
+      water. And they had not seen the worst of it. The weather was still
+      thickening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still he held on, though his heart sank within him, while Beatrice said
+      nothing. Presently a big wave came; he could just see its white crest
+      gleaming through the gloom, then it was on them. The canoe rose to it
+      gallantly; it seemed to curl right over her, making the craft roll till
+      Geoffrey thought that the end had come. But she rode it out, not, however,
+      without shipping more than a bucket of water. Without saying a word,
+      Beatrice took the cloth cap from her head and, leaning forward, began to
+      bale as best she could, and that was not very well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This will not do,&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;I must keep her head to the sea or we
+      shall be swamped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;keep her head up. We are in great danger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced to his right; another white sea was heaving down on him; he
+      could just see its glittering crest. With all his force he dug the paddle
+      into the water; the canoe answered to it; she came round just in time to
+      ride out the wave with safety, but the paddle <i>snapped</i>. It was
+      already sprung, and the weight he put upon it was more than it could bear.
+      Right in two it broke, some nine inches above that blade which at the
+      moment was buried in the water. He felt it go, and despair took hold of
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great heavens!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;the paddle is broken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must use the other blade,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;paddle first one side and then
+      on the other, and keep her head on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till we sink,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, till we are saved&mdash;never talk of sinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl&rsquo;s courage shamed him, and he obeyed her instructions as best he
+      could. By dint of continually shifting what remained of the paddle from
+      one side of the canoe to the other, he did manage to keep her head on to
+      the waves that were now rolling in apace. But in their hearts they both
+      wondered how long this would last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got any cartridges?&rdquo; she asked presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, in my coat pocket,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me two, if you can manage it,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an interval between the coming of two seas he contrived to slip his
+      hand into a pocket and transfer the cartridges. Apparently she knew
+      something of the working of a gun, for presently there was a flash and a
+      report, quickly followed by another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me some more cartridges,&rdquo; she cried. He did so, but nothing
+      followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is no use,&rdquo; she said at length, &ldquo;the cartridges are wet. I cannot get
+      the empty cases out. But perhaps they may have seen or heard them. Old
+      Edward is sure to be watching for me. You had better throw the rest into
+      the sea if you can manage it,&rdquo; she added by way of an afterthought; &ldquo;we
+      may have to swim presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Geoffrey this seemed very probable, and whenever he got a chance he
+      acted on the hint till at length he was rid of all his cartridges. Just
+      then it began to rain in torrents. Though it was not warm the perspiration
+      was streaming from him at every pore, and the rain beating on his face
+      refreshed him somewhat; also with the rain the wind dropped a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he was becoming tired out and he knew it. Soon he would no longer be
+      able to keep the canoe straight, and then they must be swamped, and in all
+      human probability drowned. So this was to be the end of his life and its
+      ambitions. Before another hour had run its course, he would be rolling to
+      and fro in the arms of that angry sea. What would his wife Honoria say
+      when she heard the news, he wondered? Perhaps it would shock her into some
+      show of feeling. And Effie, his dear little six-year-old daughter? Well,
+      thank God, she was too young to feel his loss for long. By the time that
+      she was a woman she would almost have forgotten that she ever had a
+      father. But how would she get on without him to guide her? Her mother did
+      not love children, and a growing girl would continually remind her of her
+      growing years. He could not tell; he could only hope for the best.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And for himself! What would become of him after the short sharp struggle
+      for life? Should he find endless sleep, or what? He was a Christian, and
+      his life had not been worse than that of other men. Indeed, though he
+      would have been the last to think it, he had some redeeming virtues. But
+      now at the end the spiritual horizon was as dark as it had been at the
+      beginning. There before him were the Gates of Death, but not yet would
+      they roll aside and show the traveller what lay beyond their frowning
+      face. How could he tell? Perhaps they would not open at all. Perhaps he
+      now bade his last farewell to consciousness, to earth and sky and sea and
+      love and all lovely things. Well, that might be better than some
+      prospects. At that moment Geoffrey Bingham, in the last agony of doubt,
+      would gladly have exchanged his hopes of life beyond for a certainty of
+      eternal sleep. That faith which enables some of us to tread this awful way
+      with an utter confidence is not a wide prerogative, and, as yet, at any
+      rate, it was not his, though the time might come when he would attain it.
+      There are not very many, even among those without reproach, who can lay
+      them down in the arms of Death, knowing most certainly that when the veil
+      is rent away the countenance that they shall see will be that of the
+      blessed Guardian of Mankind. Alas! he could not be altogether sure, and
+      where doubt exists, hope is but a pin-pricked bladder. He sighed heavily,
+      murmured a little formula of prayer that had been on his lips most nights
+      during thirty years&mdash;he had learnt it as a child at his mother&rsquo;s knee&mdash;and
+      then, while the tempest roared around him, gathered up his strength to
+      meet the end which seemed inevitable. At any rate he would die like a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came a reaction. His vital forces rose again. He no longer felt
+      fearful, he only wondered with a strange impersonal wonder, as a man
+      wonders about the vital affairs of another. Then from wondering about
+      himself he began to wonder about the girl who sat opposite to him. With
+      the rain came a little lightning, and by the first flash he saw her
+      clearly. Her beautiful face was set, and as she bent forward searching the
+      darkness with her wide eyes, it wore, he thought, an almost defiant air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The canoe twisted round somewhat. He dug his broken paddle into the water
+      and once more brought her head on to the sea. Then he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you afraid?&rdquo; he asked of Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I am not afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know that we shall probably be drowned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know it. They say the death is easy. I brought you here. Forgive
+      me that. I should have tried to row you ashore as you said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind me; a man must meet his fate some day. Do not think of me. But
+      I can&rsquo;t keep her head on much longer. You had better say your prayers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice bent forward till her head was quite near his own. The wind had
+      blown some of her hair loose, and though he did not seem to notice it at
+      the time, he remembered afterwards that a lock of it struck him on the
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I cannot pray,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I have nothing to pray to. I am not a
+      Christian.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words struck him like a blow. It seemed so awful to think of this
+      proud and brilliant woman, now balanced on the verge of what she believed
+      to be utter annihilation. Even the courage that induced her at such a
+      moment to confess her hopeless state seemed awful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Try,&rdquo; he said with a gasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;I do not fear to die. Death cannot be worse than life
+      is for most of us. I have not prayed for years, not since&mdash;well,
+      never mind. I am not a coward. It would be cowardly to pray now because I
+      may be wrong. If there is a God who knows all, He will understand that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey said no more, but laboured at the broken paddle gallantly and
+      with an ever-failing strength. The lightning had passed away and the
+      darkness was very great, for the hurrying clouds hid the starlight.
+      Presently a sound arose above the turmoil of the storm, a crashing
+      thunderous sound towards which the send of the sea gradually bore them.
+      The sound came from the waves that beat upon the Bryngelly reef.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are we drifting to?&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Into the breakers, where we shall be lost,&rdquo; she answered calmly. &ldquo;Give up
+      paddling, it is of no use, and try to take off your coat. I have loosened
+      my skirt. Perhaps we can swim ashore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He thought to himself that in the dark and breakers such an event was not
+      probable, but he said nothing, and addressed himself to the task of
+      getting rid of his coat and waistcoat&mdash;no easy one in that confined
+      space. Meanwhile the canoe was whirling round and round like a walnut
+      shell upon a flooded gutter. For some distance before the waves broke upon
+      the reef and rocks they swept in towards them with a steady foamless
+      swell. On reaching the shallows, however, they pushed their white
+      shoulders high into the air, curved up and fell in thunder on the reef.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The canoe rode towards the breakers, sucked upon its course by a swelling
+      sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; called Geoffrey to Beatrice, as stretching out his wet hand he
+      found her own and took it, for companionship makes death a little easier.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; she cried, clinging to his hand. &ldquo;Oh, why did I bring you into
+      this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For in their last extremity this woman thought rather of her companion in
+      peril than of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One more turn, then suddenly the canoe beneath them was lifted like a
+      straw and tossed high into the air. A mighty mass of water boiled up
+      beneath it and around it. Then the foam rushed in, and vaguely Geoffrey
+      knew that they were wrapped in the curve of a billow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A swift and mighty rush of water. Crash!&mdash;and his senses left him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE WATCHER AT THE DOOR
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      This was what had happened. Just about the centre of the reef is a large
+      flat-topped rock&mdash;it may be twenty feet in the square&mdash;known to
+      the Bryngelly fishermen as Table Rock. In ordinary weather, even at high
+      tide, the waters scarcely cover this rock, but when there is any sea they
+      wash over it with great violence. On to this rock Geoffrey and Beatrice
+      had been hurled by the breaker. Fortunately for them it was thickly
+      overgrown with seaweed, which to some slight extent broke the violence of
+      their fall. As it chanced, Geoffrey was knocked senseless by the shock;
+      but Beatrice, whose hand he still held, fell on to him and, with the
+      exception of a few bruises and a shake, escaped unhurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She struggled to her knees, gasping. The water had run off the rock, and
+      her companion lay quiet at her side. She put down her face and called into
+      his ear, but no answer came, and then she knew that he was either dead or
+      senseless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this second Beatrice caught a glimpse of something white gleaming in
+      the darkness. Instinctively she flung herself upon her face, gripping the
+      long tough seaweed with one hand. The other she passed round the body of
+      the helpless man beside her, straining him with all her strength against
+      her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came a wild long rush of foam. The water lifted her from the rock,
+      but the seaweed held, and when at length the sea had gone boiling by,
+      Beatrice found herself and the senseless form of Geoffrey once more lying
+      side by side. She was half choked. Desperately she struggled up and round,
+      looking shoreward through the darkness. Heavens! there, not a hundred
+      yards away, a light shone upon the waters. It was a boat&rsquo;s light, for it
+      moved up and down. She filled her lungs with air and sent one long cry for
+      help ringing across the sea. A moment passed and she thought that she
+      heard an answer, but because of the wind and the roar of the breakers she
+      could not be sure. Then she turned and glanced seaward. Again the foaming
+      terror was rushing down upon them; again she flung herself upon the rock
+      and grasping the slippery seaweed twined her left arm about the helpless
+      Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, horror! Even in the turmoil of the boiling waters Beatrice felt the
+      seaweed give. Now they were being swept along with the rushing wave, and
+      Death drew very near. But still she clung to Geoffrey. Once more the air
+      touched her face. She had risen to the surface and was floating on the
+      stormy water. The wave had passed. Loosing her hold of Geoffrey she
+      slipped her hand upwards, and as he began to sink clutched him by the
+      hair. Then treading water with her feet, for happily for them both she was
+      as good a swimmer as could be found upon that coast, she managed to open
+      her eyes. There, not sixty yards away, was the boat&rsquo;s light. Oh, if only
+      she could reach it. She spat the salt water from her mouth and once more
+      cried aloud. The light seemed to move on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then another wave rolled forward and once more she was pushed down into
+      the cruel depths, for with that dead weight hanging to her she could not
+      keep above them. It flashed into her mind that if she let him go she might
+      even now save herself, but even in that last terror this Beatrice would
+      not do. If he went, she would go with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It would have been better if she had let him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down she went&mdash;down, down! &ldquo;I will hold him,&rdquo; Beatrice said in her
+      heart; &ldquo;I will hold him till I die.&rdquo; Then came waves of light and a sound
+      as of wind whispering through the trees, and&mdash;all grew dark.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yer it ain&rsquo;t no good, Eddard,&rdquo; shouted a man in the boat to an old
+      sailor who was leaning forward in the bows peering into the darkness. &ldquo;We
+      shall be right on to the Table Rocks in a minute and all drown together.
+      Put about, mate&mdash;put about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn yer,&rdquo; screamed the old man, turning so that the light from the
+      lantern fell on his furrowed, fiercely anxious face and long white hair
+      streaming in the wind. &ldquo;Damn yer, ye cowards. I tells yer I heard her
+      voice&mdash;I heard it twice screaming for help. If you put the boat
+      about, by Goad when I get ashore I&rsquo;ll kill yer, ye lubbers&mdash;old man
+      as I am I&rsquo;ll kill yer, if I swing for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This determined sentiment produced a marked effect upon the boat&rsquo;s crew;
+      there were eight of them altogether. They did not put the boat about, they
+      only lay upon their oars and kept her head to the seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man in the bow peered out into the gloom. He was shaking, not with
+      cold but with agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently he turned his head with a yell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give way&mdash;give way! there&rsquo;s something on the wave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The men obeyed with a will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back,&rdquo; he roared again&mdash;&ldquo;back water!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They backed, and the boat answered, but nothing was to be seen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s gone! Oh, Goad, she&rsquo;s gone!&rdquo; groaned the old man. &ldquo;You may put
+      about now, lads, and the Lord&rsquo;s will be done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light from the lantern fell in a little ring upon the seething water.
+      Suddenly something white appeared in the centre of this illuminated ring.
+      Edward stared at it. It was floating upwards. It vanished&mdash;it
+      appeared again. It was a woman&rsquo;s face. With a yell he plunged his arms
+      into the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have her&mdash;lend an hand, lads.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another man scrambled forward and together they clutched the object in the
+      water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look out, don&rsquo;t pull so hard, you fool. Blow me if there ain&rsquo;t another
+      and she&rsquo;s got him by the hair. So, <i>steady, steady!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A long heave from strong arms and the senseless form of Beatrice was on
+      the gunwale. Then they pulled up Geoffrey beside her, for they could not
+      loose her desperate grip of his dark hair, and together rolled them into
+      the boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They&rsquo;re dead, I doubt,&rdquo; said the second man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help turn &lsquo;em on their faces over the seat, so&mdash;let the water drain
+      from their innards. It&rsquo;s the only chance. Now give me that sail to cover
+      them&mdash;so. You&rsquo;ll live yet, Miss Beatrice, you ain&rsquo;t dead, I swear.
+      Old Eddard has saved you, Old Eddard and the good Goad together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the boat had been got round, and the men were rowing for
+      Bryngelly as warm-hearted sailors will when life is at stake. They all
+      knew Beatrice and loved her, and they remembered it as they rowed. The
+      gloom was little hindrance to them for they could almost have navigated
+      the coast blindfold. Besides here they were sheltered by the reef and
+      shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In five minutes they were round a little headland, and the lights of
+      Bryngelly were close before them. On the beach people were moving about
+      with lanterns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently they were there, hanging on their oars for a favourable wave to
+      beach with. At last it came, and they gave way together, running the large
+      boat half out of the surf. A dozen men plunged into the water and dragged
+      her on. They were safe ashore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got Miss Beatrice?&rdquo; shouted a voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, we&rsquo;ve got her and another too, but I doubt they&rsquo;re gone. Where&rsquo;s
+      doctor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, here!&rdquo; answered a voice. &ldquo;Bring the stretchers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A stout thick-set man, who had been listening, wrapped up in a dark cloak,
+      turned his face away and uttered a groan. Then he followed the others as
+      they went to work, not offering to help, but merely following.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stretchers were brought and the two bodies laid upon them, face
+      downwards and covered over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where to?&rdquo; said the bearers as they seized the poles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Vicarage,&rdquo; answered the doctor. &ldquo;I told them to get things ready
+      there in case they should find her. Run forward one of you and say that we
+      are coming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The men started at a trot and the crowd ran after them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is the other?&rdquo; somebody asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bingham&mdash;the tall lawyer who came down from London the other
+      day. Tell policeman&mdash;run to his wife. She&rsquo;s at Mrs. Jones&rsquo;s, and
+      thinks he has lost his way in the fog coming home from Bell Rock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The policeman departed on his melancholy errand and the procession moved
+      swiftly across the sandy beach and up the stone-paved way by which boats
+      were dragged down the cliff to the sea. The village of Bryngelly lay to
+      the right. It had grown away from the church, which stood dangerously near
+      the edge of the cliff. On the further side of the church, and a little
+      behind it, partly sheltered from the sea gales by a group of stunted firs,
+      was the Vicarage, a low single-storied stone-roofed building, tenanted for
+      twenty-five years past and more by Beatrice&rsquo;s father, the Rev. Joseph
+      Granger. The best approach to it from the Bryngelly side was by the
+      churchyard, through which the men with the stretchers were now winding,
+      followed by the crowd of sightseers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Might as well leave them here at once,&rdquo; said one of the bearers to the
+      other in Welsh. &ldquo;I doubt they are both dead enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The person addressed assented, and the thick-set man wrapped in a dark
+      cloak, who was striding along by Beatrice&rsquo;s stretcher, groaned again.
+      Clearly, he understood the Welsh tongue. A few seconds more and they were
+      passing through the stunted firs up to the Vicarage door. In the doorway
+      stood a group of people. The light from a lamp in the hall struck upon
+      them, throwing them into strong relief. Foremost, holding a lantern in his
+      hand, was a man of about sixty, with snow-white hair which fell in
+      confusion over his rugged forehead. He was of middle height and carried
+      himself with something of a stoop. The eyes were small and shifting, and
+      the mouth hard. He wore short whiskers which, together with the eyebrows,
+      were still tinged with yellow. The face was ruddy and healthy looking,
+      indeed, had it not been for the dirty white tie and shabby black coat, one
+      would have taken him to be what he was in heart, a farmer of the harder
+      sort, somewhat weather-beaten and anxious about the times&mdash;a man who
+      would take advantage of every drop in the rate of wages. In fact he was
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s father, and a clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By his side, and leaning over him, was Elizabeth, her elder sister. There
+      was five years between them. She was a poor copy of Beatrice, or, to be
+      more accurate, Beatrice was a grand development of Elizabeth. They both
+      had brown hair, but Elizabeth&rsquo;s was straighter and faint-coloured, not
+      rich and ruddying into gold. Elizabeth&rsquo;s eyes were also grey, but it was a
+      cold washed-out grey like that of a February sky. And so with feature
+      after feature, and with the expression also. Beatrice&rsquo;s was noble and
+      open, if at times defiant. Looking at her you knew that she might be a
+      mistaken woman, or a headstrong woman, or both, but she could never be a
+      mean woman. Whichever of the ten commandments she might choose to break,
+      it would not be that which forbids us to bear false witness against our
+      neighbour. Anybody might read it in her eyes. But in her sister&rsquo;s, he
+      might discern her father&rsquo;s shifty hardness watered by woman&rsquo;s weaker will
+      into something like cunning. For the rest Elizabeth had a very fair
+      figure, but lacked her sister&rsquo;s rounded loveliness, though the two were so
+      curiously alike that at a distance you might well mistake the one for the
+      other. One might almost fancy that nature had experimented upon Elizabeth
+      before she made up her mind to produce Beatrice, just to get the lines and
+      distances. The elder sister was to the other what the pale unfinished
+      model of clay is to the polished statue in ivory and gold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my God! my God!&rdquo; groaned the old man; &ldquo;look, they have got them on
+      the stretchers. They are both dead. Oh, Beatrice! Beatrice! and only this
+      morning I spoke harshly to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be so foolish, father,&rdquo; said Elizabeth sharply. &ldquo;They may only be
+      insensible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, ah,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;it does not matter to you, <i>you</i> don&rsquo;t care
+      about your sister. You are jealous of her. But I love her, though we do
+      not understand each other. Here they come. Don&rsquo;t stand staring there. Go
+      and see that the blankets and things are hot. Stop, doctor, tell me, is
+      she dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell till I have seen her?&rdquo; the doctor answered, roughly
+      shaking him off, and passing through the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bryngelly Vicarage was a very simply constructed house. On entering the
+      visitor found himself in a passage with doors to the right and left. That
+      to the right led to the sitting-room, that to the left to the dining-room,
+      both of them long, low and narrow chambers. Following the passage down for
+      some seven paces, it terminated in another which ran at right angles to it
+      for the entire length of the house. On the further side of this passage
+      were several bedroom doors and a room at each end. That at the end to the
+      right was occupied by Beatrice and her sister, the next was empty, the
+      third was Mr. Granger&rsquo;s, and the fourth the spare room. This, with the
+      exception of the kitchens and servants&rsquo; sleeping place, which were beyond
+      the dining-room, made up the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fires had been lit in both of the principal rooms. Geoffrey was taken into
+      the dining-room and attended by the doctor&rsquo;s assistant, and Beatrice into
+      the sitting-room, and attended by the doctor himself. In a few seconds the
+      place had been cleared of all except the helpers, and the work began. The
+      doctor looked at Beatrice&rsquo;s cold shrunken form, and at the foam upon her
+      lips. He lifted the eyelid, and held a light before the contracted pupil.
+      Then he shook his head and set to work with a will. We need not follow him
+      through the course of his dreadful labours, with which most people will
+      have some acquaintance. Hopeless as they seemed, he continued them for
+      hour after hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service for
+      Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man,
+      occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how things
+      were getting on. Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water the longer,
+      his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed he was already
+      insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard to drown. It is
+      your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is soonest made an end
+      of in deep waters. Therefore it came to pass that when the scrubbing with
+      hot cloths and the artificial respiration had gone on for somewhere about
+      twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked a finger. The doctor&rsquo;s
+      assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the hospitals, gave a yell of
+      exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away with ever-increasing energy.
+      Presently the subject coughed, and a minute later, as the agony of
+      returning life made itself felt, he swore most heartily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;s all right now!&rdquo; called the assistant to his employer. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s swearing
+      beautifully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the other
+      room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the treatment,
+      which he did with much vigour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments. The
+      first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was standing
+      over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half horrified air.
+      Vaguely he wondered who it might be. The tall form and cold handsome face
+      were so familiar to him, and yet he could not recall the name. It was not
+      till she spoke that his numbed brain realized that he was looking on his
+      own wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I am so glad that you are better. You frightened
+      me out of my wits. I thought you were drowned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Honoria,&rdquo; he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh attack
+      of tingling pain shook him through and through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope nobody said anything to Effie,&rdquo; Geoffrey said presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and when
+      the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were drowned,
+      and she has been almost in a fit ever since. They had to hold her to
+      prevent her from running here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s white face assumed an air of the deepest distress. &ldquo;How could
+      you frighten the child so?&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Please go and tell her that I am
+      all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was not my fault,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria with a shrug of her shapely
+      shoulders. &ldquo;Besides, I can do nothing with Effie. She goes on like a wild
+      thing about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please go and tell her, Honoria,&rdquo; said her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Really I shall not be sorry to get out
+      of this; I begin to feel as though I had been drowned myself;&rdquo; and she
+      looked at the steaming cloths and shuddered. &ldquo;Good-bye, Geoffrey. It is an
+      immense relief to find you all right. The policeman made me feel quite
+      queer. I can&rsquo;t get down to give you a kiss or I would. Well, good-bye for
+      the present, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye, Honoria,&rdquo; said her husband with a faint smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The medical assistant looked a little surprised. He had never, it is true,
+      happened to be present at a meeting between husband and wife, when one of
+      the pair had just been rescued by a hair&rsquo;s-breadth from a violent and
+      sudden death, and therefore wanted experience to go on. But it struck him
+      that there was something missing. The lady did not seem to him quite to
+      fill the part of the Heaven-thanking spouse. It puzzled him very much.
+      Perhaps he showed this in his face. At any rate, Lady Honoria, who was
+      quick enough, read something there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is safe now, is he not?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;It will not matter if I go away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my lady,&rdquo; answered the assistant, &ldquo;he is out of danger, I think; it
+      will not matter at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria hesitated a little; she was standing in the passage. Then she
+      glanced through the door into the opposite room, and caught a glimpse of
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s rigid form and of the doctor bending over it. Her head was
+      thrown back and the beautiful brown hair, which was now almost dry again,
+      streamed in masses to the ground, while on her face was stamped the
+      terrifying seal of Death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria shuddered. She could not bear such sights. &ldquo;Will it be
+      necessary for me to come back to-night?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think so,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;unless you care to hear whether Miss
+      Granger recovers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall hear that in the morning,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Poor thing, I cannot help
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Lady Honoria, you cannot help her. She saved your husband&rsquo;s life,
+      they say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She must be a brave girl. Will she recover?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The assistant shook his head. &ldquo;She may, possibly. It is not likely now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor thing, and so young and beautiful! What a lovely face, and what an
+      arm! It is very awful for her,&rdquo; and Lady Honoria shuddered again and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside the door a small knot of sympathisers was still gathered,
+      notwithstanding the late hour and the badness of the weather.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s his wife,&rdquo; said one, and they opened to let her pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don&rsquo;t she stop with him?&rdquo; asked a woman audibly. &ldquo;If it had been
+      my husband I&rsquo;d have sat and hugged him for an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, you&rsquo;d have killed him with your hugging, you would,&rdquo; somebody
+      answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria passed on. Suddenly a thick-set man emerged from the shadow
+      of the pines. She could not see his face, but he was wrapped in a large
+      cloak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; he said in the hoarse voice of one struggling with emotions
+      which he was unable to conceal, &ldquo;but you can tell me. Does she still
+      live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean Miss Granger?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. Beatrice&mdash;Miss Granger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They do not know, but they think&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes&mdash;they think&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That she is dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man said never a word. He dropped his head upon his breast and,
+      turning, vanished again into the shadow of the pines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very odd,&rdquo; thought Lady Honoria as she walked rapidly along the cliff
+      towards her lodging. &ldquo;I suppose that man must be in love with her. Well, I
+      do not wonder at it. I never saw such a face and arm. What a picture that
+      scene in the room would make! She saved Geoffrey and now she&rsquo;s dead. If he
+      had saved her I should not have wondered. It is like a scene in a novel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From all of which it will be seen that Lady Honoria was not wanting in
+      certain romantic and artistical perceptions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ELIZABETH IS THANKFUL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey, lying before the fire, newly hatched from death, had caught some
+      of the conversation between his wife and the assistant who had recovered
+      him to life. So she was gone, that brave, beautiful atheist girl&mdash;gone
+      to test the truth. And she had saved his life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some minutes the assistant did not enter. He was helping in another
+      room. At last he came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you say to Lady Honoria?&rdquo; Geoffrey asked feebly. &ldquo;Did you say
+      that Miss Granger had saved me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mr. Bingham; at least they tell me so. At any rate, when they pulled
+      her out of the water they pulled you after her. She had hold of your
+      hair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great heavens!&rdquo; he groaned, &ldquo;and my weight must have dragged her down. Is
+      she dead, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We cannot quite say yet, not for certain. We think that she is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God she is not dead,&rdquo; he said more to himself than to the other.
+      Then aloud&mdash;&ldquo;Leave me; I am all right. Go and help with her. But
+      stop, come and tell me sometimes how it goes with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. I will send a woman to watch you,&rdquo; and he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile in the other room the treatment of the drowned went slowly on.
+      Two hours had passed, and as yet Beatrice showed no signs of recovery. The
+      heart did not beat, no pulse stirred; but, as the doctor knew, life might
+      still linger in the tissues. Slowly, very slowly, the body was turned to
+      and fro, the head swaying, and the long hair falling now this way and now
+      that, but still no sign. Every resource known to medical skill, such as
+      hot air, rubbing, artificial respiration, electricity, was applied and
+      applied in vain, but still no sign!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth, pale and pinched, stood by handing what might be required. She
+      did not greatly love her sister, they were antagonistic and their
+      interests clashed, or she thought they did, but this sudden death was
+      awful. In a corner, pitiful to see, offering groans and ejaculated prayers
+      to heaven, sat the old clergymen, their father, his white hair about his
+      eyes. He was a weak, coarse-grained man, but in his own way his clever and
+      beautiful girl was dear to him, and this sight wrung his soul as it had
+      not been wrung for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; he said continually, &ldquo;she&rsquo;s gone; the Lord&rsquo;s will be done.
+      There must be another mistress at the school now. Seventy pounds a year
+      she will cost&mdash;seventy pounds a year!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do be quiet, father,&rdquo; said Elizabeth sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet. You are quiet
+      because you don&rsquo;t care. You never loved your sister. But I have loved her
+      since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor mother.
+      &lsquo;Beatrice&rsquo; was the last word she spoke.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be quiet, father!&rdquo; said Elizabeth, still more sharply. The old man,
+      making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and fro
+      upon his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile without intermission the work went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is no use,&rdquo; said the assistant at last, as he straightened his weary
+      frame and wiped the perspiration from his brow. &ldquo;She must be dead; we have
+      been at it nearly three hours now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Patience,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;If necessary I shall go on for four&mdash;or
+      till I drop,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes more passed. Everybody knew that the task was hopeless, but
+      still they hoped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great Heavens!&rdquo; said the assistant presently, starting back from the body
+      and pointing at its face. &ldquo;Did you see that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth and Mr. Granger sprang to their feet, crying, &ldquo;What, what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit still, sir,&rdquo; said the doctor, waving them back. Then addressing his
+      helper, and speaking in a constrained voice: &ldquo;I thought I saw the right
+      eyelid quiver, Williams. Pass the battery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So did I,&rdquo; answered Williams as he obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Full power,&rdquo; said the doctor again. &ldquo;It is kill or cure now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The shock was applied for some seconds without result. Then suddenly a
+      long shudder ran up the limbs, and a hand stirred. Next moment the eyes
+      were opened, and with pain and agony Beatrice drew a first breath of
+      returning life. Ten minutes more and she had passed through the gates of
+      Death back to this warm and living world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me die,&rdquo; she gasped faintly. &ldquo;I cannot bear it. Oh, let me die!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; said the doctor; &ldquo;you will be better presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten minutes more passed, when the doctor saw by her eyes that Beatrice
+      wished to say something. He bent his head till it nearly touched her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dr. Chambers,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;was he drowned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, he is safe; he has been brought round.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sighed&mdash;a long-drawn sigh, half of pain, half of relief. Then she
+      spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was he washed ashore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no. You saved his life. You had hold of him when they pulled you out.
+      Now drink this and go to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice smiled sweetly, but said nothing. Then she drank as much of the
+      draught as she could, and shortly afterwards obeyed the last injunction
+      also, and went to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile a rumour of this wonderful recovery had escaped to without the
+      house&mdash;passing from one watcher to the other till at length it
+      reached the ears of the solitary man crouched in the shadow of the pines.
+      He heard, and starting as though he had been shot, strode to the door of
+      the Vicarage. Here his courage seemed to desert him, for he hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knock, squire, knock, and ask if it is true,&rdquo; said a woman, the same who
+      had declared that she would have hugged her husband back to life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This remark seemed to encourage the man, at any rate he did knock.
+      Presently the door was opened by Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away,&rdquo; she said in her sharp voice; &ldquo;the house must be kept quiet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon, Miss Granger,&rdquo; said the visitor, in a tone of deep
+      humiliation. &ldquo;I only wanted to know if it was true that Miss Beatrice
+      lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said Elizabeth with a start, &ldquo;is it you, Mr. Davies? I am sure I
+      had no idea. Step into the passage and I will shut the door. There! How
+      long have you been outside?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, since they brought them up. But is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, it is true. She will recover now. And you have stood all this
+      time in the wet night. I am sure that Beatrice ought to be flattered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. It seemed so awful, and&mdash;I&mdash;I take such an interest&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+       and he broke off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such an interest in Beatrice,&rdquo; said Elizabeth drily, supplying the
+      hiatus. &ldquo;Yes, so it seems,&rdquo; and suddenly, as though by chance, she moved
+      the candle which she held, in such fashion that the light fell full upon
+      Owen Davies&rsquo; face. It was a slow heavy countenance, but not without
+      comeliness. The skin was fresh as a child&rsquo;s, the eyes were large, blue,
+      and mild, and the brown hair grew in waves that many a woman might have
+      envied. Indeed had it not been for a short but strongly growing beard, it
+      would have been easy to believe that the countenance was that of a boy of
+      nineteen rather than of a man over thirty. Neither time nor care had drawn
+      a single line upon it; it told of perfect and robust health and yet bore
+      the bloom of childhood. It was the face of a man who might live to a
+      hundred and still look young, nor did the form belie it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Davies blushed up to his eyes, blushed like a girl beneath Elizabeth&rsquo;s
+      scrutiny. &ldquo;Naturally I take an interest in a neighbour&rsquo;s fate,&rdquo; he said,
+      in his slow deliberate way. &ldquo;She is quite safe, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe so,&rdquo; answered Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; he said, or rather it seemed to break from him in a sigh of
+      relief. &ldquo;How did the gentleman, Mr. Bingham, come to be found with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know?&rdquo; she answered with a shrug. &ldquo;Beatrice saved his life
+      somehow, clung fast to him even after she was insensible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very wonderful. I never heard of such a thing. What is he like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is one of the finest-looking men I ever saw,&rdquo; answered Elizabeth,
+      always watching him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah. But he is married, I think, Miss Granger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, he is married to the daughter of a peer, very much married&mdash;and
+      very little, I should say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not quite understand, Miss Granger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you, Mr. Davies? then use your eyes when you see them together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should not see anything. I am not quick like you,&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you mean to get back to the Castle to-night, Mr. Davies? You
+      cannot row back in this wind, and the seas will be breaking over the
+      causeway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I shall manage. I am wet already. An extra ducking won&rsquo;t hurt me, and
+      I have had a chain put up to prevent anybody from being washed away. And
+      now I must be going. Good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitated a moment and then added: &ldquo;Would you&mdash;would you mind
+      telling your sister&mdash;of course I mean when she is stronger&mdash;that
+      I came to inquire after her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you can do that for yourself, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; Elizabeth said
+      almost roughly. &ldquo;I mean it will be more appreciated,&rdquo; and she turned upon
+      her heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies ventured no further remarks. He felt that Elizabeth&rsquo;s manner
+      was a little crushing, and he was afraid of her as well. &ldquo;I suppose that
+      she does not think I am good enough to pay attention to her sister,&rdquo; he
+      thought to himself as he plunged into the night and rain. &ldquo;Well, she is
+      quite right&mdash;I am not fit to black her boots. Oh, God, I thank Thee
+      that Thou hast saved her life. I thank Thee&mdash;I thank Thee!&rdquo; he went
+      on, speaking aloud to the wild winds as he made his way along the cliff.
+      &ldquo;If she had been dead, I think that I must have died too. Oh, God, I thank
+      Thee&mdash;I thank Thee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The idea that Owen Davies, Esq., J.P., D.L., of Bryngelly Castle, absolute
+      owner of that rising little watering-place, and of one of the largest and
+      most prosperous slate quarries in Wales, worth in all somewhere between
+      seven and ten thousand a year, was unfit to black her beautiful sister&rsquo;s
+      boots, was not an idea that had struck Elizabeth Granger. Had it struck
+      her, indeed, it would have moved her to laughter, for Elizabeth had a
+      practical mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What did strike her, as she turned and watched the rich squire&rsquo;s sturdy
+      form vanish through the doorway into the dark beyond, was a certain sense
+      of wonder. Supposing she had never seen that shiver of returning life run
+      up those white limbs, supposing that they had grown colder and colder,
+      till at length it was evident that death was so firmly citadelled within
+      the silent heart, that no human skill could beat his empire back? What
+      then? Owen Davies loved her sister; this she knew and had known for years.
+      But would he not have got over it in time? Would he not in time have been
+      overpowered by the sense of his own utter loneliness and given his hand,
+      if not his heart, to some other woman? And could not she who held his hand
+      learn to reach his heart? And to whom would that hand have been given, the
+      hand and all that went with it? What woman would this shy Welsh hermit,
+      without friends or relations, have ever been thrown in with except herself&mdash;Elizabeth&mdash;who
+      loved him as much as she could love anybody, which, perhaps, was not very
+      much; who, at any rate, desired sorely to be his wife. Would not all this
+      have come about if she had never seen that eyelid tremble, and that slight
+      quiver run up her sister&rsquo;s limbs? It would&mdash;she knew it would.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth thought of it as for a moment she stood in the passage, and a
+      cold hungry light came into her neutral tinted eyes and shone upon her
+      pale face. But she choked back the thought; she was scarcely wicked enough
+      to wish that her sister had not been brought back to life. She only
+      speculated on what might have happened if this had come about, just as one
+      works out a game of chess from a given hypothetical situation of the
+      pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps, too, the same end might be gained in some other way. Perhaps Mr.
+      Davies might still be weaned from his infatuation. The wall was difficult,
+      but it would have to be very difficult if she could not find a way to
+      climb it. It never occurred to Elizabeth that there might be an open gate.
+      She could not conceive it possible that a woman might positively reject
+      Owen Davies and his seven or ten thousand a year, and that woman a person
+      in an unsatisfactory and uncongenial, almost in a menial position. Reject
+      Bryngelly Castle with all its luxury and opportunities of wealth and
+      leisure? No, the sun would set in the east before such a thing happened.
+      The plan was to prevent the occasion from arising. The hungry light died
+      on Elizabeth&rsquo;s face, and she turned to enter the sick room when suddenly
+      she met her father coming out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was that at the front?&rdquo; he asked, carefully closing the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Davies of Bryngelly Castle, father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did Mr. Davies want at this time of night? To know about
+      Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she answered slowly, &ldquo;he came to ask after Beatrice, or to be more
+      correct he has been waiting outside for three hours in the rain to learn
+      if she recovered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waiting outside for three hours in the rain,&rdquo; said the clergyman
+      astonished&mdash;&ldquo;Squire Davies standing outside the house! What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because he was so anxious about Beatrice and did not like to come in, I
+      suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So anxious about Beatrice&mdash;ah, so anxious about Beatrice! Do you
+      think, Elizabeth&mdash;um&mdash;you know there is no doubt Beatrice is
+      very well favoured&mdash;very handsome they say&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think anything about it, father,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;and as for
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s looks they are a matter of opinion. I have mine. And now don&rsquo;t
+      you think we had better go to bed? The doctors and Betty are going to stop
+      up all night with Mr. Bingham and Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Elizabeth, I suppose that we had better go. I am sure we have much
+      to be thankful for to-night. What a merciful deliverance! And if poor
+      Beatrice had gone the parish must have found another schoolmistress, and
+      it would have meant that we lost the salary. We have a great deal to be
+      thankful for, Elizabeth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Elizabeth, very deliberately, &ldquo;we have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OWEN DAVIES AT HOME
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies tramped along the cliff with a light heart. The wild lashing
+      of the rain and the roaring of the wind did not disturb him in the least.
+      They were disagreeable, but he accepted them as he accepted existence and
+      all its vanities, without remark or mental comment. There is a class of
+      mind of which this is the prevailing attitude. Very early in their span of
+      life, those endowed with such a mind come to the conclusion that the world
+      is too much for them. They cannot understand it, so they abandon the
+      attempt, and, as a consequence, in their own torpid way they are among the
+      happiest and most contented of men. Problems, on which persons of keener
+      intelligence and more aspiring soul fret and foam their lives away as
+      rushing water round a rock, do not even break the placid surface of their
+      days. Such men slip past them. They look out upon the stars and read of
+      the mystery of the universe speeding on for ever through the limitless
+      wastes of space, and are not astonished. In their childhood they were
+      taught that God made the sun and the stars to give light on the earth;
+      that is enough for them. And so it is with everything. Poverty and
+      suffering; war, pestilence, and the inequalities of fate; madness, life
+      and death, and the spiritual wonders that hedge in our being, are things
+      not to be inquired into but accepted. So they accept them as they do their
+      dinner or a tradesman&rsquo;s circular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In some cases this mental state has its root in deep and simple religious
+      convictions, and in some it springs from a preponderance of healthful
+      animal instincts over the higher but more troublesome spiritual parts. The
+      ox chewing the cud in the fresh meadow does not muse upon the past and
+      future, and the gull blown like a foam-flake out against the sunset, does
+      not know the splendour of the sky and sea. Even the savage is not much
+      troubled about the scheme of things. In the beginning he was &ldquo;torn out of
+      the reeds,&rdquo; and in the end he melts into the Unknown, and for the rest,
+      there are beef and wives, and foes to conquer. But then oxen and gulls are
+      not, so far as we know, troubled with any spiritual parts at all, and in
+      the noble savage such things are not cultivated. They come with
+      civilization.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But perhaps in the majority this condition, so necessary to the more
+      placid forms of happiness, is born of a conjunction of physical and
+      religious developments. So it was, at least, with the rich and fortunate
+      man whom we have seen trudging along the wind-swept cliff. By nature and
+      education he was of a strongly and simply religious mind, as he was in
+      body powerful, placid, and healthy to an exasperating degree. It may be
+      said that it is easy to be religious and placid on ten thousand a year,
+      but Owen Davies had not always enjoyed ten thousand a year and one of the
+      most romantic and beautiful seats in Wales. From the time he was
+      seventeen, when his mother&rsquo;s death left him an orphan, till he reached the
+      age of thirty, some six years from the date of the opening of this
+      history, he led about as hard a life as fate could find for any man. Some
+      people may have heard of sugar drogers, or sailing brigs, which trade
+      between this country and the West Indies, carrying coal outwards and sugar
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On board one of these, Owen Davies worked in various capacities for
+      thirteen long years. He did his drudgery well; but he made no friends, and
+      always remained the same shy, silent, and pious man. Then suddenly a
+      relation died without a will, and he found himself heir-in-law to
+      Bryngelly Castle and all its revenues. Owen expressed no surprise, and to
+      all appearance felt none. He had never seen his relation, and never
+      dreamed of this romantic devolution of great estates upon himself. But he
+      accepted the good fortune as he had accepted the ill, and said nothing.
+      The only people who knew him were his shipmates, and they could scarcely
+      be held to know him. They were acquainted with his appearance and the
+      sound of his voice, and his method of doing his duty. Also, they were
+      aware, although he never spoke of religion, that he read a chapter of the
+      Bible every evening, and went to church whenever they touched at a port.
+      But of his internal self they were in total ignorance. This did not,
+      however, prevent them from prophesying that Davies was a &ldquo;deep one,&rdquo; who,
+      now that he had got the cash, would &ldquo;blue it&rdquo; in a way which would
+      astonish them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Davies did not &ldquo;excel in azure feats.&rdquo; The news of his good fortune
+      reached him just as the brig, on which he was going to sail as first-mate,
+      was taking in her cargo for the West Indies. He had signed his contract
+      for the voyage, and, to the utter astonishment of the lawyer who managed
+      the estates, he announced that he should carry it out. In vain did the man
+      of affairs point out to his client that with the help of a cheque of £100
+      he could arrange the matter for him in ten minutes. Mr. Davies merely
+      replied that the property could wait, he should go the voyage and retire
+      afterwards. The lawyer held up his hands, and then suddenly remembered
+      that there are women in the West Indies as in other parts of the world.
+      Doubtless his queer client had an object in this voyage. As a matter of
+      fact, he was totally wrong. Owen Davies had never interchanged a tender
+      word with a woman in his life; he was a creature of routine, and it was
+      part of his routine to carry out his agreements to the letter. That was
+      all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a last resource, the lawyer suggested that Mr. Davies should make a
+      will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not think it necessary,&rdquo; was the slow and measured answer. &ldquo;The
+      property has come to me by chance. If I die, it may as well go to somebody
+      else in the same way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lawyer stared. &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;it is against my advice, but you
+      must please yourself. Do you want any money?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen thought for a moment. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think I should like to have
+      ten pounds. They are building a theatre there, and I want to subscribe to
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lawyer gave him the ten pounds without a word; he was struck
+      speechless, and in this condition he remained for some minutes after the
+      door had closed behind his client. Then he sprung up with a single
+      ejaculation, &ldquo;Mad, mad! like his great uncle!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Owen Davies was not in the least mad, at any rate not then; he was
+      only a creature of habit. In due course, his agreement fulfilled, he
+      sailed his brig home from the West Indies (for the captain was drowned in
+      a gale). Then he took a second-class ticket to Bryngelly, where he had
+      never been in his life before, and asked his way to the Castle. He was
+      told to go to the beach, and he would see it. He did so, leaving his
+      sea-chest behind him, and there, about two hundred paces from the land,
+      and built upon a solitary mountain of rock, measuring half a mile or so
+      round the base, he perceived a vast mediæval pile of fortified buildings,
+      with turrets towering three hundred feet into the air, and edged with fire
+      by the setting sun. He gazed on it with perplexity. Could it be that this
+      enormous island fortress belonged to him, and, if so, how on earth did one
+      get to it? For some little time he walked up and down, wondering, too shy
+      to go to the village for information. Meanwhile, though he did not notice
+      her, a well-grown girl of about fifteen, remarkable for her great grey
+      eyes and the promise of her beauty, was watching his evident perplexity
+      from a seat beneath a rock, not without amusement. At last she rose, and,
+      with the confidence of bold fifteen, walked straight up to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want to get the Castle, sir?&rdquo; she asked in a low sweet voice, the
+      echoes of which Owen Davies never forgot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;oh, I beg your pardon,&rdquo; for now for the first time he saw that
+      he was talking to a young lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I am afraid that you are too late&mdash;Mrs. Thomas will not show
+      people over after four o&rsquo;clock. She is the housekeeper, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, well, the fact is I did not come to see over the place. I came to
+      live there. I am Owen Davies, and the place was left to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice, for of course it was she, stared at him in amazement. So this
+      was the mysterious sailor about whom there had been so much talk in
+      Bryngelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she said, with embarrassing frankness. &ldquo;What an odd way to come
+      home. Well, it is high tide, and you will have to take a boat. I will show
+      you where you can get one. Old Edward will row you across for sixpence,&rdquo;
+       and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where old Edward sat,
+      from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his biggest boat, seeking
+      those whom he might row.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Edward,&rdquo; said the young lady, &ldquo;here is the new squire, Mr. Owen Davies,
+      who wants to be rowed across to the Castle.&rdquo; Edward, a gnarled and twisted
+      specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face that reminded the
+      observer of one of those quaint countenances on the handle of a walking
+      stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then cast a look of suspicion on
+      the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have he got papers of identification about him, miss?&rdquo; he asked in a
+      stage whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she answered laughing. &ldquo;He says that he is Mr. Owen
+      Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, praps he is and praps he ain&rsquo;t; anyway, it isn&rsquo;t my affair, and
+      sixpence is sixpence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All of this the unfortunate Mr. Davies overheard, and it did not add to
+      his equanimity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, sir, if you please,&rdquo; said Edward sternly, as he pulled the little
+      boat up to the edge of the breakwater. A vision of Mrs. Thomas shot into
+      Owen&rsquo;s mind. If the boatman did not believe in him, what chance had he
+      with the housekeeper? He wished he had brought the lawyer down with him,
+      and then he wished that he was back in the sugar brig.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, sir,&rdquo; said Edward still more sternly, putting down his hesitation to
+      an impostor&rsquo;s consciousness of guilt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um!&rdquo; said Owen to the young lady, &ldquo;I beg your pardon. I don&rsquo;t even know
+      your name, and I am sure I have no right to ask it, but would you mind
+      rowing across with me? It would be so kind of you; you might introduce me
+      to the housekeeper.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Beatrice laughed the merry laugh of girlhood; she was too young to
+      be conscious of any impropriety in the situation, and indeed there was
+      none. But her sense of humour told her that it was funny, and she became
+      possessed with a not unnatural curiosity to see the thing out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very well,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I will come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat was pushed off and very soon they reached the stone quay that
+      bordered the harbour of the Castle, about which a little village of
+      retainers had grown up. Seeing the boat arrive, some of these people
+      sauntered out of the cottages, and then, thinking that a visitor had come,
+      under the guidance of Miss Beatrice, to look at the antiquities of the
+      Castle, which was the show place of the neighbourhood, sauntered back
+      again. Then the pair began the zigzag ascent of the rock mountain, till at
+      last they stood beneath the mighty mass of building, which, although it
+      was hoary with antiquity, was by no means lacking in the comforts of
+      modern civilization, the water, for instance, being brought in pipes laid
+      beneath the sea from a mountain top two miles away on the mainland.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t there a view here?&rdquo; said Beatrice, pointing to the vast stretch of
+      land and sea. &ldquo;I think, Mr. Davies, that you have the most beautiful house
+      in the whole world. Your great-uncle, who died a year ago, spent more than
+      fifty thousand pounds on repairing and refurbishing it, they say. He built
+      the big drawing-room there, where the stone is a little lighter; it is
+      fifty-five feet long. Just think, fifty thousand pounds!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a large sum,&rdquo; said Owen, in an unimaginative sort of way, while in
+      his heart he wondered what on earth he should do with this white elephant
+      of a mediæval castle, and its drawing room fifty-five feet long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does not seem much impressed,&rdquo; thought Beatrice to herself, as she
+      tugged away at the postern bell; &ldquo;I think he must be stupid. He looks
+      stupid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the door was opened by an active-looking little old woman with a
+      high voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Thomas,&rdquo; thought Owen to himself; &ldquo;she is even worse than I
+      expected.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you must please to go away,&rdquo; began the formidable housekeeper in her
+      shrillest key; &ldquo;it is too late to show visitors over. Why, bless us, it&rsquo;s
+      you, Miss Beatrice, with a strange man! What do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice looked at her companion as a hint that he should explain himself,
+      but he said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is your new squire,&rdquo; she said, not without a certain pride. &ldquo;I found
+      him wandering about the beach. He did not know how to get here, so I
+      brought him over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord, Miss Beatrice, and how do you know it&rsquo;s him?&rdquo; said Mrs. Thomas.
+      &ldquo;How do you know it ain&rsquo;t a housebreaker?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I&rsquo;m sure he cannot be,&rdquo; answered Beatrice aside, &ldquo;because he isn&rsquo;t
+      clever enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then followed a long discussion. Mrs. Thomas stoutly refused to admit the
+      stranger without evidence of identity, and Beatrice, embracing his cause,
+      as stoutly pressed his claims. As for the lawful owner, he made occasional
+      feeble attempts to prove that he was himself, but Mrs. Thomas was not to
+      be imposed upon in this way. At last they came to a dead lock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y&rsquo;d better go back to the inn, sir,&rdquo; said Mrs. Thomas with scathing
+      sarcasm, &ldquo;and come up to-morrow with proofs and your luggage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you got any letters with you?&rdquo; suggested Beatrice as a last
+      resource.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it happened Owen had a letter, one from the lawyer to himself about the
+      property, and mentioning Mrs. Thomas&rsquo;s name as being in charge of the
+      Castle. He had forgotten all about it, but at this interesting juncture it
+      was produced and read aloud by Beatrice. Mrs. Thomas took it, and having
+      examined it carefully through her horn-rimmed spectacles, was constrained
+      to admit its authenticity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I apologise, sir,&rdquo; she said with a half-doubtful courtesy and
+      much tact, &ldquo;but one can&rsquo;t be too careful with all these trampseses about;
+      I never should have thought from the look of you, sir, how as you was the
+      new squire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This might be candid, but it was not flattering, and it caused Beatrice to
+      snigger behind her handkerchief in true school-girl fashion. However, they
+      entered, and were led by Mrs. Thomas with solemn pomp through the great
+      and little halls, the stone parlour and the oak parlour, the library and
+      the huge drawing-room, in which the white heads of marble statues
+      protruded from the bags of brown holland wherewith they were wrapped about
+      in a manner ghastly to behold. At length they reached a small
+      octagon-shaped room that, facing south, commanded a most glorious view of
+      sea and land. It was called the Lady&rsquo;s Boudoir, and joined another of
+      about the same size, which in its former owner&rsquo;s time had been used as a
+      smoking-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t mind, madam,&rdquo; said the lord of all this magnificence, &ldquo;I
+      should like to stop here, I am getting tired of walking.&rdquo; And there he
+      stopped for many years. The rest of the Castle was shut up; he scarcely
+      ever visited it except occasionally to see that the rooms were properly
+      aired, for he was a methodical man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Beatrice, she went home, still chuckling, to receive a severe
+      reproof from Elizabeth for her &ldquo;forwardness.&rdquo; But Owen Davies never forgot
+      the debt of gratitude he owed her. In his heart he felt convinced that had
+      it not been for her, he would have fled before Mrs. Thomas and her
+      horn-rimmed eyeglasses, to return no more. The truth of the matter was,
+      however, that young as was Beatrice, he fell in love with her then and
+      there, only to fall deeper and deeper into that drear abyss as years went
+      on. He never said anything about it, he scarcely even gave a hint of his
+      hopeless condition, though of course Beatrice divined something of it as
+      soon as she came to years of discretion. But there grew up in Owen&rsquo;s
+      silent, lonely breast a great and overmastering desire to make this
+      grey-eyed girl his wife. He measured time by the intervals that elapsed
+      between his visions of her. No period in his life was so wretched and
+      utterly purposeless as those two years which passed while she was at her
+      Training College. He was a very passive lover, as yet his gathering
+      passion did not urge him to extremes, and he could never make up his mind
+      to declare it. The box was in his hand, but he feared to throw the dice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he drew as near to her as he dared. Once he gave Beatrice a flower, it
+      was when she was seventeen, and awkwardly expressed a hope that she would
+      wear it for his sake. The words were not much and the flower was not much,
+      but there was a look about the man&rsquo;s eyes, and a suppressed passion and
+      energy in his voice, which told their tale to the keen-witted girl. After
+      this he found that she avoided him, and bitterly regretted his boldness.
+      For Beatrice did not like him in that way. To a girl of her curious stamp
+      his wealth was nothing. She did not covet wealth, she coveted
+      independence, and had the sense to know that marriage with such a man
+      would not bring it. A cage is a cage, whether the bars are of iron or
+      gold. He bored her, she despised him for his want of intelligence and
+      enterprise. That a man with all this wealth and endless opportunity should
+      waste his life in such fashion was to her a thing intolerable. She knew if
+      she had half his chance, that she would make her name ring from one end of
+      Europe to the other. In short, Beatrice held Owen as deeply in contempt as
+      her sister Elizabeth, studying him from another point of view, held him in
+      reverence. And putting aside any human predilections, Beatrice would never
+      have married a man whom she despised. She respected herself too much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies saw all this as through a glass darkly, and in his own slow
+      way cast about for a means of drawing near. He discovered that Beatrice
+      was passionately fond of learning, and also that she had no means to
+      obtain the necessary books. So he threw open his library to her; it was
+      one of the best in Wales. He did more; he gave orders to a London
+      bookseller to forward him every new book of importance that appeared in
+      certain classes of literature, and all of these he placed at her disposal,
+      having first carefully cut the leaves with his own hand. This was a bait
+      Beatrice could not resist. She might dread or even detest Mr. Davies, but
+      she loved his books, and if she quarrelled with him her well of knowledge
+      would simply run dry, for there were no circulating libraries at
+      Bryngelly, and if there had been she could not have afforded to subscribe
+      to them. So she remained on good terms with him, and even smiled at his
+      futile attempts to keep pace with her studies. Poor man, reading did not
+      come naturally to him; he was much better at cutting leaves. He studied
+      the <i>Times</i> and certain religious works, that was all. But he
+      wrestled manfully with many a detested tome, in order to be able to say
+      something to Beatrice about it, and the worst of it was that Beatrice
+      always saw through it, and showed him that she did. It was not kind,
+      perhaps, but youth is cruel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so the years wore on, till at length Beatrice knew that a crisis was
+      at hand. Even the tardiest and most retiring lover must come to the point
+      at last, if he is in earnest, and Owen Davies was very much in earnest. Of
+      late, to her dismay, he had so far come out of his shell as to allow
+      himself to be nominated a member of the school council. Of course she knew
+      that this was only to give him more opportunities of seeing her. As a
+      member of the council, he could visit the school of which she was mistress
+      as often as he chose, and indeed he soon learned to take a lively interest
+      in village education. About twice a week he would come in just as the
+      school was breaking up and offer to walk home with her, seeking for a
+      favourable opportunity to propose. Hitherto she had always warded off this
+      last event, but she knew that it must happen. Not that she was actually
+      afraid of the man himself; he was too much afraid of her for that. What
+      she did fear was the outburst of wrath from her father and sister when
+      they learned that she had refused Owen Davies. It never occurred to her
+      that Elizabeth might be playing a hand of her own in the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From all of which it will be clear, if indeed it has not become so
+      already, that Beatrice Granger was a somewhat ill-regulated young woman,
+      born to bring trouble on herself and all connected with her. Had she been
+      otherwise, she would have taken her good fortune and married Owen Davies,
+      in which case her history need never have been written.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A MATRIMONIAL TALE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Before Geoffrey Bingham dropped off into a troubled sleep on that eventful
+      night of storm, he learned that the girl who had saved his life at the
+      risk and almost at the cost of her own was out of danger, and in his own
+      and more reticent way he thanked Providence as heartily as did Owen
+      Davies. Then he went to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he woke, feeling very sick and so stiff and sore that he could
+      scarcely move, the broad daylight was streaming through the blinds. The
+      place was perfectly quiet, for the doctor&rsquo;s assistant who had brought him
+      back to life, and who lay upon a couch at the further end of the room,
+      slept the sleep of youth and complete exhaustion. Only an eight-day clock
+      on the mantelpiece ticked in that solemn and aggressive way which clocks
+      affect in the stillness. Geoffrey strained his eyes to make out the time,
+      and finally discovered that it wanted a few minutes to six o&rsquo;clock. Then
+      he fell to wondering how Miss Granger was, and to repeating in his own
+      mind every scene of their adventure, till the last, when they were whirled
+      out of the canoe in the embrace of that white-crested billow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remembered nothing after that, nothing but a rushing sound and a vision
+      of foam. He shuddered a little as he thought of it, for his nerves were
+      shaken; it is not pleasant to have been so very near the End and the
+      Beginning; and then his heart went out with renewed gratitude towards the
+      girl who had restored him to life and light and hope. Just at this moment
+      he thought that he heard a sound of sobbing outside the window. He
+      listened; the sound went on. He tried to rise, only to find that he was
+      too stiff to manage it. So, as a last resource, he called the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo; answered that young gentleman, jumping up with the
+      alacrity of one accustomed to be suddenly awakened. &ldquo;Do you feel queer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do rather,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey, &ldquo;but it isn&rsquo;t that. There is
+      somebody crying outside here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor put on his coat, and, going to the window, drew the blind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, so there is,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a little girl with yellow hair and
+      without a hat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little girl,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey. &ldquo;Why, it must be Effie, my daughter.
+      Please let her in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Cover yourself up, and I can do that through the window; it
+      isn&rsquo;t five feet from the ground.&rdquo; Accordingly he opened the window, and
+      addressing the little girl, asked her what her name was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Effie,&rdquo; she sobbed in answer, &ldquo;Effie Bingham. I&rsquo;ve come to look for
+      daddie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, my dear, don&rsquo;t cry so; your daddie is here. Come and let me
+      lift you in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and there appeared through the open window the very
+      sweetest little face and form that ever a girl of six was blessed with.
+      For the face was pink and white, and in it were set two beautiful dark
+      eyes, which, contrasting with the golden hair, made the child a sight to
+      see. But alas! just now the cheeks were stained with tears, and round the
+      large dark eyes were rings almost as dark. Nor was this all. The little
+      dress was hooked awry, on one tiny foot all drenched with dew there was no
+      boot, and on the yellow curls no hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! daddie, daddie,&rdquo; cried the child, catching sight of him and
+      struggling to reach her father&rsquo;s arms, &ldquo;you isn&rsquo;t dead, is you, daddie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my love, no,&rdquo; answered her father, kissing her. &ldquo;Why should you think
+      that I was dead? Didn&rsquo;t your mother tell you that I was safe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! daddie,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;they came and said that you was drownded, and
+      I cried and wished that I was drownded too. Then mother came home at last
+      and said that you were better, and was cross with me because I went on
+      crying and wanted to come to you. But I did go on crying. I cried nearly
+      all night, and when it got light I did dress myself, all but one shoe and
+      my hat, which I could not find, and I got out of the house to look for
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how did you find me, my poor little dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I heard mother say you was at the Vicarage, so I waited till I saw a
+      man, and asked him which way to go, and he did tell me to walk along the
+      cliff till I saw a long white house, and then when he saw that I had no
+      shoe he wanted to take me home, but I ran away till I got here. But the
+      blinds were down, so I did think that you were dead, daddie dear, and I
+      cried till that gentleman opened the window.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that Geoffrey began to scold her for running away, but she did not
+      seem to mind it much, for she sat upon the edge of the couch, her little
+      face resting against his own, a very pretty sight to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must go back to Mrs. Jones, Effie, and tell your mother where you
+      have been.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, daddie, I&rsquo;ve only got one shoe,&rdquo; she answered, pouting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you came with only one shoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, daddie, but I wanted to come and I don&rsquo;t want to go back. Tell me
+      how you was drownded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed at her logic and gave way to her, for this little daughter was
+      very near to his heart, nearer than anything else in the world. So he told
+      her how he was &ldquo;drownded&rdquo; and how a lady had saved his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Effie listened with wide set eyes, and then said that she wanted to see
+      the lady, which she presently did. At that moment there came a knock at
+      the door, and Mr. Granger entered, accompanied by Dr. Chambers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, sir?&rdquo; said the former. &ldquo;I must introduce myself, seeing
+      that you are not likely to remember me. When last I saw you, you looked as
+      dead as a beached dog-fish. My name&rsquo;s Granger, the Reverend J. Granger,
+      Vicar of Bryngelly, one of the very worst livings on this coast, and
+      that&rsquo;s saying a great deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure, Mr. Granger, I&rsquo;m under a deep debt of gratitude to you for
+      your hospitality, and under a still deeper one to your daughter, but I
+      hope to thank her personally for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never speak of it,&rdquo; said the clergyman. &ldquo;Hot water and blankets don&rsquo;t
+      cost much, and you will have to pay for the brandy and the doctor. How is
+      he, doctor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is getting on very well indeed, Mr. Granger. But I daresay you find
+      yourself rather stiff, Mr. Bingham. I see your head is pretty badly
+      bruised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, laughing, &ldquo;and so is my body. Shall I be able to go
+      home to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think so,&rdquo; said the doctor, &ldquo;but not before this evening. You had
+      better keep quiet till then. You will be glad to hear that Miss Beatrice
+      is getting on very well. Hers was a wonderful recovery, the most wonderful
+      I ever saw. I had quite given her up, though I should have kept on the
+      treatment for another hour. You ought to be grateful to Miss Beatrice, Mr.
+      Bingham. But for her you would not have been here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am most grateful,&rdquo; he answered earnestly. &ldquo;Shall I be able to see her
+      to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think so, some time this afternoon, say at three o&rsquo;clock. Is that
+      your little daughter? What a lovely child she is. Well, I will look in
+      again about twelve. All that you require to do now is to keep quiet and
+      rub in some arnica.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      About an hour afterwards the servant girl brought Geoffrey some breakfast
+      of tea and toast. He felt quite hungry, but when it came to the pinch he
+      could not eat much. Effie, who was starving, made up for this deficiency,
+      however; she ate all the toast and a couple of slices of bread and butter
+      after it. Scarcely had they finished, when her father observed a shade of
+      anxiety come upon his little daughter&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it, Effie?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; replied Effie in evident trepidation, &ldquo;I think that I hear
+      mother outside and Anne too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, dear, they have come to see me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and to scold me because I ran away,&rdquo; and the child drew nearer to
+      her father in a fashion which would have made it clear to any observer
+      that the relations between her and her mother were somewhat strained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Effie was right. Presently there was a knock at the door and Lady Honoria
+      entered, calm and pale and elegant as ever. She was followed by a
+      dark-eyed somewhat impertinent-looking French <i>bonne</i>, who held up
+      her hands and ejaculated, &ldquo;Mon Dieu!&rdquo; as she appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought so,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria, speaking in French to the <i>bonne</i>.
+      &ldquo;There she is,&rdquo; and she pointed at the runaway Effie with her parasol.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mon Dieu!&rdquo; said the woman again. &ldquo;Vous voilà enfin, et moi, qui suis
+      accablée de peur, et votre chère mère aussi; oh, mais que c&rsquo;est méchant;
+      et regardez donc, avec un soulier seulement. Mais c&rsquo;est affreux!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold your tongue,&rdquo; said Geoffrey sharply, &ldquo;and leave Miss Effie alone.
+      She came to see me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Anne ejaculated, &ldquo;Mon Dieu!&rdquo; once more and collapsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Geoffrey,&rdquo; said his wife, &ldquo;the way you spoil that child is
+      something shocking. She is wilful as can be, and you make her worse. It is
+      very naughty of her to run away like that and give us such a hunt. How are
+      we to get her home, I wonder, with only one shoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband bit his lip, and his forehead contracted itself above the dark
+      eyes. It was not the first time that he and Lady Honoria had come to words
+      about the child, with whom his wife was not in sympathy. Indeed she had
+      never forgiven Effie for appearing in this world at all. Lady Honoria did
+      not belong to that class of women who think maternity is a joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anne,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;take Miss Effie and carry her till you can find a
+      donkey. She can ride back to the lodgings.&rdquo; The nurse murmured something
+      in French about the child being as heavy as lead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do as I bid you,&rdquo; he said sharply, in the same language. &ldquo;Effie, my love,
+      give me a kiss and go home. Thank you for coming to see me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The child obeyed and went. Lady Honoria stood and watched her go, tapping
+      her little foot upon the floor, and with a look upon her cold, handsome
+      face that was not altogether agreeable to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had sometimes happened that, in the course of his married life,
+      Geoffrey returned home with a little of that added fondness which absence
+      is fabled to beget. On these occasions he was commonly so unfortunate as
+      to find that Lady Honoria belied the saying, that she greeted him with
+      arrears of grievances and was, if possible, more frigid than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was this to be repeated now that he had come back from what was so near to
+      being the longest absence of all? It looked like it. He noted symptoms of
+      the rising storm, symptoms with which he was but too well acquainted, and
+      both for his own sake and for hers&mdash;for above all things Geoffrey
+      dreaded these bitter matrimonial bickerings&mdash;tried to think of
+      something kind to say. It must be owned that he did not show much tact in
+      the subject he selected, though it was one which might have stirred the
+      sympathies of some women. It is so difficult to remember that one is
+      dealing with a Lady Honoria.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If ever we have another child&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; he began gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me interrupting you,&rdquo; said the lady, with a suavity which did not
+      however convey any idea of the speaker&rsquo;s inward peace, &ldquo;but it is a
+      kindness to prevent you from going on in that line. <i>One</i> darling is
+      ample for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the miserable Geoffrey, with an effort, &ldquo;even if you don&rsquo;t
+      care much about the child yourself, it is a little unreasonable to object
+      because she cares for me and was sorry when she thought that I was dead.
+      Really, Honoria, sometimes I wonder if you have any heart at all. Why
+      should you be put out because Effie got up early to come and see me?&mdash;an
+      example which I must admit you did not set her. And as to her shoe&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+       he added smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may laugh about her shoe, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she interrupted, &ldquo;but you forget
+      that even little things like that are no laughing matter now to us. The
+      child&rsquo;s shoes keep me awake at night sometimes. Defoy has not been paid
+      for I don&rsquo;t know how long. I have a mind to get her <i>sabots</i>&mdash;and
+      as to heart&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; broke in Geoffrey, reflecting that bad as was the emotional side
+      of the question, it was better than the commercial&mdash;&ldquo;as to &lsquo;heart?&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are scarcely the person to talk of it, that is all. I wonder how much
+      of yours you gave <i>me</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Honoria,&rdquo; he answered, not without eagerness, and his mind filled
+      with wonder. Was it possible that his wife had experienced some kind of
+      &ldquo;call,&rdquo; and was about to concern herself with his heart one way or the
+      other? If so it was strange, for she had never shown the slightest
+      interest in it before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she went on rapidly and with gathering vehemence, &ldquo;you speak about
+      your heart&rdquo;&mdash;which he had not done&mdash;&ldquo;and yet you know as well as
+      I do that if I had been a girl of no position you would never have offered
+      me the organ on which you pretend to set so high a value. Or did your
+      heart run wildly away with you, and drag us into love and a cottage&mdash;a
+      flat, I mean? If so, <i>I</i> should prefer a little less heart and a
+      little more common sense.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey winced, twice indeed, feeling that her ladyship had hit him as it
+      were with both barrels. For, as a matter of fact, he had not begun with
+      any passionate devotion, and again Lady Honoria and he were now just as
+      poor as though they had really married for love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is hardly fair to go back on bygones and talk like this,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;even if your position had something to do with it; only at first of
+      course, you must remember that when we married mine was not without
+      attractions. Two thousand a year to start on and a baronetcy and eight
+      thousand a year in the near future were not&mdash;but I hate talking about
+      that kind of thing. Why do you force me to it? Nobody could know that my
+      uncle, who was so anxious that I should marry you, would marry himself at
+      his age, and have a son and heir. It was not my fault, Honoria. Perhaps
+      you would not have married me if you could have foreseen it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very probably not,&rdquo; she answered calmly, &ldquo;and it is not <i>my</i> fault
+      that I have not yet learned to live with peace of mind and comfort on
+      seven hundred a year. It was hard enough to exist on two thousand till
+      your uncle died, and now&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and now, Honoria, if you will only have patience and put up with
+      things for a while, you shall be rich enough; I will make money for you,
+      as much money as you want. I have many friends. I have not done so badly
+      at the Bar this year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two hundred pounds, nineteen shillings and sevenpence, minus ninety-seven
+      pounds rent of chambers and clerk,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria, with a disparaging
+      accent on the sevenpence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall double it next year, and double that again the next, and so on. I
+      work from morning till night to get on, that you may have&mdash;what you
+      live for,&rdquo; he said bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I shall be sixty before that happy day comes, and want nothing but
+      scandal and a bath chair. I know the Bar and its moaning,&rdquo; she added, with
+      acid wit. &ldquo;You dream, you imagine what you would like to come true, but
+      you are deceiving me and yourself. It will be like the story of Sir Robert
+      Bingham&rsquo;s property once again. We shall be beggars all our days. I tell
+      you, Geoffrey, that you had no right to marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at length he lost his temper. This was not the first of these scenes&mdash;they
+      had grown frequent of late, and this bitter water was constantly dropping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right?&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and may I ask what right you had to marry me when you
+      don&rsquo;t even pretend you ever cared one straw for me, but just accepted me
+      as you would have accepted any other man who was a tolerably good match? I
+      grant that I first thought of proposing to you because my uncle wished it,
+      but if I did not love you I meant to be a good husband to you, and I
+      should have loved you if you would let me. But you are cold and selfish;
+      you looked upon a husband merely as a stepping-stone to luxury; you have
+      never loved anybody except yourself. If I had died last night I believe
+      that you would have cared more about having to go into mourning than for
+      the fact of my disappearance from your life. You showed no more feeling
+      for me when you came in than you would have if I had been a stranger&mdash;not
+      so much as some women might have for a stranger. I wonder sometimes if you
+      have any feeling left in you at all. I should think that you treat me as
+      you do because you do not care for me and do care for some other person
+      did I not know you to be utterly incapable of caring for anybody. Do you
+      want to make me hate you, Honoria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s low concentrated voice and earnest manner told his wife, who
+      was watching him with something like a smile upon her clear-cut lips, how
+      deeply he was moved. He had lost his self-control, and exposed his heart
+      to her&mdash;a thing he rarely did, and that in itself was a triumph which
+      she did not wish to pursue at the moment. Geoffrey was not a man to push
+      too far.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you have quite finished, Geoffrey, there is something I should like to
+      say&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, curse it all!&rdquo; he broke in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; she said calmly and interrogatively, and made a pause, but as he
+      did not specially apply his remark to anybody or anything, she continued:
+      &ldquo;If these flowers of rhetoric are over, what I have to say is this: I do
+      not intend to stay in this horrid place any longer. I am going to-morrow
+      to my brother Garsington. They asked us both, you may remember, but for
+      reasons best known to yourself, you would not go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know my reasons very well, Honoria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon. I have not the slightest idea what they were,&rdquo; said
+      Lady Honoria with conviction. &ldquo;May I hear them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you wish to know, I will not go to the house of a man who has&mdash;well,
+      left my club as Garsington left it, and who, had it not been for my
+      efforts, would have left it in an even more unpleasant and conspicuous
+      fashion. And his wife is worse than he is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you are mistaken,&rdquo; Lady Honoria said coldly, and with the air of
+      a person who shuts the door of a room into which she does not wish to
+      look. &ldquo;And, any way, it all happened years ago and has blown over. But I
+      do not see the necessity of discussing the subject further. I suppose that
+      we shall meet at dinner to-night. I shall take the early train to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do what suits you, Honoria. Perhaps you would prefer not returning at
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, no. I will not lay myself open to imputations. I shall join
+      you in London, and will make the best of a bad business. Thank Heaven, I
+      have learned how to bear my misfortunes,&rdquo; and with this Parthian shot she
+      left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a minute or two her husband felt as though he almost hated her. Then
+      he thrust his face into the pillow and groaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is right,&rdquo; he said to himself; &ldquo;we must make the best of a bad
+      business. But, somehow, I seem to have made a mess of my life. And yet I
+      loved her once&mdash;for a month or two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was not an agreeable scene, and it may be said that Lady Honoria was
+      a vulgar person. But not even the advantage of having been brought up &ldquo;on
+      the knees of marchionesses&rdquo; is a specific against vulgarity, if a lady
+      happens, unfortunately, to set her heart, what there is of it, meanly on
+      mean things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      EXPLANATORY
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      About two o&rsquo;clock Geoffrey rose, and with some slight assistance from his
+      reverend host, struggled into his clothes. Then he lunched, and while he
+      did so Mr. Granger poured his troubles into his sympathetic ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My father was a Herefordshire farmer, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and I was
+      bred up to that line of life myself. He did well, my father did, as in
+      those days a careful man might. What is more, he made some money by
+      cattle-dealing, and I think that turned his head a little; anyway, he was
+      minded to make &lsquo;a gentleman of me,&rsquo; as he called it. So when I was
+      eighteen I was packed off to be made a parson of, whether I liked it or
+      no. Well, I became a parson, and for four years I had a curacy at a town
+      called Kingston, in Herefordshire, not a bad sort of little town&mdash;perhaps
+      you happen to know it. While I was there, my father, who was getting
+      beyond himself, took to speculating. He built a row of villas at
+      Leominster, or at least he lent a lawyer the money to build them, and when
+      they were built nobody would hire them. It broke my father; he was ruined
+      over those villas. I have always hated the sight of a villa ever since,
+      Mr. Bingham. And shortly afterwards he died, as near bankruptcy as a man&rsquo;s
+      nose is to his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After that I was offered this living, £150 a year it was at the best, and
+      like a fool I took it. The old parson who was here before me left an only
+      daughter behind him. The living had ruined him, as it ruins me, and, as I
+      say, he left his daughter, my wife that was, behind him, and a pretty good
+      bill for dilapidations I had against the estate. But there wasn&rsquo;t any
+      estate, so I made the best of a bad business and married the daughter, and
+      a sweet pretty woman she was, poor dear, very like my Beatrice, only
+      without the brains. I can&rsquo;t make out where Beatrice&rsquo;s brains come from
+      indeed, for I am sure I don&rsquo;t set up for having any. She was well born,
+      too, my wife was, of an old Cornish family, but she had nowhere to go to,
+      and I think she married me because she didn&rsquo;t know what else to do, and
+      was fond of the old place. She took me on with it, as it were. Well, it
+      turned out pretty well, till some eleven years ago, when our boy was born,
+      though I don&rsquo;t think we ever quite understood each other. She never got
+      her health back after that, and seven years ago she died. I remember it
+      was on a night wonderfully like last night&mdash;mist first, then storm.
+      The boy died a few years afterwards. I thought it would have broken
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s heart; she has never been the same girl since, but always full
+      of queer ideas I don&rsquo;t pretend to follow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And as for the life I&rsquo;ve had of it here, Mr. Bingham, you wouldn&rsquo;t
+      believe it if I was to tell you. The living is small enough, but the place
+      is as full of dissent as a mackerel-boat of fish, and as for getting the
+      tithes&mdash;well, I cannot, that&rsquo;s all. If it wasn&rsquo;t for a bit of farming
+      that I do, not but what the prices are down to nothing, and for what the
+      visitors give in the season, and for the help of Beatrice&rsquo;s salary as
+      certificated mistress, I should have been in the poor-house long ago, and
+      shall be yet, I often think. I have had to take in a border before now to
+      make both ends meet, and shall again, I expect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I must be off up to my bit of a farm; the old sow is due to
+      litter, and I want to see how she is getting on. Please God she&rsquo;ll have
+      thirteen again and do well. I&rsquo;ll order the fly to be here at five, though
+      I shall be back before then&mdash;that is, I told Elizabeth to do so. She
+      has gone out to do some visiting for me, and to see if she can&rsquo;t get in
+      two pounds five of tithe that has been due for three months. If anybody
+      can get it it&rsquo;s Elizabeth. Well, good-bye; if you are dull and want to
+      talk to Beatrice, she is up and in there. I daresay you will suit one
+      another. She&rsquo;s a very queer girl, Beatrice, quite beyond me with her
+      ideas, and it was a funny thing her holding you so tight, but I suppose
+      Providence arranged that. Good-bye for the present, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; and this
+      curious specimen of a clergyman vanished, leaving Geoffrey quite
+      breathless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was half-past two o&rsquo;clock, and the doctor had told him that he could
+      see Miss Granger at three. He wished that it was three, for he was tired
+      of his own thoughts and company, and naturally anxious to renew his
+      acquaintance with the strange girl who had begun by impressing him so
+      deeply and ended by saving his life. There was complete quiet in the
+      house; Betty, the maid-of-all-work, was employed in the kitchen, both the
+      doctors had gone, and Elizabeth and her father were out. To-day there was
+      no wind, it had blown itself away during the night, and the sight of the
+      sunbeams streaming through the windows made Geoffrey long to be in the
+      open air. He had no book at hand to read, and whenever he tried to think
+      his mind flew back to that hateful matrimonial quarrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was hard on him, Geoffrey thought, that he should be called upon to
+      endure such scenes. He could no longer disguise the truth from himself&mdash;he
+      had buried his happiness on his wedding-day. Looking back across the
+      years, he well remembered how different a life he had imagined for
+      himself. In those days he was tired of knocking about and of youthful
+      escapades; even that kind of social success which must attend a young man
+      who was handsome, clever, a good fellow, and blessed with large
+      expectations, had, at the age of six-and-twenty, entirely lost its
+      attractiveness. Therefore he had turned no deaf ear to his uncle, Sir
+      Robert Bingham, who was then going on for seventy, when he suggested that
+      it might be well of Geoffrey settled down, and introduced him to Lady
+      Honoria.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria was eighteen then, and a beauty of the rather thin but
+      statuesque type, which attracts men up to five or six and twenty and then
+      frequently bores, if it does not repel them. Moreover, she was clever and
+      well read, and pretended to be intellectually and poetically inclined, as
+      ladies not specially favoured by Apollo sometimes do&mdash;before they
+      marry. Cold she always was; nobody ever heard of Lady Honoria stretching
+      the bounds of propriety; but Geoffrey put this down to a sweet and
+      becoming modesty, which would vanish or be transmuted in its season. Also
+      she affected a charming innocence of all vulgar business matters, which
+      both deceived and enchanted him. Never but once did she allude to ways and
+      means before marriage, and then it was to say that she was glad that they
+      should be so poor till dear Sir Robert died (he had promised to allow them
+      fifteen hundred a year, and they had seven more between them), as this
+      would enable them to see so much more of each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last came the happy day, and this white virgin soul passed into
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s keeping. For a week or so things went fairly well, and then
+      disenchantment began. He learned by slow but sure degrees that his wife
+      was vain, selfish and extravagant, and, worst of all, that she cared very
+      little about him. The first shock was when he accidentally discovered,
+      four or five days after marriage, that Honoria was intimately acquainted
+      with every detail of Sir Robert Bingham&rsquo;s property, and, young as she was,
+      had already formed a scheme to make it more productive after the old man&rsquo;s
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went to live in London, and there he found that Lady Honoria,
+      although by far too cold and prudent a woman to do anything that could
+      bring a breath of scandal upon her name, was as fond of admiration as she
+      was heartless. It seemed to Geoffrey that he could never be free from the
+      collection of young men who hung about her skirts. Some of them were very
+      good fellows whom he liked exceedingly; still, on the whole he would have
+      preferred to remain unmarried and associate with them at the club. Also
+      the continual round of society and going out brought heavier expenses on
+      him that he could well support. And thus, little by little, poor
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s dream of matrimonial bliss faded into thin air. But,
+      fortunately for himself, he possessed a certain share of logic and sweet
+      reasonableness. In time he learnt to see that the fault was not altogether
+      with his wife, who was by no means a bad sort of woman in her degree. But
+      her degree differed from his degree. She had married for freedom and
+      wealth and to gain a larger scope wherein to exercise those tastes which
+      inherited disposition and education had given to her, as she believed that
+      he had married her because she was the daughter of a peer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria, like many another woman of her stamp, was the overbred, or
+      sometimes the underbred, product of a too civilized age and class. Those
+      primitive passions and virtues on which her husband had relied to make the
+      happiness of their married life simply did not exist for her. The passions
+      had been bred and educated out of her; for many generations they have been
+      found inconvenient and disquieting attributes in woman. As for the old
+      virtues, such as love of children and the ordinary round of domestic duty,
+      they simply bored her. On the whole, though sharp of tongue, she rarely
+      lost her temper, for her vices, like her virtues, were of a somewhat
+      negative order; but the fury which seized her when she learned for certain
+      that she was to become a mother was a thing that her unfortunate husband
+      never forgot and never wished to see again. At length the child was born,
+      a fact for which Geoffrey, at least, was very thankful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take it away. I do not want to see it!&rdquo; said Lady Honoria to the
+      scandalised nurse when the little creature was brought to her, wrapped in
+      its long robes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give it to me, nurse&mdash;I do,&rdquo; said her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that moment Geoffrey gave all the pent-up affection of his bruised
+      soul to this little daughter, and as the years went on they grew very dear
+      to each other. But an active-minded, strong-hearted, able-bodied man
+      cannot take a babe as the sole companion of his existence. Probably
+      Geoffrey would have found this out in time, and might have drifted into
+      some mode of life more or less undesirable, had not an accident occurred
+      to prevent it. In his dotage, Geoffrey&rsquo;s old uncle Sir Robert Bingham fell
+      a victim to the wiles of an adventuress and married her. Then he promptly
+      died, and eight months afterwards a posthumous son was born.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Geoffrey this meant ruin. His allowance stopped and his expectations
+      vanished at one fell swoop. He pulled himself together, however, as a
+      brave-hearted man does under such a shock, and going to his wife he
+      explained to her that he must now work for his living, begging her to
+      break down the barrier that was between them and give him her sympathy and
+      help. She met him with tears and reproaches. The one thing that touched
+      her keenly, the one thing which she feared and hated was poverty, and all
+      that poverty means to women of her rank and nature. But there was no help
+      for it; the charming house in Bolton Steet had to be given up, and
+      purgatory must be faced, in a flat, near the Edgware Road. Lady Honoria
+      was miserable, indeed had it not been that fortunately for herself she
+      possessed plenty of relations more or less grand, whom she might
+      continually visit for weeks and even for months at a stretch, she could
+      scarcely have endured her altered life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But strangely enough Geoffrey soon found that he was happier than he had
+      been since his marriage. To begin with, he set to work like a man, and
+      work is a great source of happiness to all vigorous-minded folk. It is
+      not, in truth, a particularly cheerful occupation to pass endless days in
+      hanging about law-courts amongst a crowd of unbriefed Juniors, and many
+      nights in reading up the law one has forgotten and threading the many
+      intricacies of the Judicature Act. But it happened that his father, a
+      younger brother of Sir Robert&rsquo;s, had been a solicitor, and though he was
+      dead, and all direct interest with the firm was severed, yet another uncle
+      remained in it, and the partners did not forget Geoffrey in his
+      difficulties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They sent him what work they could without offending their standing
+      counsel, and he did it well. Then by degrees he built up quite a large
+      general practice of the kind known as deviling. Now there are few things
+      more unsatisfactory than doing another man&rsquo;s work for nothing, but every
+      case fought means knowledge gained, and what is more it is advertisement.
+      So it came to pass that within less than two years from the date of his
+      money misfortunes, Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s dark handsome face and square strong
+      form became very well known in the Courts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is that man&rsquo;s name?&rdquo; said one well-known Q.C. to another still more
+      well known, as they sat waiting for their chops in the Bar Grill Room, and
+      saw Geoffrey, his wig pushed back from his forehead, striding through the
+      doorway on the last day of the sitting which preceded the commencement of
+      this history.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bingham,&rdquo; answered the other. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s only begun to practise lately, but
+      he&rsquo;ll be at the top of the tree before he has done. He married very well,
+      you know, old Garsington&rsquo;s daughter, a charming woman, and handsome too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He looks like it,&rdquo; grunted the first, and as a matter of fact such was
+      the general opinion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For, as Beatrice had said, Geoffrey Bingham was a man who had success
+      written on his forehead. It would have been almost impossible for him to
+      fail in whatever he undertook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey lay upon his back, watching the still patch of sunshine and
+      listening to the ticking of the clock, as he passed all these and many
+      other events in solemn review, till the series culminated in his vivid
+      recollection of the scene of that very morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sick of it,&rdquo; he said at last aloud, &ldquo;sick and tired. She makes my
+      life wretched. If it wasn&rsquo;t for Effie upon my word I&rsquo;d . . . By Jove, it
+      is three o&rsquo;clock; I will go and see Miss Granger. She&rsquo;s a woman, not a
+      female ghost at any rate, though she is a freethinker&mdash;which,&rdquo; he
+      added as he slowly struggled off the couch, &ldquo;is a very foolish thing to
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Very shakily, for he was sadly knocked about, Geoffrey hobbled down the
+      long narrow room and through the door, which was ajar. The opposite door
+      was also set half open. He knocked softly, and getting no answer pushed it
+      wide and looked in, thinking that he had, perhaps, made some mistake as to
+      the room. On a sofa placed about two-thirds down its length, lay Beatrice
+      asleep. She was wrapped in a kind of dressing-gown of some simple blue
+      stuff, and all about her breast and shoulders streamed her lovely curling
+      hair. Her sweet face was towards him, its pallor relieved only by the long
+      shadow of the dark lashes and the bent bow of the lips. One white wrist
+      and hand hung down almost to the floor, and beneath the spread curtain of
+      the sunlit hair her bosom heaved softly in her sleep. She looked so
+      wondrously beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost awed, and gazed,
+      and gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and power were stilling
+      his heart to silence. It is dangerous to look upon such quiet loveliness,
+      and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the heart. A truly wise man
+      feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds sown in such silences may
+      live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed their fruit into the waters of
+      desolation. But Geoffrey was not wise&mdash;who would have been? He still
+      stood and gazed till the sight stamped itself so deeply on the tablets of
+      his heart that through all the years to come no heats of passion, no
+      frosts of doubt, and no sense of loss could ever dull its memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the
+      watcher gazed. And as he looked a great fear, a prescience of evil that
+      should come, entered into Geoffrey and took possession of him. A cloud
+      without crossed the ray of sunlight and turned it. It wavered, for a
+      second it rested on his breast, flashed back to hers, then went out; and
+      as it flashed and died, he seemed to know that henceforth, for life till
+      death, ay! and beyond, his fate and that sleeping woman&rsquo;s were one fate.
+      It was but a momentary knowledge; the fear shook him, and was gone almost
+      before he understood its foolishness. But it had been with him, and in
+      after days he remembered it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Beatrice woke, opening her grey eyes. Their dreamy glance fell
+      upon him, looking through him and beyond him, rather than at him. Then she
+      raised herself a little and stretching out both her arms towards him,
+      spoke aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have you have come back to me at last,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I knew that you
+      would come and I have waited.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no answer, he did not know what to say; indeed he began to think
+      that he also must be dreaming. For a little while Beatrice still looked at
+      him in the same absent manner, then suddenly started up, the red blood
+      streaming to her brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;is it really you? What was it that I said?
+      Oh, pray forgive me, whatever it was. I have been asleep dreaming such a
+      curious dream, and talking in my sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not alarm yourself, Miss Granger,&rdquo; he answered, recovering himself
+      with a jerk; &ldquo;you did not say anything dreadful, only that you were glad
+      to see me. What were you dreaming about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice looked at him doubtfully; perhaps his words did not ring quite
+      true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that I had better tell you as I have said so much,&rdquo; she answered.
+      &ldquo;Besides, it was a very curious dream, and if I believed in dreams it
+      would rather frighten me, only fortunately I do not. Sit down and I will
+      tell it to you before I forget it. It is not very long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the chair to which she pointed, and she began, speaking in the
+      voice of one yet laden with the memories of sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dreamed that I stood in space. Far to my right was a great globe of
+      light, and to my left was another globe, and I knew that the globes were
+      named Life and Death. From the globe on the right to the globe on the
+      left, and back again, a golden shuttle, in which two flaming eyes were
+      set, was shot continually, and I knew also that this was the shuttle of
+      Destiny, weaving the web of Fate. Presently the shuttle flew, leaving
+      behind it a long silver thread, and the eyes in the shuttle were such as
+      your eyes. Again the shuttle sped through space, and this time its eyes
+      were like my eyes, and the thread it left behind it was twisted from a
+      woman&rsquo;s hair. Half way between the globes of Life and Death my thread was
+      broken, but the shuttle flew on and vanished. For a moment the thread hung
+      in air, then a wind rose and blew it, so that it floated away like a
+      spider&rsquo;s web, till it struck upon your silver thread of life and began to
+      twist round and round it. As it twisted it grew larger and heavier, till
+      at last it was thick as a great tress of hair, and the silver line bent
+      beneath the weight so that I saw it soon must break. Then while I wondered
+      what would happen, a white hand holding a knife slid slowly down the
+      silver line, and with the knife severed the wrappings of woman&rsquo;s hair,
+      which fell and floated slowly away, like a little cloud touched with
+      sunlight, till they were lost in darkness. But the thread of silver that
+      was your line of life, sprang up quivering and making a sound like sighs,
+      till at last it sighed itself to silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I seemed to sleep, and when I woke I was floating upon such a misty
+      sea as we saw last night. I had lost all sight of land, and I could not
+      remember what the stars were like, nor how I had been taught to steer, nor
+      understand where I must go. I called to the sea, and asked it of the
+      stars, and the sea answered me thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Hope has rent her raiment, and the stars are set.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I called again, and asked of the land where I should go, and the land did
+      not answer, but the sea answered me a second time:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Child of the mist, wander in the mist, and in darkness seek for light.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I wept because Hope had rent her starry garment and in darkness I
+      must seek for light. And while I still wept, <i>you</i> rose out of the
+      sea and sat before me in the boat. I had never seen you before, and still
+      I felt that I had known you always. You did not speak, and I did not
+      speak, but you looked into my heart and saw its trouble. Then I looked
+      into your heart, and read what was written. And this was written:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Woman whom I knew before the Past began, and whom I shall know when the
+      Future is ended, why do you weep?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And my heart answered, &lsquo;I weep because I am lost upon the waters of the
+      earth, because Hope has rent her starry robes, and in everlasting darkness
+      I must seek for light that is not.&rsquo; Then your heart said, &lsquo;<i>I</i> will
+      show you light,&rsquo; and bending forward you touched me on the breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And suddenly an agony shook me like the agonies of birth and death, and
+      the sky was full of great-winged angels who rolled up the mist as a cloth,
+      and drew the veils from the eyes of Night, and there, her feet upon the
+      globe, and her star-set head piercing the firmament of heaven, stood Hope
+      breathing peace and beauty. She looked north and south and east and west,
+      then she looked upwards through the arching vaults of heaven, and wherever
+      she set her eyes, bright with holy tears, the darkness shrivelled and
+      sorrow ceased, and from corruption arose the Incorruptible. I gazed and
+      worshipped, and as I did so, again the sea spoke unquestioned:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;In darkness thou hast found light, in Death seek for wisdom.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then once more Hope rent her starry robes, and the angels drew down a
+      veil over the eyes of Night, and the sea swallowed me, and I sank till I
+      reached the deep foundations of mortal death. And there in the Halls of
+      Death I sat for ages upon ages, till at last I saw you come, and on your
+      lips was the word of wisdom that makes all things clear, but what it was I
+      cannot remember. Then I stretched out my hand to greet you, and woke, and
+      that is all my dream.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice ceased, her grey eyes set wide, as though they still strove to
+      trace their spiritual vision upon the air of earth, her breast heaving,
+      and her lips apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great heaven!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;what an imagination you must have to dream such
+      a dream as that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Imagination,&rdquo; she answered, returning to her natural manner. &ldquo;I have
+      none, Mr. Bingham. I used to have, but I lost it when I lost&mdash;everything
+      else. Can you interpret my dream? Of course you cannot; it is nothing but
+      nonsense&mdash;such stuff as dreams are made of, that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may be nonsense, I daresay it is, but it is beautiful nonsense,&rdquo; he
+      answered. &ldquo;I wish ladies had more of such stuff to give the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, well, dreams may be wiser than wakings, and nonsense than learned
+      talk, for all we know. But there&rsquo;s an end of it. I do not know why I
+      repeated it to you. I am sorry that I did repeat it, but it seemed so real
+      it shook me out of myself. This is what comes of breaking in upon the
+      routine of life by being three parts drowned. One finds queer things at
+      the bottom of the sea, you know. By the way I hope that you are
+      recovering. I do not think that you will care to go canoeing again with
+      me, Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an opening for a compliment here, but Geoffrey felt that it
+      would be too much in earnest if spoken, so he resisted the temptation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Miss Granger,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;should a man say to a lady who but last
+      night saved his life, at the risk, indeed almost at the cost, of her own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was nothing,&rdquo; she answered, colouring; &ldquo;I clung to you, that was all,
+      more by instinct than from any motive. I think I had a vague idea that you
+      might float and support me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Granger, the occasion is too serious for polite fibs. I know how you
+      saved my life. I do not know how to thank you for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then don&rsquo;t thank me at all, Mr. Bingham. Why should you thank me? I only
+      did what I was bound to do. I would far rather die than desert a companion
+      in distress, of any sort; we all must die, but it would be dreadful to die
+      ashamed. You know what they say, that if you save a person from drowning
+      you will do them an injury afterwards. That is how they put it here; in
+      some parts the saying is the other way about, but I am not likely ever to
+      do you an injury, so it does not make me unhappy. It was an awful
+      experience: you were senseless, so you cannot know how strange it felt
+      lying upon the slippery rock, and seeing those great white waves rush upon
+      us through the gloom, with nothing but the night above, and the sea
+      around, and death between the two. I have been lonely for many years, but
+      I do not think that I ever quite understood what loneliness really meant
+      before. You see,&rdquo; she added by way of an afterthought, &ldquo;I thought that you
+      were dead, and there is not much company in a corpse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;one thing is, it would have been lonelier if we had
+      gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; she answered, looking at him inquiringly. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+      quite see how you make that out. If you believe in what we have been
+      taught, as I think you do, wherever it was you found yourself there would
+      be plenty of company, and if, like me, you do not believe in anything,
+      why, then, you would have slept, and sleep asks for nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you believe in nothing when you lay upon the rock waiting to be
+      drowned, Miss Granger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing!&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;only weak people find revelation in the
+      extremities of fear. If revelation comes at all, surely it must be born in
+      the heart and not in the senses. I believed in nothing, and I dreaded
+      nothing, except the agony of death. Why should I be afraid? Supposing that
+      I am mistaken, and there is something beyond, is it my fault that I cannot
+      believe? What have I done that I should be afraid? I have never harmed
+      anybody that I know of, and if I could believe I would. I wish I had
+      died,&rdquo; she went on, passionately; &ldquo;it would be all over now. I am tired of
+      the world, tired of work and helplessness, and all the little worries
+      which wear one out. I am not wanted here, I have nothing to live for, and
+      I wish that I had died!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some day you will think differently, Miss Granger. There are many things
+      that a woman like yourself can live for&mdash;at the least, there is your
+      work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed drearily. &ldquo;My work! If you only knew what it is like you would
+      not talk to me about it. Every day I roll my stone up the hill, and every
+      night it seems to roll down again. But you have never taught in a village
+      school. How can you know? I work all day, and in the evening perhaps I
+      have to mend the tablecloths, or&mdash;what do you think?&mdash;write my
+      father&rsquo;s sermons. It sounds curious, does it not, that I should write
+      sermons? But I do. I wrote the one he is going to preach next Sunday. It
+      makes very little difference to him what it is so long as he can read it,
+      and, of course, I never say anything which can offend anybody, and I do
+      not think that they listen much. Very few people go to church in
+      Bryngelly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you ever get any time to yourself, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, sometimes I do, and then I go out in my canoe, or read, and am
+      almost happy. After all, Mr. Bingham, it is very wrong and ungrateful of
+      me to speak like this. I have more advantages than nine-tenths of the
+      world, and I ought to make the best of them. I don&rsquo;t know why I have been
+      speaking as I have, and to you, whom I never saw till yesterday. I never
+      did it before to any living soul, I assure you. It is just like the story
+      of the man who came here last year with the divining rod. There is a
+      cottage down on the cliff&mdash;it belongs to Mr. Davies, who lives in the
+      Castle. Well, they have no drinking water near, and the new tenant made a
+      great fuss about it. So Mr. Davies hired men, and they dug and dug and
+      spent no end of money, but could not come to water. At last the tenant
+      fetched an old man from some parish a long way off, who said that he could
+      find springs with a divining rod. He was a curious old man with a crutch,
+      and he came with his rod, and hobbled about till at last the rod twitched
+      just at the tenant&rsquo;s back door&mdash;at least the diviner said it did. At
+      any rate, they dug there, and in ten minutes struck a spring of water,
+      which bubbled up so strongly that it rushed into the house and flooded it.
+      And what do you think? After all, the water was brackish. You are the man
+      with the divining rod, Mr. Bingham, and you have made me talk a great deal
+      too much, and, after all, you see it is not nice talk. You must think me a
+      very disagreeable and wicked young woman, and I daresay I am. But somehow
+      it is a relief to open one&rsquo;s mind. I do hope, Mr. Bingham, that you will
+      see&mdash;in short, that you will not misunderstand me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Granger,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;there is between us that which will always
+      entitle us to mutual respect and confidence&mdash;the link of life and
+      death. Had it not been for you, I should not sit here to listen to your
+      confidence to-day. You may tell me that a mere natural impulse prompted
+      you to do what you did. I know better. It was your will that triumphed
+      over your natural impulse towards self-preservation. Well, I will say no
+      more about it, except this: If ever a man was bound to a woman by ties of
+      gratitude and respect, I am bound to you. You need not fear that I shall
+      take advantage of or misinterpret your confidence.&rdquo; Here he rose and stood
+      before her, his dark handsome face bowed in proud humility. &ldquo;Miss Granger,
+      I look upon it as an honour done to me by one whom henceforth I must
+      reverence among all women. The life you gave back to me, and the
+      intelligence which directs it, are in duty bound to you, and I shall not
+      forget the debt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice listened to his words, spoken in that deep and earnest voice,
+      which in after years became so familiar to Her Majesty&rsquo;s judges and to
+      Parliament&mdash;listened with a new sense of pleasure rising in her
+      heart. She was this man&rsquo;s equal; what he could dare, she could dare; where
+      he could climb, she could follow&mdash;ay, and if need be, show the path,
+      and she felt that he acknowledged it. In his sight she was something more
+      than a handsome girl to be admired and deferred to for her beauty&rsquo;s sake.
+      He had placed her on another level&mdash;one, perhaps, that few women
+      would have wished to occupy. But Beatrice was thankful to him. It was the
+      first taste of supremacy that she had ever known.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is something to stir the proud heart of such a woman as Beatrice, in
+      that moment when for the first time she feels herself a conqueror,
+      victorious, not through the vulgar advantage of her sex, not by the
+      submission of man&rsquo;s coarser sense, but rather by the overbalancing weight
+      of mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; she said, suddenly looking up, &ldquo;you make me very proud,&rdquo;
+       and she stretched out her hand to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took it, and, bending, touched it with his lips. There was no
+      possibility of misinterpreting the action, and though she coloured a
+      little&mdash;for, till then, no man had even kissed the tip of her finger&mdash;she
+      did not misinterpret it. It was an act of homage, and that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so they sealed the compact of their perfect friendship for ever and a
+      day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came a moment&rsquo;s silence. It was Geoffrey who broke it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Granger,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;will you allow me to preach you a lecture, a
+      very short one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Do not blame me if you don&rsquo;t like it, and do not set me down
+      as a prig, though I am going to tell you your faults as I read them in
+      your own words. You are proud and ambitious, and the cramped lines in
+      which you are forced to live seem to strangle you. You have suffered, and
+      have not learned the lesson of suffering&mdash;humility. You have set
+      yourself up against Fate, and Fate sweeps you along like spray upon the
+      gale, yet you go unwilling. In your impatience you have flown to learning
+      for refuge, and it has completed your overthrow, for it has induced you to
+      reject as non-existent all that you cannot understand. Because your finite
+      mind cannot search infinity, because no answer has come to all your
+      prayers, because you see misery and cannot read its purpose, because you
+      suffer and have not found rest, you have said there is naught but chance,
+      and become an atheist, as many have done before you. Is it not true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; she answered, bowing her head to her breast so that the long
+      rippling hair almost hid her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems a little odd,&rdquo; Geoffrey said with a short laugh, &ldquo;that I, with
+      all my imperfections heaped upon me, should presume to preach to you&mdash;but
+      you will know best how near or how far I am from the truth. So I want to
+      say something. I have lived for thirty-five years, and seen a good deal
+      and tried to learn from it, and I know this. In the long run, unless we of
+      our own act put away the opportunity, the world gives us our due, which
+      generally is not much. So much for things temporal. If you are fit to
+      rule, in time you will rule; if you do not, then be content and
+      acknowledge your own incapacity. And as for things spiritual, I am sure of
+      this&mdash;though of course one does not like to talk much of these
+      matters&mdash;if you only seek for them long enough in some shape you will
+      find them, though the shape may not be that which is generally recognised
+      by any particular religion. But to build a wall deliberately between
+      oneself and the unseen, and then complain that the way is barred, is
+      simply childish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if one&rsquo;s wall is built, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most of us have done something in that line at different times,&rdquo; he
+      answered, &ldquo;and found a way round it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if it stretches from horizon to horizon, and is higher than the
+      clouds, what then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you must find wings and fly over it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where can any earthly woman find those spiritual wings?&rdquo; she asked,
+      and then sank her head still deeper on her breast to cover her confusion.
+      For she remembered that she had heard of wanderers in the dusky groves of
+      human passion, yes, even Mænad wanderers, who had suddenly come face to
+      face with their own soul; and that the cruel paths of earthly love may yet
+      lead the feet which tread them to the ivory gates of heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And remembering these beautiful myths, though she had no experience of
+      love, and knew little of its ways, Beatrice grew suddenly silent. Nor did
+      Geoffrey give her an answer, though he need scarcely have feared to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For were they not discussing a purely abstract question?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      LADY HONORIA MAKES ARRANGEMENTS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      In another moment somebody entered the room; it was Elizabeth. She had
+      returned from her tithe collecting expedition&mdash;with the tithe. The
+      door of the sitting-room was still ajar, and Geoffrey had his back towards
+      it. So it happened that nobody heard Elizabeth&rsquo;s rather cat-like step, and
+      for some seconds she stood in the doorway without being perceived. She
+      stood quite still, taking in the whole scene at a glance. She noticed that
+      her sister held her head down, so that her hair shadowed her, and guessed
+      that she did so for some reason&mdash;probably because she did not wish
+      her face to be seen. Or was it to show off her lovely hair? She noticed
+      also the half shy, half amused, and altogether interested expression upon
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s countenance&mdash;she could see that in the little gilt-edged
+      looking-glass which hung over the fire-place, nor did she overlook the
+      general air of embarrassment that pervaded them both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of what
+      might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back into her
+      sister&rsquo;s veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had thought of it all
+      day; even in the excitement of extracting the back tithe from the
+      recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer, with strong views on
+      the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely forgotten. The farmer was a
+      tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called her a &ldquo;parson in petticoats, and
+      wus,&rdquo; and went on, in delicate reference to her powers of extracting cash,
+      to liken her to a &ldquo;two-legged corkscrew only screwier,&rdquo; she perhaps not
+      unnaturally reflected, that if ever&mdash;<i>pace</i> Beatrice&mdash;certain
+      things should come about, she would remember that farmer. For Elizabeth
+      was blessed with a very long memory, as some people had learnt to their
+      cost, and generally, sooner or later, she paid her debts in full, not
+      forgetting the overdue interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
+      something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea, which,
+      like ideas in general, had many side issues. At any rate a look of quick
+      intelligence shone for a moment in her light eyes, like a sickly sunbeam
+      on a faint December mist; then she moved forward, and when she was close
+      behind Geoffrey, spoke suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you both thinking about?&rdquo; she said in her clear thin voice; &ldquo;you
+      seem to have exhausted your conversation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey made an exclamation and fairly jumped from his chair, a feat
+      which in his bruised condition really hurt him very much. Beatrice too
+      started violently; she recovered herself almost instantly, however.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How quietly you move, Elizabeth,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not more quietly than you sit, Beatrice. I have been wondering when
+      anybody was going to say anything, or if you were both asleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For her part Beatrice speculated how long her sister had been in the room.
+      Their conversation had been innocent enough, but it was not one that she
+      would wish Elizabeth to have overheard. And somehow Elizabeth had a knack
+      of overhearing things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see, Miss Granger,&rdquo; said Geoffrey coming to the rescue, &ldquo;both our
+      brains are still rather waterlogged, and that does not tend to a flow of
+      ideas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said Elizabeth. &ldquo;My dear Beatrice, why don&rsquo;t you tie up your
+      hair? You look like a crazy Jane. Not but what you have very nice hair,&rdquo;
+       she added critically. &ldquo;Do you admire good hair, Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I do,&rdquo; he answered gallantly, &ldquo;but it is not common.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only Beatrice bit her lip with vexation. &ldquo;I had almost forgotten about my
+      hair,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I must apologise for appearing in such a state. I would
+      have done it up after dinner only I was too stiff, and while I was waiting
+      for Betty, I went to sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think there is a bit of ribbon in that drawer. I saw you put it there
+      yesterday,&rdquo; answered the precise Elizabeth. &ldquo;Yes, here it is. If you like,
+      and Mr. Bingham will excuse it, I can tie it back for you,&rdquo; and without
+      waiting for an answer she passed behind Beatrice, and gathering up the
+      dense masses of her sister&rsquo;s locks, tied them round in such fashion that
+      they could not fall forward, though they still rolled down her back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Mr. Granger came back from his visit to the farm. He was in high
+      good humour. The pig had even surpassed her former efforts, and increased
+      in a surprising manner, to the number of fifteen indeed. Elizabeth thereon
+      produced the two pounds odd shillings which she had &ldquo;corkscrewed&rdquo; out of
+      the recalcitrant dissenting farmer, and the sight added to Mr. Granger&rsquo;s
+      satisfaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you believe it, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;in this miserably paid
+      parish I have nearly a hundred pounds owing to me, a hundred pounds in
+      tithe. There is old Jones who lives out towards the Bell Rock, he owes
+      three years&rsquo; tithe&mdash;thirty-four pounds eleven and fourpence. He can
+      pay and he won&rsquo;t pay&mdash;says he&rsquo;s a Baptist and is not going to pay
+      parson&rsquo;s dues&mdash;though for the matter of that he is nothing but an old
+      beer tub of a heathen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you proceed against him, then, Mr. Granger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Proceed, I have proceeded. I&rsquo;ve got judgment, and I mean to issue
+      execution in a few days. I won&rsquo;t stand it any longer,&rdquo; he went on, working
+      himself up and shaking his head as he spoke till his thin white hair fell
+      about his eyes. &ldquo;I will have the law of him and the others too. You are a
+      lawyer and you can help me. I tell you there&rsquo;s a spirit abroad which just
+      comes to just&mdash;no man isn&rsquo;t to pay his lawful debts, except of course
+      the parson and the squire. They must pay or go to the court. But there is
+      law left, and I&rsquo;ll have it, before they play the Irish game on us here.&rdquo;
+       And he brought down his fist with a bang upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey listened with some amusement. So this was the weak old man&rsquo;s sore
+      point&mdash;money. He was clearly very strong about that&mdash;as strong
+      as Lady Honoria indeed, but with more excuse. Elizabeth also listened with
+      evident approval, but Beatrice looked pained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t get angry, father,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;perhaps he will pay after all. It is
+      bad to take the law if you can manage any other way&mdash;it breeds so
+      much ill blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Beatrice,&rdquo; said her sister sharply. &ldquo;Father is quite right.
+      There&rsquo;s only one way to deal with them, and that is to seize their goods.
+      I believe you are socialist about property, as you are about everything
+      else. You want to pull everything down, from the Queen to the laws of
+      marriage, all for the good of humanity, and I tell you that your ideas
+      will be your ruin. Defy custom and it will crush you. You are running your
+      head against a brick wall, and one day you will find which is the harder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice flushed, but answered her sister&rsquo;s attack, which was all the
+      sharper because it had a certain spice of truth in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never expressed any such views, Elizabeth, so I do not see why you
+      should attribute them to me. I only said that legal proceedings breed bad
+      blood in a parish, and that is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not say you expressed them,&rdquo; went on the vigorous Elizabeth; &ldquo;you
+      look them&mdash;they ooze out of your words like water from a peat bog.
+      Everybody knows you are a radical and a freethinker and everything else
+      that is bad and mad, and contrary to that state of life in which it has
+      pleased God to call you. The end of it will be that you will lose the
+      mistresship of the school&mdash;and I think it is very hard on father and
+      me that you should bring disgrace on us with your strange ways and immoral
+      views, and now you can make what you like of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish that all radicals were like Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, who was
+      feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, with a feeble attempt at polite
+      jocosity. But nobody seemed to hear him. Elizabeth, who was now fairly in
+      a rage, a faint flush upon her pale cheeks, her light eyes all ashine, and
+      her thin fingers clasped, stood fronting her beautiful sister, and
+      breathing spite at every pore. But it was easy for Geoffrey who was
+      watching her to see that it was not her sister&rsquo;s views she was attacking;
+      it was her sister. It was that soft strong loveliness and the glory of
+      that face; it was the deep gentle mind, erring from its very greatness,
+      and the bright intellect which lit it like a lamp; it was the learning and
+      the power that, give them play, would set a world aflame, as easily as
+      they did the heart of the slow-witted hermit squire, whom Elizabeth
+      coveted&mdash;these were the things that Elizabeth hated, and bitterly
+      assailed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced at
+      the father. The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of
+      Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene. He stood fidgeting his feet about, and
+      trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his elder
+      daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking at.
+      Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath their
+      dark lashes. She had risen, drawing herself to her full height, which her
+      exquisite proportions seemed to increase, and was looking at her sister.
+      Presently she said one word and one only, but it was enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Elizabeth.</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her sister opened her lips to speak again, but hesitated, and changed her
+      mind. There was something in Beatrice&rsquo;s manner that checked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she said at length, &ldquo;you should not irritate me so, Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice made no reply. She only turned towards Geoffrey, and with a
+      graceful little bow, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bingham, I am sure that you will forgive this scene. The fact is, we
+      all slept badly last night, and it has not improved our tempers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause, of which Mr. Granger took a hurried and rather
+      undignified advantage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Um, ah,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;By the way, Beatrice, what was it I wanted to say? Ah,
+      I know&mdash;have you written, I mean written out, that sermon for next
+      Sunday? My daughter,&rdquo; he added, addressing Geoffrey in explanation&mdash;&ldquo;um,
+      copies my sermons for me. She writes a very good hand&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Remembering Beatrice&rsquo;s confidence as to her sermon manufacturing
+      functions, Geoffrey felt amused at her father&rsquo;s <i>naïve</i> way of
+      describing them, and Beatrice also smiled faintly as she answered that the
+      sermon was ready. Just then the roll of wheels was heard without, and the
+      only fly that Bryngelly could boast pulled up in front of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is the fly come for you, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger&mdash;&ldquo;and
+      as I live, her ladyship with it. Elizabeth, see if there isn&rsquo;t some tea
+      ready,&rdquo; and the old gentleman, who had all the traditional love of the
+      lower middle-class Englishman for a title, trotted off to welcome &ldquo;her
+      ladyship.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Lady Honoria entered the room, a sweet, if rather a set smile
+      upon her handsome face, and with a graceful mien, that became her tall
+      figure exceedingly well. For to do Lady Honoria justice, she was one of
+      the most ladylike women in the country, and so far as her personal
+      appearance went, a very perfect type of the class to which she belonged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey looked at her, saying to himself that she had clearly recovered
+      her temper, and that he was thankful for it. This was not wonderful, for
+      it is observable that the more aristocratic a lady&rsquo;s manners are, the more
+      disagreeable she is apt to be when she is crossed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Geoffrey dear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you see I have come to fetch you. I was
+      determined that you should not get yourself drowned a second time on your
+      way home. How are you now?&mdash;but I need not ask, you look quite well
+      again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very kind of you, Honoria,&rdquo; said her husband simply, but it was
+      doubtful if she heard him, for at the moment she was engaged in searching
+      out the soul of Beatrice, with one of the most penetrating and
+      comprehensive glances that young lady had ever enjoyed the honour of
+      receiving. There was nothing rude about the look, it was too quick, but
+      Beatrice felt that quick as it might be it embraced her altogether. Nor
+      was she wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no doubt about it,&rdquo; Lady Honoria thought to herself, &ldquo;she is
+      lovely&mdash;lovely everywhere. It was clever of her to leave her hair
+      down; it shows the shape of her head so well, and she is tall enough to
+      stand it. That blue wrapper suits her too. Very few women could show such
+      a figure as hers&mdash;like a Greek statue. I don&rsquo;t like her; she is
+      different from most of us; just the sort of girl men go wild about and
+      women hate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All this passed through her mind in a flash. For a moment Lady Honoria&rsquo;s
+      blue eyes met Beatrice&rsquo;s grey ones, and she knew that Beatrice liked her
+      no better than she did Beatrice. Those eyes were a trifle too honest, and,
+      like the deep clear water they resembled, apt to throw up shadows of the
+      passing thoughts above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;False and cold and heartless,&rdquo; thought Beatrice. &ldquo;I wonder how a man like
+      that could marry her; and how much he loves her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus the two women took each other&rsquo;s measure at a glance, each finding the
+      other wanting by her standard. Nor did they ever change that hastily
+      formed judgment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all done in a few seconds&mdash;in that hesitating moment before
+      the words we summon answer on our lips. The next, Lady Honoria was
+      sweeping towards her with outstretched hand, and her most gracious smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Granger,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I owe you a debt I never can repay&mdash;my
+      dear husband&rsquo;s life. I have heard all about how you saved him; it is the
+      most wonderful thing&mdash;Grace Darling born again. I can&rsquo;t think how you
+      could do it. I wish I were half as brave and strong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t, Lady Honoria,&rdquo; said Beatrice. &ldquo;I am so tired of being
+      thanked for doing nothing, except what it was my duty to do. If I had let
+      Mr. Bingham go while I had the strength to hold on to him I should have
+      felt like a murderess to-day. I beg you to say no more about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One does not often find such modesty united to so much courage, and, if
+      you will allow me to say it, so much beauty,&rdquo; answered Lady Honoria
+      graciously. &ldquo;Well, I will do as you wish, but I warn you your fame will
+      find you out. I hear they have an account of the whole adventure in
+      to-day&rsquo;s papers, headed, &lsquo;A Welsh Heroine.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you hear that, Honoria?&rdquo; asked her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I had a telegram from Garsington, and he mentions it,&rdquo; she answered
+      carelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Telegram from Garsington! Hence these smiles,&rdquo; thought he. &ldquo;I suppose
+      that she is going to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have some other news for you, Miss Granger,&rdquo; went on Lady Honoria.
+      &ldquo;Your canoe has been washed ashore, very little injured. The old boatman&mdash;Edward,
+      I think they call him&mdash;has found it; and your gun in it too,
+      Geoffrey. It had stuck under the seat or somewhere. But I fancy that you
+      must both have had enough canoeing for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, Lady Honoria,&rdquo; answered Beatrice. &ldquo;One does not often get
+      such weather as last night&rsquo;s, and canoeing is very pleasant. Every sweet
+      has its salt, you know; or, in other words, one may always be upset.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment, Betty, the awkward Welsh serving lass, with a fore-arm
+      about as shapely as the hind leg of an elephant, and a most unpleasing
+      habit of snorting audibly as she moved, shuffled in with the tea-tray. In
+      her wake came the slim Elizabeth, to whom Lady Honoria was introduced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, conversation flagged for a while, till Lady Honoria, feeling
+      that things were getting a little dull, set the ball rolling again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a pretty view you have of the sea from these windows,&rdquo; she said in
+      her well-trained and monotonously modulated voice. &ldquo;I am so glad to have
+      seen it, for, you know, I am going away to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice looked up quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My husband is not going,&rdquo; she went on, as though in answer to an unspoken
+      question. &ldquo;I am playing the part of the undutiful wife and running away
+      from him, for exactly three weeks. It is very wicked of me, isn&rsquo;t it? but
+      I have an engagement that I must keep. It is most tiresome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey, sipping his tea, smiled grimly behind the shelter of his cup.
+      &ldquo;She does it uncommonly well,&rdquo; he thought to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does your little girl go with you, Lady Honoria?&rdquo; asked Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, no, I think not. I can&rsquo;t bear parting with her&mdash;you know how
+      hard it is when one has only one child. But I think she would be so bored
+      where I am going to stay, for there are no other children there; and
+      besides, she positively adores the sea. So I shall have to leave her to
+      her father&rsquo;s tender mercies, poor dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope Effie will survive it, I am sure,&rdquo; said Geoffrey laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose that your husband is going to stay on at Mrs. Jones&rsquo;s,&rdquo; said
+      the clergyman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, I don&rsquo;t know. What <i>are</i> you going to do, Geoffrey? Mrs.
+      Jones&rsquo;s rooms are rather expensive for people in our impoverished
+      condition. Besides, I am sure that she cannot look after Effie. Just
+      think, she has eight children of her own, poor old dear. And I must take
+      Anne with me; she is Effie&rsquo;s French nurse, you know, a perfect treasure. I
+      am going to stay in a big house, and my experience of those big houses is,
+      that one never gets waited on at all unless one takes a maid. You see,
+      what is everybody&rsquo;s business is nobody&rsquo;s business. I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know
+      how you will get on with the child, Geoffrey; she takes such a lot of
+      looking after.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t trouble about that, Honoria,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I daresay that
+      Effie and I will manage somehow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here one of those peculiar gleams of intelligence which marked the advent
+      of a new idea passed across Elizabeth&rsquo;s face. She was sitting next her
+      father, and bending, whispered to him. Beatrice saw it and made a motion
+      as though to interpose, but before she could do so Mr. Granger spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you want to move, would you like a
+      room here? Terms strictly moderate, but can&rsquo;t afford to put you up for
+      nothing you know, and living rough and ready. You&rsquo;d have to take us as you
+      find us; but there is a dressing-room next to my room, where your little
+      girl could sleep, and my daughters would look after her between them, and
+      be glad of the job.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Beatrice opened her lips as though to speak, but closed them without
+      speaking. Thus do our opportunities pass before we realise that they are
+      at hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Instinctively Geoffrey had glanced towards Beatrice. He did not know if
+      this idea was agreeable to her. He knew that her work was hard, and he did
+      not wish to put extra trouble upon her, for he guessed that the burden of
+      looking after Effie would ultimately fall upon her shoulders. But her face
+      told him nothing: it was quite passive and apparently indifferent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are very kind, Mr. Granger,&rdquo; he said, hesitating. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to go
+      away from Bryngelly just at present, and it would be a good plan in some
+      ways, that is if the trouble to your daughters would not be too much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure that it is an excellent plan,&rdquo; broke in Lady Honoria, who
+      feared lest difficulties should arise as to her appropriation of Anne&rsquo;s
+      services; &ldquo;how lucky that I happened to mention it. There will be no
+      trouble about our giving up the rooms at Mrs. Jones&rsquo;s, because I know she
+      has another application for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, not liking to raise objections to a scheme
+      thus publicly advocated, although he would have preferred to take time to
+      consider. Something warned him that Bryngelly Vicarage would prove a
+      fateful abode for him. Then Elizabeth rose and asked Lady Honoria if she
+      would like to see the rooms her husband and Effie would occupy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said she should be delighted and went off, followed by Mr. Granger
+      fussing in the rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that you will be a little dull here, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; said
+      Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Why should I be dull? I cannot be so dull
+      as I should be by myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice hesitated, and then spoke again. &ldquo;We are a curious family, Mr.
+      Bingham; you may have seen as much this afternoon. Had you not better
+      think it over?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you mean that you do not want me to come, I won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he said rather
+      bluntly, and next second felt that he had made a mistake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I!&rdquo; Beatrice answered, opening her eyes. &ldquo;I have no wishes in the matter.
+      The fact is that we are poor, and let lodgings&mdash;that is what it comes
+      to. If you think they will suit you, you are quite right to take them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey coloured. He was a man who could not bear to lay himself open to
+      the smallest rebuff from a woman, and he had brought this on himself.
+      Beatrice saw it and relented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, Mr. Bingham, so far as I am concerned, I shall be the gainer
+      if you do come. I do not meet so many people with whom I care to
+      associate, and from whom I can learn, that I wish to throw a chance away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you misunderstand me a little,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I only meant that
+      perhaps you would not wish to be bothered with Effie, Miss Granger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed. &ldquo;Why, I love children. It will be a great pleasure to me to
+      look after her so far as I have time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then the others returned, and their conversation came to an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s quite delightful, Geoffrey&mdash;such funny old-fashioned rooms. I
+      really envy you.&rdquo; (If there was one thing in the world that Lady Honoria
+      hated, it was an old-fashioned room.) &ldquo;Well, and now we must be going. Oh!
+      you poor creature, I forgot that you were so knocked about. I am sure Mr.
+      Granger will give you his arm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger ambled forward, and Geoffrey having made his adieus, and
+      borrowed a clerical hat (Mr. Granger&rsquo;s concession to custom, for in most
+      other respects he dressed like an ordinary farmer), was safely conveyed to
+      the fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so ended Geoffrey&rsquo;s first day at Bryngelly Vicarage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BEATRICE MAKES AN APPOINTMENT
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria leaned back in the cab, and sighed a sigh of satisfaction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is a capital idea,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I was wondering what arrangements you
+      could make for the next three weeks. It is ridiculous to pay three guineas
+      a week for rooms just for you and Effie. The old gentleman only wants that
+      for board and lodging together, for I asked him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I daresay it will do,&rdquo; said Geoffrey. &ldquo;When are we to shift?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow, in time for dinner, or rather supper: these barbarians eat
+      supper, you know. I go by the morning train, you see, so as to reach
+      Garsington by tea-time. I daresay you will find it rather dull, but you
+      like being dull. The old clergyman is a low stamp of man, and a bore, and
+      as for the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, she&rsquo;s too awful&mdash;she reminds
+      me of a rat. But Beatrice is handsome enough, though I think her horrid
+      too. You&rsquo;ll have to console yourself with her, and I daresay you will suit
+      each other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you think her horrid, Honoria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t know; she is clever and odd, and I hate odd women. Why can&rsquo;t
+      they be like other people? Think of her being strong enough to save your
+      life like that too. She must have the muscle of an Amazon&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+      downright unwomanly. But there is no doubt about her beauty. She is as
+      nearly perfect as any girl I ever saw, though too independent looking. If
+      only one had a daughter like that, how one might marry her. I would not
+      look at anything under twenty thousand a year. She is too good for that
+      lumbering Welsh squire she&rsquo;s engaged too&mdash;the man who lives in the
+      Castle&mdash;though they say that he is fairly rich.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Engaged,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;how do you know that she is engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don&rsquo;t know it at all, but I suppose she is. If she isn&rsquo;t, she soon
+      will be, for a girl in that position is not likely to throw such a chance
+      away. At any rate, he&rsquo;s head over ears in love with her. I saw that last
+      night. He was hanging about for hours in the rain, outside the door, with
+      a face like a ghost, till he knew whether she was dead or alive, and he
+      has been there twice to inquire this morning. Mr. Granger told me. But she
+      is too good for him from a business point of view. She might marry
+      anybody, if only she were put in the way of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow, Geoffrey&rsquo;s lively interest in Beatrice sensibly declined on the
+      receipt of this intelligence. Of course it was nothing to him; indeed he
+      was glad to hear that she was in the way of such a comfortable settlement,
+      but it is unfortunately a fact that one cannot be quite as much interested
+      in a young and lovely lady who is the potential property of a &ldquo;lumbering
+      Welsh squire,&rdquo; as in one who belongs to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old Adam still survives in most men, however right-thinking they may
+      be, and this is one of its methods of self-assertion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am glad to hear she is in such a good way; she
+      deserves it. I think the Welsh squire is in luck; Miss Granger is a
+      remarkable woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too remarkable by half,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria drily. &ldquo;Here we are, and there
+      is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual. I think that child is
+      demented.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following morning&mdash;it was Friday&mdash;Lady Honoria,
+      accompanied by Anne, departed in the very best of tempers. For the next
+      three weeks, at any rate, she would be free from the galling associations
+      of straightened means&mdash;free to enjoy the luxury and refined comfort
+      to which she had been accustomed, and for which her soul yearned with a
+      fierce longing that would be incomprehensible to folk of a simpler mind.
+      Everybody has his or her ideal Heaven, if only one could fathom it. Some
+      would choose a sublimated intellectual leisure, made happy by the best
+      literature of all the planets; some a model state (with themselves as
+      presidents), in which (through their beneficent efforts) the latest
+      radical notions could actually be persuaded to work to everybody&rsquo;s
+      satisfaction; others a happy hunting ground, where the game enjoyed the
+      fun as much as they did; and so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria was even more modest. Give her a well appointed town and
+      country house, a few powdered footmen, plenty of carriages, and other
+      needful things, including of course the <i>entrée</i> to the upper
+      celestial ten, and she would ask no more from age to age. Let us hope that
+      she will get it one day. It would hurt nobody, and she is sure to find
+      plenty of people of her own way of thinking&mdash;that is, if this world
+      supplies the raw material.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She embraced Effie with enthusiasm, and her husband with a chastened
+      warmth, and went, a pious prayer on her lips that she might never again
+      set eyes upon Bryngelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels.
+      That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up.
+      Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the things
+      into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which would not go
+      in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle looked like an old
+      clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for them inside, they walked
+      down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance of about three-quarters of a
+      mile, stopping on their way to admire the beautiful castle, in one corner
+      of which Owen Davies lived and moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, daddy,&rdquo; said the child, &ldquo;I wish you would buy a house like that for
+      you and me to live in. Why don&rsquo;t you, daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t got the money, dear,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you ever have the money, daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, dear, perhaps one day&mdash;when I am too old to enjoy it,&rdquo;
+       he added to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn&rsquo;t it,
+      daddy?&rdquo; said Effie sagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, more than you could count,&rdquo; he answered, and the conversation
+      dropped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and close
+      to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged in mending
+      a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the identical canoe
+      out of which he had so nearly been drowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, Effie,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that is the boat out of which I was upset.&rdquo; Effie
+      opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a horrid boat,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to look at it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re quite right, little miss,&rdquo; said old Edward, touching his cap. &ldquo;It
+      ain&rsquo;t safe, and somebody will be drowned out of it one of these days. I
+      wish it had gone to the bottom, I do; but Miss Beatrice, she is that
+      foolhardy there ain&rsquo;t no doing nothing with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fancy that she has learnt a lesson,&rdquo; said Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be, may be,&rdquo; grumbled the old man, &ldquo;but women folk are hard to teach;
+      they never learn nothing till it&rsquo;s too late, they don&rsquo;t, and then when
+      they&rsquo;ve been and done it they&rsquo;re sorry, but what&rsquo;s the good o&rsquo; that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile another conversation was in progress not more than a quarter of
+      a mile away. On the brow of the cliff stood the village of Bryngelly, and
+      at the back of the village was a school, a plain white-washed building,
+      roofed with stone, which, though amply sufficient and suitable to the
+      wants of the place, was little short of an abomination in the eyes of Her
+      Majesty&rsquo;s school inspectors, who from time to time descended upon
+      Bryngelly for purposes of examination and fault-finding. They yearned to
+      see a stately red-brick edifice, with all the latest improvements, erected
+      at the expense of the rate-payers, but as yet they yearned in vain. The
+      school was supported by voluntary contributions, and thanks to Beatrice&rsquo;s
+      energy and good teaching, the dreaded Board, with its fads and
+      extravagance, had not yet clutched it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice had returned to her duties that afternoon, for a night&rsquo;s rest
+      brought back its vigour to her strong young frame. She had been greeted
+      with enthusiasm by the children, who loved her, as well they might, for
+      she was very gentle and sweet with them, though few dared to disobey her.
+      Besides, her beauty impressed them, though they did not know it. Beauty of
+      a certain sort has perhaps more effect on children than on any other
+      class, heedless and selfish as they often seem to be. They feel its power;
+      it is an outward expression of the thoughts and dreams that bud in their
+      unknowing hearts, and is somehow mixed up with their ideas of God and
+      Heaven. Thus there was in Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a very clever
+      and highly excitable child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of parents of
+      strict Calvinistic views. As it chanced, some months before the opening of
+      this story, a tub thumper, of high renown and considerable rude oratorical
+      force, visited the place, and treated his hearers to a lively discourse on
+      the horrors of Hell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little child
+      between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much satisfaction,
+      and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the preacher, having dealt sufficiently in terrifying
+      generalities, went on to practical illustrations, for, after the manner of
+      his class, he was delivering an extemporary oration. &ldquo;Look at that child,&rdquo;
+       he said, pointing to the little girl; &ldquo;she looks innocent, does she not?
+      but if she does not find salvation, my brethren, I tell you that she is
+      damned. If she dies to-night, not having found salvation, she will go to
+      <i>Hell</i>. Her delicate little body will be tormented for ever and ever&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here the unfortunate child fell forward with a shriek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir,&rdquo; said Beatrice aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had been listening to all this ill-judged rant with growing
+      indignation, and now, in her excitement, entirely forgot that she was in a
+      place of worship. Then she ran forward to the child, who had swooned. Poor
+      little unfortunate, she never recovered the shock. When she came to
+      herself, it was found that her finely strung mind had given way, and she
+      lapsed into a condition of imbecility. But her imbecility was not always
+      passive. Occasionally fits of passionate terror would seize upon her. She
+      would cry out that the fiends were coming to drag her down to torment, and
+      dash herself against the wall, in fear hideous to behold. Then it was
+      found that there was but one way to calm her: it was to send for Beatrice.
+      Beatrice would come and take the poor thin hands in hers and gaze with her
+      calm deep eyes upon the wasted horror-stricken face till the child grew
+      quiet again and, shivering, sobbed herself to sleep upon her breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so it was with all the children; her power over them was almost
+      absolute. They loved her, and she loved them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice&rsquo;s
+      custom to make the children sing some simple song before they broke up.
+      She stood in front of them and gave the time while they sung, and a pretty
+      sight it was to see her do it. On this particular afternoon, just as the
+      first verse was finished, the door of the room opened, and Owen Davies
+      entered, bearing some books under his arm. Beatrice glanced round and saw
+      him, then, with a quick stamp of her foot, went on giving the time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The children sung lustily, and in front of them stood Beatrice, dressed in
+      simple white, her graceful form swaying as she marked the music&rsquo;s time.
+      Nearer and nearer drew Owen Davies, till at length he stood quite close,
+      his lips slightly apart, his eyes fixed upon her like the eyes of one who
+      dreams, and his slow heavy face faintly lit with the glow of strong
+      emotion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The song ended, the children at a word from their mistress filed past her,
+      headed by the pupil teachers, and then with a shout, seizing their caps,
+      ran forth this way and that, welcoming the free air. When they were all
+      gone, and not till then, Beatrice turned suddenly round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Davies?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started visibly. &ldquo;I did not know that you had seen me,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I saw you, Mr. Davies, only I could not stop the song to say how
+      do you do. By the way, I have to thank you for coming to inquire after
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all; it was a most dreadful accident. I
+      cannot tell you how thankful I am&mdash;I can&rsquo;t, indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very good of you to take so much interest in me,&rdquo; said Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all. Who&mdash;who could help taking
+      interest in you? I have brought you some books&mdash;the Life of Darwin&mdash;it
+      is in two volumes. I think that I have heard you say that Darwin interests
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, thank you very much. Have you read it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but I have cut it. Darwin doesn&rsquo;t interest me, you know. I think that
+      he was a rather misguided person. May I carry the books home for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, but I am not going straight home; I am going to old Edward&rsquo;s
+      shed to see my canoe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As a matter of fact this was true, but the idea was only that moment born
+      in her mind. Beatrice had been going home, as she wanted to see that all
+      things were duly prepared for Geoffrey and his little daughter. But to
+      reach the Vicarage she must pass along the cliff, where there were few
+      people, and this she did not wish to do. To be frank, she feared lest Mr.
+      Davies should take the opportunity to make that offer of his hand and
+      heart which hung over her like a nightmare. Now the way to Edward&rsquo;s shed
+      lay through the village and down the cliff, and she knew that he would
+      never propose in the village.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was very foolish of her, no doubt, thus to seek to postpone the evil
+      day, but the strongest-minded women have their weak points, and this was
+      one of Beatrice&rsquo;s. She hated the idea of this scene. She knew that when it
+      did come there would be a scene. Not that her resolution to refuse the man
+      had ever faltered. But it would be painful, and in the end it must reach
+      the ears of her father and Elizabeth that she had actually rejected Mr.
+      Owen Davies, and then what would her life be worth? She had never
+      suspected it, it had never entered into her mind to suspect, that, though
+      her father might be vexed enough, nothing on this earth would more delight
+      the heart of Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently, having fetched her hat, Beatrice, accompanied by her admirer,
+      bearing the Life of Darwin under his arm, started to walk down to the
+      beach. They went in silence, Beatrice just a little ahead. She ventured
+      some remark about the weather, but Owen Davies made no reply; he was
+      thinking, he wanted to say something, but he did not know how to say it.
+      They were at the head of the cliff now, and if he wished to speak he must
+      do so quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; he said in a somewhat constrained voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mr. Davies&mdash;oh, look at that seagull; it nearly knocked my hat
+      off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he was not to be put off with the seagull. &ldquo;Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; he said
+      again, &ldquo;are you going out walking next Sunday afternoon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But if it does not rain&mdash;please tell me. You generally do walk on
+      the beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you
+      will allow me, I do indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was unendurable;
+      it would be better to get it over. Turning round so suddenly that Owen
+      started, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the Amphitheatre
+      opposite the Red Rocks, at four o&rsquo;clock on Sunday afternoon, but I had
+      much rather that you did not come. I can say no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall come,&rdquo; he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to the
+      boat-shed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, look, daddy,&rdquo; said Effie, &ldquo;here comes the lady who was drownded with
+      you and a gentleman,&rdquo; and to Beatrice&rsquo;s great relief the child ran forward
+      and met them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; thought Geoffrey to himself, &ldquo;that is the man Honoria said she was
+      engaged to. Well, I don&rsquo;t think very much of her taste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute they had arrived. Geoffrey shook hands with Beatrice,
+      and was introduced to Owen Davies, who murmured something in reply, and
+      promptly took his departure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They examined the canoe together, and then walked slowly up to the
+      Vicarage, Beatrice holding Effie by the hand. Opposite the reef they
+      halted for a minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is the Table Rock on which we were thrown, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said
+      Beatrice, &ldquo;and here is where they carried us ashore. The sea does not look
+      as though it would drown any one to-night, does it? See!&rdquo;&mdash;and she
+      threw a stone into it&mdash;&ldquo;the ripples run as evenly as they do on a
+      pond.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She spoke idly and Geoffrey answered her idly, for they were not thinking
+      of their words. Rather were they thinking of the strange chance that had
+      brought them together in an hour of deadly peril and now left them
+      together in an hour of peace. Perhaps, too, they were wondering to what
+      end this had come about. For, agnostics, atheists or believers, are we
+      not, most of us, fatalists at heart?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE WRITING ON THE SAND
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey found himself very comfortable at the Vicarage, and as for Effie,
+      she positively revelled in it. Beatrice looked after her, taking her to
+      bed at night and helping her to dress in the morning, and Beatrice was a
+      great improvement upon Anne. When Geoffrey became aware of this he
+      remonstrated, saying that he had never expected her to act as nurse to the
+      child, but she replied that it was a pleasure to her to do so, which was
+      the truth. In other ways, too, the place was all that he desired. He did
+      not like Elizabeth, but then he did not see very much of her, and the old
+      farmer clergyman was amusing in his way, with his endless talk of tithes
+      and crops, and the iniquities of the rebellious Jones, on whom he was
+      going to distrain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first day or two Geoffrey had no more conversations with Beatrice.
+      Most of the time she was away at the school, and on the Saturday
+      afternoon, when she was free, he went out to the Red Rocks curlew
+      shooting. At first he thought of asking her to come too, but then it
+      occurred to him that she might wish to go out with Mr. Davies, to whom he
+      still supposed she was engaged. It was no affair of his, yet he was glad
+      when he came back to find that she had been out with Effie, and not with
+      Mr. Davies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Sunday morning they all went to church, including Beatrice. It was a
+      bare little church, and the congregation was small. Mr. Granger went
+      through the service with about as much liveliness as a horse driving a
+      machine. He ground it out, prayers, psalms, litany, lessons, all in the
+      same depressing way, till Geoffrey felt inclined to go to sleep, and then
+      took to watching Beatrice&rsquo;s sweet face instead. He wondered what made her
+      look so sad. Hers was always a sad face when in repose, that he knew, but
+      to-day it was particularly so, and what was more, she looked worried as
+      well as sad. Once or twice he saw her glance at Mr. Davies, who was
+      sitting opposite, the solitary occupant of an enormous pew, and he thought
+      that there was apprehension in her look. But Mr. Davies did not return the
+      glance. To judge from his appearance nothing was troubling his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, Geoffrey studying him in the same way that he instinctively
+      studied everybody whom he met, thought that he had never before seen a man
+      who looked quite so ox-like and absolutely comfortable. And yet he never
+      was more completely at fault. The man seemed stolid and cold indeed, but
+      it was the coldness of a volcano. His heart was a-fire. All the human
+      forces in him, all the energies of his sturdy life, had concentrated
+      themselves in a single passion for the woman who was so near and yet so
+      far from him. He had never drawn upon the store, had never frittered his
+      heart away. This woman, strange and unusual as it may seem, was absolutely
+      the first whose glance or voice had ever stirred his blood. His passion
+      for her had grown slowly; for years it had been growing, ever since the
+      grey-eyed girl on the brink of womanhood had conducted him to his castle
+      home. It was no fancy, no light desire to pass with the year which brought
+      it. Owen had little imagination, that soil from which loves spring with
+      the rank swiftness of a tropic bloom to fade at the first chill breath of
+      change. His passion was an unalterable fact. It was rooted like an oak on
+      our stiff English soil, its fibres wrapped his heart and shot his being
+      through, and if so strong a gale should rise that it must fall, then he
+      too would be overthrown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For years now he had thought of little else than Beatrice. To win her he
+      would have given all his wealth, ay, thrice over, if that were possible.
+      To win her, to know her his by right and his alone, ah, that would be
+      heaven! His blood quivered and his mind grew dim when he thought of it.
+      What would it be to see her standing by him as she stood now, and know
+      that she was his wife! There is no form of passion more terrible than
+      this. Its very earthiness makes it awful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The service went on. At last Mr. Granger mounted the pulpit and began to
+      read his sermon, of which the text was, &ldquo;But the greatest of these is
+      charity.&rdquo; Geoffrey noticed that he bungled over some of the words, then
+      suddenly remembered Beatrice had told him that she had written the sermon,
+      and was all attention. He was not disappointed. Notwithstanding Mr.
+      Granger&rsquo;s infamous reading, and his habit of dropping his voice at the end
+      of a sentence, instead of raising it, the beauty of the thoughts and
+      diction was very evident. It was indeed a discourse that might equally
+      well have been delivered in a Mahomedan or a Buddhist place of worship;
+      there was nothing distinctively Christian about it, it merely appealed to
+      the good in human nature. But of this neither the preacher nor his
+      audience seemed to be aware, indeed, few of the latter were listening at
+      all. The sermon was short and ended with a passage of real power and
+      beauty&mdash;or rather it did not end, for, closing the MS. sheets, Mr.
+      Granger followed on with a few impromptu remarks of his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now, brethren,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have been preaching to you about charity,
+      but I wish to add one remark, Charity begins at home. There is about a
+      hundred pounds of tithe owing to me, and some of it has been owing for two
+      years and more. If that tithe is not paid I shall have to put distraint on
+      some of you, and I thought that I had better take this opportunity to tell
+      you so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he gave the Benediction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The contrast between this business-like speech, and the beautiful periods
+      which had gone before, was so ridiculous that Geoffrey very nearly burst
+      out laughing, and Beatrice smiled. So did the rest of the congregation,
+      excepting one or two who owed tithe, and Owen Davies, who was thinking of
+      other things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they went through the churchyard, Geoffrey noticed something. Beatrice
+      was a few paces ahead holding Effie&rsquo;s hand. Presently Mr. Davies passed
+      him, apparently without seeing him, and greeted Beatrice, who bowed
+      slightly in acknowledgment. He walked a little way without speaking, then
+      Geoffrey, just as they reached the church gate, heard him say, &ldquo;At four
+      this afternoon, then.&rdquo; Again she bowed her head, and he turned and went.
+      As for Geoffrey, he wondered what it all meant: was she engaged to him, or
+      was she not?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dinner was a somewhat silent meal. Mr. Granger was thinking about his
+      tithe, also about a sick cow. Elizabeth&rsquo;s thoughts pursued some dark and
+      devious course of their own, not an altogether agreeable one to judge from
+      her face. Beatrice looked pale and worried; even Effie&rsquo;s sallies did not
+      do more than make her smile. As for Geoffrey himself, he was engaged in
+      wondering in an idle sort of way what was going to happen at four o&rsquo;clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You is all very dull,&rdquo; said Effie at last, with a charming disregard of
+      grammar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;People ought to be dull on Sunday, Effie,&rdquo; answered Beatrice, with an
+      effort. &ldquo;At least, I suppose so,&rdquo; she added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth, who was aggressively religious, frowned at this remark. She
+      knew her sister did not mean it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do this afternoon, Beatrice?&rdquo; she asked suddenly.
+      She had seen Owen Davies go up and speak to her sister, and though she had
+      not been near enough to catch the words, scented an assignation from afar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice coloured slightly, a fact that escaped neither her sister nor
+      Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to see Jane Llewellyn,&rdquo; she answered. Jane Llewellyn was the
+      crazy little girl whose tale has been told. Up to that moment Beatrice had
+      no idea of going to see her, but she knew that Elizabeth would not follow
+      her there, because the child could not endure Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I thought that perhaps you were going out walking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may walk afterwards,&rdquo; answered Beatrice shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So there is an assignation,&rdquo; thought Elizabeth, and a cold gleam of
+      intelligence passed across her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after dinner, Beatrice put on her bonnet and went out. Ten minutes
+      passed, and Elizabeth did the same. Then Mr. Granger announced that he was
+      going up to the farm (there was no service till six) to see about the sick
+      cow, and asked Geoffrey if he would like to accompany him. He said that he
+      might as well, if Effie could come, and, having lit his pipe, they
+      started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Beatrice went to see the crazy child. She was not violent
+      to-day, and scarcely knew her. Before she had been in the house ten
+      minutes, the situation developed itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cottage stood about two-thirds of the way down a straggling street,
+      which was quite empty, for Bryngelly slept after dinner on Sunday. At the
+      top of this street appeared Elizabeth, a Bible in her hand, as though on
+      district visiting intent. She looked down the street, and seeing nobody,
+      went for a little walk, then, returning, once more looked down the street.
+      This time she was rewarded. The door of the Llewellyns&rsquo; cottage opened,
+      and Beatrice appeared. Instantly Elizabeth withdrew to such a position
+      that she could see without being seen, and, standing as though irresolute,
+      awaited events. Beatrice turned and took the road that led to the beach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Elizabeth&rsquo;s irresolution disappeared. She also turned and took the
+      road to the cliff, walking very fast. Passing behind the Vicarage, she
+      gained a point where the beach narrowed to a width of not more than fifty
+      yards, and sat down. Presently she saw a man coming along the sand beneath
+      her, walking quickly. It was Owen Davies. She waited and watched. Seven or
+      eight minutes passed, and a woman in a white dress passed. It was
+      Beatrice, walking slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Elizabeth, setting her teeth, &ldquo;as I thought.&rdquo; Rising, she
+      pursued her path along the cliff, keeping three or four hundred yards
+      ahead, which she could easily do by taking short cuts. It was a long walk,
+      and Elizabeth, who was not fond of walking, got very tired of it. But she
+      was a woman with a purpose, and as such, hard to beat. So she kept on
+      steadily for nearly an hour, till, at length, she came to the spot known
+      as the Amphitheatre. This Amphitheatre, situated almost opposite the Red
+      Rocks, was a half-ring of cliff, the sides of which ran in a semicircle
+      almost down to the water&rsquo;s edge, that is, at high tide. In the centre of
+      the segment thus formed was a large flat stone, so placed that anybody in
+      certain positions on the cliff above could command a view of it, though it
+      was screened by the projecting walls of rock from observation from the
+      beach. Elizabeth clambered a little way down the sloping side of the cliff
+      and looked; on the stone, his back towards her, sat Owen Davies. Slipping
+      from stratum to stratum of the broken cliff, Elizabeth drew slowly nearer,
+      till at length she was within fifty paces of the seated man. Here,
+      ensconcing herself behind a cleft rock, she also sat down; it was not safe
+      to go closer; but in case she should by any chance be observed from above,
+      she opened the Bible on her knee, as though she had sought this quiet spot
+      to study its pages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three or four minutes passed, and Beatrice appeared round the projecting
+      angle of the Amphitheatre, and walked slowly across the level sand. Owen
+      Davies rose and stretched out his hand to welcome her, but she did not
+      take it, she only bowed, and then seated herself upon the large flat
+      stone. Owen also seated himself on it, but some three or four feet away.
+      Elizabeth thrust her white face forward till it was almost level with the
+      lips of the cleft rock and strained her ears to listen. Alas! she could
+      not hear a single word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You asked me to come here, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; said Beatrice, breaking the
+      painful silence. &ldquo;I have come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;I asked you to come because I wanted to speak to
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; said Beatrice, looking up from her occupation of digging little
+      holes in the sand with the point of her parasol. Her face was calm enough,
+      but her heart beat fast beneath her breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to ask you,&rdquo; he said, speaking slowly and thickly, &ldquo;if you will be
+      my wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only paused
+      because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again, and went on
+      digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole case, as a lawyer
+      would say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to ask you,&rdquo; he repeated, &ldquo;to be my wife. I have wished to do so
+      for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it. It is a
+      great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not answer me yet,&rdquo;
+       he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke. &ldquo;Listen to what I have
+      to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my life. At sea I was lonely,
+      and since I have come into this fortune I have been lonelier still. I
+      never loved anybody or anything till I began to love you. And then I loved
+      you more and more and more; till now I have only one thought in all my
+      life, and that thought is of you. While I am awake I think of you, and
+      when I am asleep I dream of you. Listen, Beatrice, listen!&mdash;I have
+      never loved any other woman, I have scarcely spoken to one&mdash;only you,
+      Beatrice. I can give you a great deal; and everything I have shall be
+      yours, only I should be jealous of you&mdash;yes, very jealous!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as death,
+      and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by contrast
+      looked almost unholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; Beatrice answered. &ldquo;I am
+      very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am not
+      your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and I think it
+      best to tell you so plainly, once and for all,&rdquo; and unconsciously she went
+      on digging the holes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, do not say that,&rdquo; he answered, almost in a moan. &ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake
+      don&rsquo;t say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go mad.
+      Marry me and you will learn to love me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart. She
+      did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that she was
+      doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man loved her and
+      was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women are willing enough
+      to give under circumstances so favourable to their well-being&mdash;herself.
+      But she never liked him, he had always repelled her, and she was not a
+      woman to marry a man whom she did not like. Also, during the last week
+      this dislike and repulsion had hardened and strengthened. Vaguely, as he
+      pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why, and as she did so her eye fell
+      upon the pattern she was automatically pricking in the sand. It had taken
+      the form of letters, and the letters were G E O F F R E&mdash;Great
+      heaven! Could that be the answer? She flushed crimson with shame at the
+      thought, and passed her foot across the tell-tale letters, as she
+      believed, obliterating them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and misinterpreted
+      them. Thinking that she was relenting, by instinct, rather than from any
+      teaching of experience, he attempted to take her hand. With a turn of the
+      arm, so quick that even Elizabeth watching with all her eyes saw nothing
+      of the movement, Beatrice twisted herself free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t touch me,&rdquo; she said sharply, &ldquo;you have no right to touch me. I have
+      answered you, Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen withdrew his hand abashed, and for a moment sat still, his chin
+      resting on his breast, a very picture of despair. Nothing indeed could
+      break the stolid calm of his features, but the violence of his emotion was
+      evident in the quick shivering of his limbs and his short deep breaths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you give me no hope?&rdquo; he said at last in a slow heavy voice. &ldquo;For
+      God&rsquo;s sake think before you answer&mdash;you don&rsquo;t know what it means to
+      me. It is nothing to you&mdash;you cannot feel. I feel, and your words cut
+      like a knife. I know that I am heavy and stupid, but I feel as though you
+      had killed me. You are heartless, quite heartless.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Beatrice softened a little. She was touched and flattered. Where is
+      the woman who would not have been?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can I say to you, Mr. Davies?&rdquo; she answered in a kinder voice. &ldquo;I
+      cannot marry you. How I can I marry you when I do not love you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Plenty of women marry men whom they do not love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then they are bad women,&rdquo; answered Beatrice with energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The world does not think so,&rdquo; he said again; &ldquo;the world calls those women
+      bad who love where they cannot marry, and the world is always right.
+      Marriage sanctifies everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice laughed bitterly. &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do not. I think
+      that marriage without love is the most unholy of our institutions, and
+      that is saying a good deal. Supposing I should say yes to you, supposing
+      that I married you, not loving you, what would it be for? For your money
+      and your position, and to be called a married woman, and what do you
+      suppose I should think of myself in my heart then? No, no, I may be bad,
+      but I have not fallen so low as that. Find another wife, Mr. Davies; the
+      world is wide and there are plenty of women in it who will love you for
+      your own sake, or who at any rate will not be so particular. Forget me,
+      and leave me to go my own way&mdash;it is not your way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave you to go your own way,&rdquo; he answered almost with passion&mdash;&ldquo;that
+      is, leave you to some other man. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. I am
+      jealous of every man who comes near you. Do you know how beautiful you
+      are? You are too beautiful&mdash;every man must love you as I do. Oh, if
+      you took anybody else I think that I should kill him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not speak like that, Mr. Davies, or I shall go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped at once. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go,&rdquo; he said imploringly. &ldquo;Listen. You said
+      that you would not marry me because you did not love me. Supposing that
+      you learned to love me, say in a year&rsquo;s time, Beatrice, would you marry me
+      then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would marry any man whom I loved,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then if you learn to love me you will marry me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, this is ridiculous,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It is not probable, it is hardly
+      possible, that such a thing should happen. If it had been going to happen
+      it would have happened before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might come about,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;your heart might soften towards me.
+      Oh, say yes to this. It is a small request, it costs you nothing, and it
+      gives me hope, without which I cannot live. Say that I may ask you once
+      more, and that then if you love me you will marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice thought for a moment. Such a promise could do her no harm, and in
+      the course of six months or a year he might get used to the idea of living
+      without her. Also it would prevent a scene. It was weak of her, but she
+      dreaded the idea of her having refused Owen Davies coming to her father&rsquo;s
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you wish it, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;so be it. Only I ask you to
+      understand this, I am in no way tied to you. I give you no hope that my
+      answer, should you renew this offer a year hence or at any other time,
+      will differ from that I give you to-day. I do not think there is the
+      slightest probability of such a thing. Also, it must be understood that
+      you are not to speak to my father about this matter, or to trouble me in
+      any way. Do you consent?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I consent. You have me at your mercy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. And now, Mr. Davies, good-bye. No, do not walk back with me. I
+      had rather go by myself. But I want to say this: I am very sorry for what
+      has happened. I have not wished it to happen. I have never encouraged it,
+      and my hands are clean of it. But I am sorry, sorry beyond measure, and I
+      repeat what I said before&mdash;seek out some other woman and marry her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the cruellest thing of all the cruel things which you have said,&rdquo;
+       he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not mean it to be cruel, Mr. Davies, but I suppose that the truth
+      often is. And now good-bye,&rdquo; and Beatrice stretched out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He touched it, and she turned and went. But Owen did not go. He sat upon
+      the rock, his head bowed in misery. He had staked all his hopes upon this
+      woman. She was the one desirable thing to him, the one star in his
+      somewhat leaden sky, and now that star was eclipsed. Her words were
+      unequivocal, they gave but little hope. Beatrice was scarcely a woman to
+      turn round in six months or a year. On the contrary, there was a fixity
+      about her which frightened him. What could be the cause of it? How came it
+      that she should be so ready to reject him, and all he had to offer her?
+      After all, she was a girl in a small position. She could not be looking
+      forward to a better match. Nor would the prospect move her one way or
+      another. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps he had a rival, surely
+      that must be the cause. Some enemy had done this thing. But who?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment a woman&rsquo;s shadow fell athwart him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, have you come back?&rdquo; he cried, springing to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you mean Beatrice,&rdquo; answered a voice&mdash;it was Elizabeth&rsquo;s&mdash;&ldquo;she
+      went down to the beach ten minutes ago. I happened to be on the cliff, and
+      I saw her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Granger,&rdquo; he said faintly. &ldquo;I did not see who
+      it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth sat down upon the rock where her sister had sat, and, seeing the
+      little holes in the breach, began indolently to clear them of the sand
+      which Beatrice had swept over them with her foot. This was no difficult
+      matter, for the holes were deeply dug, and it was easy to trace their
+      position. Presently they were nearly all clear&mdash;that is, the letters
+      were legible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have had a talk with Beatrice, Mr. Davies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered apathetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth paused. Then she took her bull by the horns.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to marry Beatrice, Mr. Davies?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; he answered slowly and without surprise. It seemed natural
+      to him that his own central thought should be present in her mind. &ldquo;I love
+      her dearly, and want to marry her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She refused you, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth breathed more freely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I can ask her again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth frowned. What could this mean? It was not an absolute refusal.
+      Beatrice was playing some game of her own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did she put you off so, Mr. Davies? Do not think me inquisitive. I
+      only ask because I may be able to help you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know; you are very kind. Help me and I shall always be grateful to you.
+      I do not know&mdash;I almost think that there must be somebody else, only
+      I don&rsquo;t know who it can be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said Elizabeth, who had been gazing intently at the little holes in
+      the beach which she had now cleared of the sand. &ldquo;Of course that is
+      possible. She is a curious girl, Beatrice is. What are those letters, Mr.
+      Davies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at them idly. &ldquo;Something your sister was writing while I talked
+      to her. I remember seeing her do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;G E O F F R E&mdash;why, it must be meant for Geoffrey. Yes, of course it
+      is possible that there is somebody else, Mr. Davies. Geoffrey!&mdash;how
+      curious!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why is it curious, Miss Granger? Who is Geoffrey?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth laughed a disagreeable little laugh that somehow attracted
+      Owen&rsquo;s attention more than her words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know? It must be some friend of Beatrice&rsquo;s, and one of whom
+      she is thinking a great deal, or she would not write his name
+      unconsciously. The only Geoffrey that I know is Mr. Geoffrey Bingham, the
+      barrister, who is staying at the Vicarage, and whose life Beatrice saved.&rdquo;
+       She paused to watch her companion&rsquo;s face, and saw a new idea creep across
+      its stolidity. &ldquo;But of course,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;it cannot be Mr. Bingham
+      that she was thinking of, because you see he is married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Married?&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;yes, but he&rsquo;s a man for all that, and a very handsome
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I should call him handsome&mdash;a fine man,&rdquo; Elizabeth answered
+      critically; &ldquo;but, as Beatrice said the other day, the great charm about
+      him is his talk and power of mind. He is a very remarkable man, and the
+      world will hear of him before he has done. But, however, all this is
+      neither here nor there. Beatrice is a curious woman, and has strange
+      ideas, but I am sure that she would never carry on with a married man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he might carry on with her, Miss Elizabeth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed. &ldquo;Do you really think that a man like Mr. Bingham would try to
+      flirt with girls without encouragement? Men like that are as proud as
+      women, and prouder; the lady must always be a step ahead. But what is the
+      good of talking about such a thing? It is all nonsense. Beatrice must have
+      been thinking of some other Geoffrey&mdash;or it was an accident of
+      something. Why, Mr. Davies, if you for one moment really believed that
+      dear Beatrice could be guilty of such a shameless thing as to carry on a
+      flirtation with a married man, would you have asked her to marry you?
+      Would you still think of asking such a woman as she must be to become your
+      wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know; I suppose not,&rdquo; he said doubtfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You suppose not. I know you better than you know yourself. You would
+      rather never marry at all than take such a woman as she would be proved to
+      be. But it is no good talking such stuff. If you have a rival you may be
+      sure it is some unmarried man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen reflected in his heart that on the whole he would rather it was a
+      married one, since a married man, at any rate, could not legally take
+      possession of Beatrice. But Elizabeth&rsquo;s rigid morality alarmed him, and he
+      did not say so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know I feel a little upset, Miss Elizabeth,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I think
+      I will be going. By the way, I promised to say nothing of this to your
+      father. I hope that you will not do so, either.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most certainly not,&rdquo; said Elizabeth, and indeed it would be the last
+      thing she would wish to do. &ldquo;Well, good-bye, Mr. Davies. Do not be
+      downhearted; it will all come right in the end. You will always have me to
+      help you, remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, thank you,&rdquo; he said earnestly, and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth watched him round the wall of rock with a cold and ugly smile
+      set upon her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You fool,&rdquo; she thought, &ldquo;you fool! To tell <i>me</i> that you &lsquo;love her
+      dearly and want to marry her;&rsquo; you want to get that sweet face of hers, do
+      you? You never shall; I&rsquo;d spoil it first! Dear Beatrice, she is not
+      capable of carrying on a love affair with a married man&mdash;oh,
+      certainly not! Why, she&rsquo;s in love with him already, and he is more than
+      half in love with her. If she hadn&rsquo;t been, would she have put Owen off?
+      Not she. Give them time, and we shall see. They will ruin each other&mdash;they
+      <i>must</i> ruin each other; it won&rsquo;t be child&rsquo;s play when two people like
+      that fall in love. They will not stop at sighs, there is too much human
+      nature about them. It was a good idea to get him into the house. And to
+      see her go on with that child Effie, just as though she was its mother&mdash;it
+      makes me laugh. Ah, Beatrice, with all your wits you are a silly woman!
+      And one day, my dear girl, I shall have the pleasure of exposing you to
+      Owen; the idol will be unveiled, and there will be an end of your chances
+      with him, for he can&rsquo;t marry you after that. Then my turn will come. It is
+      a question of time&mdash;only a question of time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So brooded Elizabeth in her heart, madded with malicious envy and
+      passionate jealousy. She loved this man, Owen Davies, as much as she could
+      love anybody; at the least, she dearly loved the wealth and station of
+      which he was the visible centre, and she hated the sister whom he desired.
+      If she could only discredit that sister and show her to be guilty of
+      woman&rsquo;s worst crime, misplaced, unlegalised affection, surely, she
+      thought, Owen would reject her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was wrong. She did not know how entirely he desired to make Beatrice
+      his wife, or realise how forgiving a man can be who has such an end to
+      gain. It is of the women who already weary them and of their infidelity
+      that men are so ready to make examples, not of those who do not belong to
+      them, and whom they long for night and day. To these they can be very
+      merciful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      GEOFFREY LECTURES
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Beatrice was walking homewards with an uneasy mind. The trouble
+      was upon her. She had, it is true, succeeded in postponing it a little,
+      but she knew very well that it was only a postponement. Owen Davies was
+      not a man to be easily shaken off. She almost wished now that she had
+      crushed the idea once and for all. But then he would have gone to her
+      father, and there must have been a scene, and she was weak enough to
+      shrink from that, especially while Mr. Bingham was in the house. She could
+      well imagine the dismay, not to say the fury, of her money-loving old
+      father if he were to hear that she had refused&mdash;actually refused&mdash;Owen
+      Davies of Bryngelly Castle, and all his wealth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was Elizabeth to be reckoned with. Elizabeth would assuredly
+      make her life a burden to her. Beatrice little guessed that nothing would
+      suit her sister&rsquo;s book better. Oh, if only she could shake the dust of
+      Bryngelly off her feet! But that, too, was impossible. She was quite
+      without money. She might, it was true, succeed in getting another place as
+      mistress to a school in some distant part of England, were it not for an
+      insurmountable obstacle. Here she received a salary of seventy-five pounds
+      a year; of this she kept fifteen pounds, out of which slender sum she
+      contrived to dress herself; the rest she gave to her father. Now, as she
+      well knew, he could not keep his head above water without this assistance,
+      which, small as it was, made all the difference to their household between
+      poverty and actual want. If she went away, supposing even that she found
+      an equally well-paid post, she would require every farthing of the money
+      to support herself, there would be nothing left to send home. It was a
+      pitiable position; here was she, who had just refused a man worth
+      thousands a year, quite unable to get out of the way of his importunity
+      for the want of seventy-five pounds, paid quarterly. Well, the only thing
+      to do was to face it out and take her chance. On one point she was,
+      however, quite clear; she would <i>not</i> marry Owen Davies. She might be
+      a fool for her pains, but she would not do it. She respected herself too
+      much to marry a man she did not love; a man whom she positively disliked.
+      &ldquo;No, never!&rdquo; she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot upon the shingle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never what?&rdquo; said a voice, within two yards of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She started violently, and looked round. There, his back resting against a
+      rock, a pipe in his mouth, an open letter on his knee, and his hat drawn
+      down almost over his eyes, sat Geoffrey. He had left Effie to go home with
+      Mr. Granger, and climbing down a sloping place in the cliff, had strolled
+      along the beach. The letter on his knee was one from his wife. It was
+      short, and there was nothing particular in it. Effie&rsquo;s name was not even
+      mentioned. It was to see if he had not overlooked it that he was reading
+      the note through again. No, it merely related to Lady Honoria&rsquo;s safe
+      arrival, gave a list of the people staying at the Hall&mdash;a fast lot,
+      Geoffrey noticed, a certain Mr. Dunstan, whom he particularly disliked,
+      among them&mdash;and the number of brace of partridges which had been
+      killed on the previous day. Then came an assurance that Honoria was
+      enjoying herself immensely, and that the new French cook was &ldquo;simply
+      perfect;&rdquo; the letter ending &ldquo;with love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never what, Miss Granger?&rdquo; he said again, as he lazily folded up the
+      sheet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind, of course,&rdquo; she answered, recovering herself. &ldquo;How you
+      startled me, Mr. Bingham! I had no idea there was anybody on the beach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is quite free, is it not?&rdquo; he answered, getting up. &ldquo;I thought you
+      were going to trample me into the pebbles. It&rsquo;s almost alarming when one
+      is thinking about a Sunday nap to see a young lady striding along, then
+      suddenly stop, stamp her foot, and say, &lsquo;No, never!&rsquo; Luckily I knew that
+      you were about or I should really have been frightened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you know that I was about?&rdquo; Beatrice asked a little defiantly. It
+      was no business of his to observe her movements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In two ways. Look!&rdquo; he said, pointing to a patch of white sand. &ldquo;That, I
+      think, is your footprint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what of it?&rdquo; said Beatrice, with a little laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing in particular, except that it is your footprint,&rdquo; he answered.
+      &ldquo;Then I happened to meet old Edward, who was loafing along, and he
+      informed me that you and Mr. Davies had gone up the beach; there is his
+      footprint&mdash;Mr. Davies&rsquo;s, I mean&mdash;but you don&rsquo;t seem to have been
+      very sociable, because here is yours right in the middle of it. Therefore
+      you must have been walking in Indian file, and a little way back in
+      parallel lines, with quite thirty yards between you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you take the trouble to observe things so closely?&rdquo; she asked in a
+      half amused and half angry tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;a habit of the legal mind, I suppose. One might make
+      quite a romance out of those footprints on the sand, and the little
+      subsequent events. But you have not heard all my thrilling tale. Old
+      Edward also informed me that he saw your sister, Miss Elizabeth, going
+      along the cliff almost level with you, from which he concluded that you
+      had argued as to the shortest way to the Red Rocks and were putting the
+      matter to the proof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Elizabeth,&rdquo; said Beatrice, turning a shade paler; &ldquo;what can she have been
+      doing, I wonder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Taking exercise, probably, like yourself. Well, I seat myself with my
+      pipe in the shadow of that rock, when suddenly I see Mr. Davies coming
+      along towards Bryngelly as though he were walking for a wager, his hat
+      fixed upon the back of his head. Literally he walked over my legs and
+      never saw me. Then you follow and ejaculate, &lsquo;No, never!&rsquo;&mdash;and that
+      is the end of my story. Have I your permission to walk with you, or shall
+      I interfere with the development of the plot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no plot, and as you said just now the beach is free,&rdquo; Beatrice
+      answered petulantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They walked on a few yards and then he spoke in another tone&mdash;the
+      meaning of the assignation he had overheard in the churchyard grew clear
+      to him now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe that I have to congratulate you, Miss Granger,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and I
+      do so very heartily. It is not everybody who is so fortunate as to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice stopped, and half turning faced him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What <i>do</i> you mean, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do not understand
+      your dark sayings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mean! oh, nothing particular, except that I wished to congratulate you on
+      your engagement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My engagement! what engagement?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seems that there is some mistake,&rdquo; he said, and struggle as he might
+      to suppress it his tone was one of relief. &ldquo;I understood that you had
+      become engaged to be married to Mr. Owen Davies. If I am wrong I am sure I
+      apologise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite wrong, Mr. Bingham; I don&rsquo;t know who put such a notion into
+      your head, but there is no truth in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then allow me to congratulate you on there being no truth in it. You see
+      that is the beauty of nine affairs matrimonial out of ten&mdash;there are
+      two or more sides of them. If they come off the amiable and disinterested
+      observer can look at the bright side&mdash;as in this case, lots of money,
+      romantic castle by the sea, gentleman of unexceptional antecedents, &amp;c.,
+      &amp;c, &amp;c. If, on the other hand, they don&rsquo;t, cause can still be
+      found for thankfulness&mdash;lady might do better after all, castle by the
+      sea rather draughty and cold in spring, gentlemen most estimable but
+      perhaps a little dull, and so on, you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a note of mockery about his talk which irritated Beatrice
+      exceedingly. It was not like Mr. Bingham to speak so. It was not even the
+      way that a gentleman out of his teens should speak to a lady on such a
+      subject. He knew this as well as she did and was secretly ashamed of
+      himself. But the truth must out: though Geoffrey did not admit it even to
+      himself he was bitterly and profoundly jealous, and jealous people have no
+      manners. Beatrice could not, however, be expected to know this, and
+      naturally grew angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she
+      said, putting on her most dignified air, and Beatrice could look rather
+      alarming. &ldquo;You have picked up a piece of unfounded gossip and now you take
+      advantage of it to laugh at me, and to say rude things of Mr. Davies. It
+      is not kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no; it was the footsteps, Miss Granger, <i>and</i> the gossip, <i>and</i>
+      the appointment you made in the churchyard, that I unwillingly overheard,
+      not the gossip alone which led me into my mistake. Of course I have now to
+      apologise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Beatrice stamped her foot. She saw that he was still mocking her,
+      and felt that he did not believe her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; he went on, stung into unkindness by his biting but
+      unacknowledged jealousy, for she was right&mdash;on reflection he did not
+      quite believe what she said as to her not being engaged. &ldquo;How unfortunate
+      I am&mdash;I have said something to make you angry again. Why did you not
+      walk with Mr. Davies? I should then have remained guiltless of offence,
+      and you would have had a more agreeable companion. You want to quarrel
+      with me; what shall we quarrel about? There are many things on which we
+      are diametrically opposed; let us start one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was too much, for though his words were nothing the tone in which he
+      spoke gave them a sting. Beatrice, already disturbed in mind by the scene
+      through which she had passed, her breast already throbbing with a vague
+      trouble of which she did not know the meaning, for once in her life lost
+      control of herself and grew hysterical. Her grey eyes filled with tears,
+      the corners of her sweet mouth dropped, and she looked very much as though
+      she were going to burst out weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is most unkind of you,&rdquo; she said, with a half sob. &ldquo;If you knew how
+      much I have to put up with, you would not speak to me like that. I know
+      that you do not believe me; very well, I will tell you the truth. Yes,
+      though I have no business to do it, and you have no right&mdash;none at
+      all&mdash;to make me do it, I will tell you the truth, because I cannot
+      bear that you should not believe me. Mr. Davies did want me to marry him
+      and I refused him. I put him off for a while; I did this because I knew
+      that if I did not he would go to my father. It was cowardly, but my father
+      would make my life wretched&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and again she gave a
+      half-choked sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much has been said and written about the effect produced upon men by the
+      sight of a lady in, or on the border line of tears, and there is no doubt
+      that this effect is considerable. Man being in his right mind is deeply
+      moved by such a spectacle, also he is frightened because he dreads a
+      scene. Now most people would rather walk ten miles in their dress shoes
+      than have to deal with a young lady in hysterics, however modified.
+      Putting the peculiar circumstances of the case aside, Geoffrey was no
+      exception to this rule. It was all very well to cross spears with
+      Beatrice, who had quite an equal wit, and was very capable of retaliation,
+      but to see her surrender at discretion was altogether another thing.
+      Indeed he felt much ashamed of himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t&mdash;don&rsquo;t&mdash;be put out,&rdquo; he said. He did not like to
+      use the word &ldquo;cry.&rdquo; &ldquo;I was only laughing at you, but I ought not to have
+      spoken as I did. I did not wish to force your confidence, indeed I did
+      not. I never thought of such a thing. I am so sorry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His remorse was evidently genuine, and Beatrice felt somewhat appeased.
+      Perhaps it did not altogether grieve her to learn that she could make him
+      feel sorry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did not force my confidence,&rdquo; she said defiantly, quite forgetting
+      that a moment before she had reproached him for making her speak. &ldquo;I told
+      you because I did not choose that you should think I was not speaking the
+      truth&mdash;and now let us change the subject.&rdquo; She imposed no reserve on
+      him as to what she had revealed; she knew that there was no necessity to
+      do so. The secret would be between them&mdash;another dangerous link.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice recovered her composure and they walked slowly on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said presently, &ldquo;how can a woman earn her
+      living&mdash;I mean a girl like myself without any special qualifications?
+      Some of them get on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;that depends upon the girl. What sort of a living do
+      you mean? You are earning a living now, of a kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but sometimes, if only I could manage it, I think that I should like
+      to get away from here, and take another line, something bigger. I do not
+      suppose that I ever shall, but I like to think of it sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I only know of two things which a woman can turn to,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;the stage
+      and literature. Of course,&rdquo; he added hastily, &ldquo;the first is out of the
+      question in your case.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so is the other, I am afraid,&rdquo; she answered shaking her head, &ldquo;that
+      is if by literature you mean imaginative writing, and I suppose that is
+      the only way to get into notice. As I told you I lost my imagination&mdash;well,
+      to be frank, when I lost my faith. At one time I used to have plenty, as I
+      used to have plenty of faith, but the one went with the other, I do not
+      understand why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you? I think I do. A mind without religious sentiment is like a
+      star without atmosphere, brighter than other stars but not so soft to see.
+      Religion, poetry, music, imagination, and even some of the more exalted
+      forms of passion, flourish in the same soil, and are, I sometimes think,
+      different manifestations of the same thing. Do you know it is ridiculous
+      to hear you talk of having lost your faith, because I don&rsquo;t believe it. At
+      the worst it has gone to sleep, and will wake up again one day. Possibly
+      you may not accept some particular form of faith, but I tell you frankly
+      that to reject all religion simply because you cannot understand it, is
+      nothing but a form of atrocious spiritual vanity. Your mind is too big for
+      you, Miss Granger: it has run away with you, but you know it is tied by a
+      string&mdash;it cannot go far. And now perhaps you will be angry again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, indeed, why should I be angry? I daresay that you are quite right,
+      and I only hope that I may be able to believe again. I will tell you how I
+      lost belief. I had a little brother whom I loved more than anything else
+      in the world, indeed after my mother died he was the only thing I really
+      had to love, for I think that my father cares more for Elizabeth than he
+      does for me, she is so much the better at business matters, and Elizabeth
+      and I never quite got on. I daresay that the fault is mine, but the fact
+      remains&mdash;we are sisters but we are not intimate. Well, my brother
+      fell ill of a fever, and for a long time he lay between life and death,
+      and I prayed for him as I never prayed for anybody or anything before&mdash;yes,
+      I prayed that I might die instead of him. Then he passed through the
+      crisis and got better, and I thanked God, thinking that my prayers had
+      been answered; oh, how happy I was for those ten days! And then this
+      happened:&mdash;My brother got a chill, a relapse followed, and in three
+      days he was dead. The last words that he spoke to me were, &lsquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t let
+      me die, Bee!&rsquo;&mdash;he used to call me Bee&mdash;&lsquo;Please don&rsquo;t let me die,
+      dear Bee!&rsquo; But he died, died in my arms, and when it was over I rose from
+      his side feeling as though my heart was dead also. I prayed no more after
+      that. It seemed to me as though my prayers had been mocked at, as though
+      he had been given back to me for a little while in order that the blow
+      might be more crushing when it fell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a view?&rdquo;
+       said Geoffrey. &ldquo;Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read about the
+      early Christians?&mdash;how the lead would not boil the martyr, or the
+      lion would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the fire, and
+      how the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a great many
+      difficult doctrines without further delay. The Athanasian Creed was not
+      necessarily true because the fire would not light or the sword would not
+      cut, nor, excuse me, were all your old beliefs wrong because your prayer
+      was unanswered. It is an ancient story, that we cannot tell whether the
+      answering of our petitions will be good or ill for us. Of course I do not
+      know anything about such things, but it seems to me rash to suppose that
+      Providence is going to alter the working of its eternal laws merely to
+      suit the passing wishes of individuals&mdash;wishes, too, that in many
+      cases would bring unforeseen sorrows if fulfilled. Besides I daresay that
+      the poor child is happier dead than he would have been had he lived. It is
+      not an altogether pleasant world for most of us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mr. Bingham, I know, and I daresay that I should have got over the
+      shock in time, only after that I began to read. I read the histories of
+      the religions and compared them, and I read the works of those writers who
+      have risen up to attack them. I found, or I thought that I found, the same
+      springs of superstition in them all&mdash;superstitions arising from
+      elementary natural causes, and handed on with variations from race to
+      race, and time to time. In some I found the same story, only with a
+      slightly altered face, and I learned, moreover, that each faith denied the
+      other, and claimed truth for itself alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After that, too, I went to the college and there I fell in with a lady,
+      one of the mistresses, who was the cleverest woman that I ever knew, and
+      in her way a good woman, but one who believed that religion was the curse
+      of the world, and who spent all her spare time in attacking it in some
+      form or other. Poor thing, she is dead now. And so, you see, what between
+      these causes and the continual spectacle of human misery which to my mind
+      negatives the idea of a merciful and watching Power, at last it came to
+      pass that the only altar left in my temple is an altar to the &lsquo;Unknown
+      God.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey, like most men who have had to think on these matters, did not
+      care to talk about them much, especially to women. For one thing, he was
+      conscious of a tendency to speech less reverent than his thought. But he
+      had not entered Beatrice&rsquo;s church of Darkness, indeed he had turned his
+      back on it for ever, though, like most people, he had at different periods
+      of his past life tarried an hour in its porch. So he ventured on an
+      objection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am no theologian,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and I am not fond of discussion on such
+      matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to say. It is
+      no argument, to my mind at least, to point to the existence of evil and
+      unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a superior Mercy; for
+      what are men that such things should not be with them? Man, too, must own
+      some master. If he has doubts let him look up at the marshalling of the
+      starry heaven, and they will vanish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;I fear not. Kant said so, but before that Molière
+      had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry heavens no more
+      prove anything than does the running of the raindrops down the
+      window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I might accept the illustration,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey; &ldquo;one example of law
+      is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working of a
+      living Will, but of course that is only my way of looking at it, not
+      yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I am afraid,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;all this reasoning drawn from material
+      things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made <i>their</i>
+      religions, and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from the
+      Out to the In, from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be; if
+      Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak with a
+      spiritual voice, to be heard, not in the thunderstorm, but only in the
+      hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not demonstrate the
+      existence of a Redeemer; if anything, it tends to negative it, for the
+      power that creates is also the power which destroys. What does touch me,
+      however, is the thought of the multitude of the Dead. <i>That</i> is what
+      we care for, not for an Eternal Force, ever creating and destroying. Think
+      of them all&mdash;all the souls of unheard-of races, almost animal, who
+      passed away so long ago. Can ours endure more than theirs, and do you
+      think that the spirit of an Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is
+      anywhere now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was room for them all on earth,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey. &ldquo;The universe
+      is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our nature, the
+      nature we think we know&mdash;shall there be none in that which we know
+      not? Worlds die, to live again when, after millions of ages, the
+      conditions become once more favourable to life, and why should not a man?
+      We are creatures of the world, we reflect its every light and shadow, we
+      rejoice in its rejoicing, its every feature has a tiny parallel in us. Why
+      should not our fate be as its fate, and its fate is so far as we know
+      eternal. It may change from gas to chaos, from chaos to active life, from
+      active life to seeming death. Then it may once more pass into its
+      elements, and from those elements back again to concrete being, and so on
+      for ever, always changing, but always the same. So much for nature&rsquo;s
+      allegory. It is not a perfect analogy, for Man is a thing apart from all
+      things else; it may be only a hint or a type, but it is something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now to come to the question of our religion. I confess I draw quite a
+      different conclusion from your facts. You say that you trace the same
+      superstitions in all religions, and that the same spiritual myths are in
+      some shape present in almost all. Well, does not this suggest that the
+      same great <i>truth</i> underlies them all, taking from time to time the
+      shape which is best suited to the spiritual development of those
+      professing each. Every great new religion is better than the last. You
+      cannot compare Osirianism with Buddhism, or Buddhism with Christianity, or
+      Mahomedanism with the Arabian idol worship. Take the old illustration&mdash;take
+      a cut crystal and hold it in the sun, and you will see many different
+      coloured rays come from its facets. They look different, but they are all
+      born of the same great light; they are all the same light. May it not be
+      so with religion? Let your altar be to the &lsquo;Unknown God,&rsquo; if you like&mdash;for
+      who can give an unaltering likeness to the Power above us?&mdash;but do
+      not knock your altar down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Depend upon it, Miss Granger, all indications to the contrary
+      notwithstanding, there is a watching Providence without the will of which
+      we cannot live, and if we deliberately reject that Providence, setting up
+      our intelligence in its place, sorrow will come of it, even here; for it
+      is wiser than we. I wish that you would try and look at the question from
+      another point of view&mdash;from a higher point of view. I think you will
+      find that it will bear a great deal of examination, and that you will come
+      to the conclusion that the dictum of the wise-acre who says there is
+      nothing because he can see nothing, is not necessarily a true one. There,
+      that is all I have to say, and I wish that I could say it better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;I will. Why here we are at home; I must go
+      and put Effie to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And here it may be stated that Geoffrey&rsquo;s advice was not altogether thrown
+      away. Beatrice did try looking at the question again, and if Faith did not
+      altogether come back to her at least Hope did, and &ldquo;the greatest of these,
+      which is Charity,&rdquo; had never deserted her. Hope came slowly back, not by
+      argument probably, but rather by example. In the sea of Doubt she saw
+      another buoyed up, if it were but on broken pieces of the ship. This
+      encouraged her. Geoffrey believed, and she&mdash;believed in Geoffrey.
+      Indeed, is not this the secret of woman&rsquo;s philosophy&mdash;even, to some
+      extent, of that of such a woman as Beatrice? &ldquo;Let the faith or unfaith of
+      This, That, or the other Rabbi answer for me,&rdquo; she says&mdash;it is her
+      last argument. She believes in This, or That, or some other philosopher:
+      that is her creed. And Geoffrey was the person in whom Beatrice began to
+      believe, all the more wholly because she had never believed in any one
+      before. Whatever else she was to lose, this at least she won when she
+      saved his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      DRIFTING
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      On the day following their religious discussion an accident happened which
+      resulted in Geoffrey and Beatrice being more than ever thrown in the
+      company of each other. During the previous week two cases of scarlatina
+      had been reported among the school children, and now it was found that the
+      complaint had spread so much that it was necessary to close the school.
+      This meant, of course, that Beatrice had all her time upon her hands. And
+      so had Geoffrey. It was his custom to bathe before breakfast, after which
+      he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. Beatrice with little Effie
+      also bathed before breakfast from the ladies&rsquo; bathing-place, a quarter of
+      a mile off, and sometimes he would meet her as she returned, glowing with
+      health and beauty like Venus new risen from the Cyprian sea, her
+      half-dried hair hanging in heavy masses down her back. Then after
+      breakfast they would take Effie down to the beach, and her &ldquo;auntie,&rdquo; as
+      the child learned to call Beatrice, would teach her lessons and poetry
+      till she was tired, and ran away to paddle in the sea or look for prawns
+      among the rocks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the child&rsquo;s father and Beatrice would talk&mdash;not about
+      religion, they spoke no more on that subject, nor about Owen Davies, but
+      of everything else on earth. Beatrice was a merry woman when she was
+      happy, and they never lacked subjects of conversation, for their minds
+      were very much in tune. In book-learning Beatrice had the advantage of
+      Geoffrey, for she had not only read enormously, she also remembered what
+      she read and could apply it. Her critical faculty, too, was very keen. He,
+      on the other hand, had more knowledge of the world, and in his rich days
+      had travelled a good deal, and so it came to pass that each could always
+      find something to tell the other. Never for one second were they dull, not
+      even when they sat for an hour or so in silence, for it was the silence of
+      complete companionship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the long morning would wear away all too quickly, and they would go in
+      to dinner, to be greeted with a cold smile by Elizabeth and heartily
+      enough by the old gentleman, who never thought of anything out of his own
+      circle of affairs. After dinner it was the same story. Either they went
+      walking to look for ferns and flowers, or perhaps Geoffrey took his gun
+      and hid behind the rocks for curlew, sending Beatrice, who knew the coast
+      by heart, a mile round or more to some headland in order to put them on
+      the wing. Then she would come back, springing towards him from rock to
+      rock, and crouch down beneath a neighbouring seaweed-covered boulder, and
+      they would talk together in whispers, or perhaps they would not talk at
+      all, for fear lest they should frighten the flighting birds. And Geoffrey
+      would first search the heavens for curlew or duck, and, seeing none, would
+      let his eyes fall upon the pure beauty of Beatrice&rsquo;s face, showing so
+      clearly against the tender sky, and wonder what she was thinking about;
+      till, suddenly feeling his gaze, she would turn with a smile as sweet as
+      the first rosy blush of dawn upon the waters, and ask him what <i>he</i>
+      was thinking about. And he would laugh and answer &ldquo;You,&rdquo; whereon she would
+      smile again and perhaps blush a little, feeling glad at heart, she knew
+      not why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came tea-time and the quiet, when they sat at the open window, and
+      Geoffrey smoked and listened to the soft surging of the sea and the
+      harmonious whisper of the night air in the pines. In the corner Mr.
+      Granger slept in his armchair, or perhaps he had gone to bed altogether,
+      for he liked to go to bed at half-past eight, as the old Herefordshire
+      farmer, his father, had done before him; and at the far end of the room
+      sat Elizabeth, doing her accounts by the light of a solitary candle, or,
+      if they failed her, reading some book of a devotional and inspired
+      character. But over the edge of the book, or from the page of crabbed
+      accounts, her eyes would glance continually towards the handsome pair in
+      the window-place, and she would smile as she saw that it went well. Only
+      they never saw the glances or noted the smile. When Geoffrey looked that
+      way, which was not often, for Elizabeth&mdash;old Elizabeth, as he always
+      called her to himself&mdash;did not attract him, all he saw was her sharp
+      but capable-looking form bending over her work, and the light of the
+      candle gleaming on her straw-coloured hair and falling in gleaming white
+      patches on her hard knuckles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so the happy day would pass and bed-time come, and with it unbidden
+      dreams.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey thought no ill of all this, as of course he ought to have
+      thought. He was not the ravening lion of fiction&mdash;so rarely, if ever,
+      to be met with in real life&mdash;going about seeking whom he might
+      devour. He had absolutely no designs on Beatrice&rsquo;s affections, any more
+      than she had on his, and he had forgotten that first fell prescience of
+      evil to come. Once or twice, it is true, qualms of doubt did cross his
+      mind in the earlier days of their intimacy. But he put them by as absurd.
+      He was no believer in the tender helplessness of full-grown women, his
+      experience having been that they are amply capable&mdash;and, for the most
+      part, more than capable&mdash;of looking after themselves. It seemed to
+      him a thing ridiculous that such a person as Beatrice, who was competent
+      to form opinions and a judgment upon all the important questions of life,
+      should be treated as a child, and that he should remove himself from
+      Bryngelly lest her young affections should become entangled. He felt sure
+      that they would never be entrapped in any direction whatsoever without her
+      full consent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he ceased to think about the matter at all. Indeed, the mere idea of
+      such a thing involved a supposition that would only have been acceptable
+      to a conceited man&mdash;namely, that there was a possibility of this
+      young lady&rsquo;s falling in love with him. What right had he to suppose
+      anything of the sort? It was an impertinence. That there was another sort
+      of possibility&mdash;namely, of his becoming more attached to her than was
+      altogether desirable&mdash;did, however, occur to him once or twice. But
+      he shrugged his shoulders and put it by. After all, it was his look out,
+      and he did not much care. It would do her no harm at the worst. But very
+      soon all these shadowy forebodings of dawning trouble vanished quite. They
+      were lost in the broad, sweet lights of friendship. By-and-by, when
+      friendship&rsquo;s day was done, they might arise again, called by other names
+      and wearing a sterner face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was ridiculous&mdash;of course it was ridiculous; he was not going to
+      fall in love like a boy at his time of life; all he felt was gratitude and
+      interest&mdash;all she felt was amusement in his society. As for the
+      intimacy&mdash;felt rather than expressed&mdash;the intimacy that could
+      already almost enable the one to divine the other&rsquo;s thought, that could
+      shape her mood to his and his to hers, that could cause the same thing of
+      beauty to be a common joy, and discover unity of mind in opinions the most
+      opposite&mdash;why, it was only natural between people who had together
+      passed a peril terrible to think of. So they took the goods the gods
+      provided, and drifted softly on&mdash;whither they did not stop to
+      inquire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day, however, a little incident happened that ought to have opened the
+      eyes of both. They had arranged, or rather there was a tacit
+      understanding, that they should go out together in the afternoon. Geoffrey
+      was to take his gun and Beatrice a book, but it chanced that, just before
+      dinner, as she walked back from the village, where she had gone to buy
+      some thread to mend Effie&rsquo;s clothes, Beatrice came face to face with Mr.
+      Davies. It was their first meeting without witnesses since the Sunday of
+      which the events have been described, and, naturally, therefore, rather an
+      awkward one. Owen stopped short so that she could not pass him with a bow,
+      and then turned and walked beside her. After a remark or two about the
+      weather, the springs of conversation ran dry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You remember that you are coming up to the Castle this afternoon?&rdquo; he
+      said, at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Castle!&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;No, I have heard nothing of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did not your sister tell you she made an engagement for herself and you a
+      week or more ago? You are to bring the little girl; she wants to see the
+      view from the top of the tower.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice remembered. Elizabeth had told her, and she had thought it
+      best to accept the situation. The whole thing had gone out of her mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I beg your pardon! I do remember now, but I have made another plan&mdash;how
+      stupid of me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had forgotten,&rdquo; he said in his heavy voice; &ldquo;it is easy for you to
+      forget what I have been looking forward to for a whole week. What is your
+      plan&mdash;to go out walking with Mr. Bingham, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Beatrice, &ldquo;to go out with Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! you go out with Mr. Bingham every day now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if I do?&rdquo; said Beatrice quickly; &ldquo;surely, Mr. Davies, I have a
+      right to go out with whom I like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course; but the engagement to come to the Castle was made first;
+      are you not going to keep it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am going to keep it; I always keep my engagements when I have
+      any.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then; I shall expect you at three o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice went on home in a curiously irritated condition of mind. She did
+      not, naturally, want to go to the Castle, and she did want to go out with
+      Geoffrey. However, there was no help for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she came in to dinner she found that Geoffrey was not there. He had,
+      it seemed, gone to lunch with Dr. Chambers, whom he had met on the beach.
+      Before he returned they were all three starting for the Castle, Beatrice
+      leaving a message to this effect with Betty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      About a quarter of an hour afterwards, Geoffrey came back to fetch his gun
+      and Beatrice, but Beatrice was gone, and all that he could extract from
+      Betty was that she had gone to see Mr. Davies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was perfectly furious, though all the while he knew how unreasonable
+      was his anger. He had been looking forward to the expedition, and this
+      sudden change of plan was too much for his temper. Off he started,
+      however, to pass a thoroughly miserable afternoon. He seemed to miss
+      Beatrice more each step and gradually to grow more and more angry at what
+      he called her &ldquo;rudeness.&rdquo; Of course it never occurred to him that what he
+      was really angry at was her going to see Mr. Davies, or that, in truth,
+      her society had become so delightful to him that to be deprived of it even
+      for an afternoon was to be wretched. To top everything, he only got three
+      good shots that afternoon, and he missed them all, which made him crosser
+      than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Beatrice, she enjoyed herself just as little at the Castle as
+      Geoffrey did on the beach. Owen Davies took them through the great unused
+      rooms and showed them the pictures, but she had seen them before, and
+      though some of them were very fine, did not care to look at them again&mdash;at
+      any rate, not that afternoon. But Elizabeth gazed at them with eager eyes
+      and mentally appraised their value, wondering if they would ever be hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is this picture?&rdquo; she asked, pointing to a beautiful portrait of a
+      Dutch Burgomaster by Rembrandt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That,&rdquo; answered Davies heavily, for he knew nothing of painting and cared
+      less, &ldquo;that is a Velasquez, valued for probate at £3,000&mdash;no,&rdquo;
+       referring to the catalogue and reading, &ldquo;I beg your pardon, the next is
+      the Velasquez; that is a Rembrandt in the master&rsquo;s best style, showing all
+      his wonderful mastery over light and shade. It was valued for probate at
+      £4,000 guineas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Four thousand guineas!&rdquo; said Elizabeth, &ldquo;fancy having a thing worth four
+      thousand guineas hanging on a wall!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so they went on, Elizabeth asking questions and Owen answering them by
+      the help of the catalogue, till, to Beatrice&rsquo;s relief, they came at length
+      to the end of the pictures. Then they took some tea in the little sitting
+      room of the master of all this magnificence. Owen, to her great annoyance,
+      sat opposite to Beatrice, staring at her with all his eyes while she drank
+      her tea, with Effie sitting in her lap, and Elizabeth, observing it, bit
+      her lip in jealousy. She had thought it well to bring her sister here; it
+      would not do to let Mr. Davies think she was keeping Beatrice out of his
+      way, but his mute idol worship was trying to her feelings. After tea they
+      went to the top of the tower, and Effie rejoiced exceedingly in the view,
+      which was very beautiful. Here Owen got a word with Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your sister seems to be put out about something,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I daresay,&rdquo; she answered carelessly; &ldquo;Beatrice has an uncertain temper. I
+      think she wanted to go out shooting with Mr. Bingham this afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Had Owen been a less religious person he might have sworn; as it was, he
+      only said, &ldquo;Mr. Bingham&mdash;it is always Mr. Bingham from morning to
+      night! When is he going away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In another week, I believe. Beatrice will be sorry, I think; she makes a
+      great companion of him. And now I think that we must be getting home,&rdquo; and
+      she went, leaving this poisoned shaft to rankle in his breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After they had returned to the vicarage and Beatrice had heard Effie her
+      prayers and tucked her up in her small white bed, she went down to the
+      gate to be quiet for a little while before supper. Geoffrey had not yet
+      come in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a lovely autumn evening; the sea seemed to sleep, and the little
+      clouds, from which the sunset fires had paled, lay like wreaths of smoke
+      upon the infinite blue sky. Why had not Mr. Bingham come back, she
+      wondered; he would scarcely have time to dress. Supposing that an accident
+      had happened to him. Nonsense! what accident could happen? He was so big
+      and strong he seemed to defy accidents; and yet had it not been for her
+      there would be little enough left of his strength to-day. Ah! she was glad
+      that she had lived to be able to save him from death. There he came,
+      looming like a giant in the evening mist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a small hand-gate beside the large one on which she leant.
+      Geoffrey stalked straight up to it as though he did not see her; he saw
+      her well enough, but he was cross with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She allowed him to pass through the gate, which he shut slowly, perhaps to
+      give her an opportunity of speaking, if she wished to do so; then thinking
+      that he did not see her she spoke in her soft, musical voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you have good sport, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered shortly; &ldquo;I saw very little, and I missed all I saw.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am so sorry, except for the birds. I hate the birds to be killed. Did
+      you not see me in this white dress? I saw you fifty yards away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss Granger,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I saw you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you were going by without speaking to me; it was very rude of you&mdash;what
+      is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so rude as it was of you to arrange to walk out with me and then to
+      go and see Mr. Davies instead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could not help it, Mr. Bingham; it was an old engagement, which I had
+      forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so, ladies generally have an excuse for doing what they want to
+      do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is not an excuse, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; Beatrice answered, with dignity;
+      &ldquo;there is no need for me to make excuses to you about my movements.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not, Miss Granger; but it would be more polite to tell me when
+      you change your mind&mdash;next time, you know. However, I have no doubt
+      that the Castle has attractions for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She flashed one look at him and turned to go, and as she did so his heart
+      relented; he grew ashamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Granger, don&rsquo;t go; forgive me. I do not know what has become of my
+      manners, I spoke as I should not. The fact is, I was put out at your not
+      coming. To tell you the honest truth, I missed you dreadfully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You missed me. That is very nice of you; one likes to be missed. But, if
+      you missed me for one afternoon, how will you get on a week hence when you
+      go away and miss me altogether?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice spoke in a bantering tone, and laughed as she spoke, but the
+      laugh ended in something like a sigh. He looked at her for a moment,
+      looked till she dropped her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heaven only knows!&rdquo; he answered sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go in,&rdquo; said Beatrice, in a constrained voice; &ldquo;how chill the air
+      has turned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ONLY GOOD-NIGHT
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Five more days passed, all too quickly, and once more Monday came round.
+      It was the 22nd of October, and the Michaelmas Sittings began on the 24th.
+      On the morrow, Tuesday, Geoffrey was to return to London, there to meet
+      Lady Honoria and get to work at Chambers. That very morning, indeed, a
+      brief, the biggest he had yet received&mdash;it was marked thirty guineas&mdash;had
+      been forwarded to him from his chambers, with a note from his clerk to the
+      effect that the case was expected to be in the special jury list on the
+      first day of the sittings, and that the clerk had made an appointment for
+      him with the solicitors for 5.15 on the Tuesday. The brief was sent to him
+      by his uncle&rsquo;s firm, and marked, &ldquo;With you the Attorney-General, and Mr.
+      Candleton, Q.C.,&rdquo; the well-known leader of the Probate and Divorce Court
+      Bar. Never before had Geoffrey found himself in such honourable company,
+      that is on the back of a brief, and not a little was he elated thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when he came to look into the case his joy abated somewhat, for it was
+      one of the most perplexing that he had ever known. The will contested,
+      which was that of a Yorkshire money-lender, disposed of property to the
+      value of over £80,000, and was propounded by a niece of the testator who,
+      when he died, if not actually weak in his mind, was in his dotage, and
+      superstitious to the verge of insanity. The niece to whom all the property
+      was left&mdash;to the exclusion of the son and daughter of the deceased,
+      both married, and living away from home&mdash;stayed with the testator and
+      looked after him. Shortly before his death, however, he and this niece had
+      violently quarrelled on account of an intimacy which the latter had formed
+      with a married man of bad repute, who was a discharged lawyer&rsquo;s clerk. So
+      serious had been the quarrel that only three days before his death the
+      testator had sent for a lawyer and formally, by means of a codicil,
+      deprived the niece of a sum of £2,000 which he had left her, all the rest
+      of his property being divided between his son and daughter. Three days
+      afterwards, however, he duly executed a fresh will, in the presence of two
+      servants, by which he left all his property to the niece, to the entire
+      exclusion of his own children. This will, though very short, was in proper
+      form and was written by nobody knew whom. The servants stated that the
+      testator before signing it was perfectly acquainted with its contents, for
+      the niece had made him repeat them in their presence. They also declared,
+      however, that he seemed in a terrible fright, and said twice, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s behind
+      me; it&rsquo;s behind me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Within an hour of the signing of the will the testator was found dead,
+      apparently from the effects of fear, but the niece was not in the room at
+      the time of death. The only other remarkable circumstance in the case was
+      that the disreputable lover of the niece had been seen hanging about the
+      house at dusk, the testator having died at ten o&rsquo;clock at night. There was
+      also a further fact. The son, on receiving a message from the niece that
+      his father was seriously worse, had hurried with extraordinary speed to
+      the house, passing some one or something&mdash;he could not tell what&mdash;that
+      seemed to be running, apparently from the window of the sick man&rsquo;s room,
+      which was on the ground floor, and beneath which footmarks were afterwards
+      found. Of these footmarks two casts had been taken, of which photographs
+      were forwarded with the brief. They had been made by naked feet of small
+      size, and in each case the little joint of the third toe of the right foot
+      seemed to be missing. But all attempts to find the feet that made them had
+      hitherto failed. The will was contested by the next of kin, for whom
+      Geoffrey was one of the counsel, upon the usual grounds of undue influence
+      and fraud; but as it seemed at present with small prospect of success,
+      for, though the circumstances were superstitious enough, there was not the
+      slightest evidence of either. This curious case, of which the outlines are
+      here written, is briefly set out, because it proved to be the foundation
+      of Geoffrey&rsquo;s enormous practice and reputation at the Bar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He read the brief through twice, thought it over well, and could make
+      little of it. It was perfectly obvious to him that there had been foul
+      play somewhere, but he found himself quite unable to form a workable
+      hypothesis. Was the person who had been seen running away concerned in the
+      matter?&mdash;if it was a person. If so, was he the author of the
+      footprints? Of course the ex-lawyer&rsquo;s clerk had something to do with it,
+      but what? In vain did Geoffrey cudgel his brains; every idea that occurred
+      to him broke down somewhere or other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall lose this,&rdquo; he said aloud in despair; &ldquo;suspicious circumstances
+      are not enough to upset a will,&rdquo; and then, addressing Beatrice, who was
+      sitting at the table, working:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, Miss Granger, you have a smattering of law, see if you can make
+      anything of this,&rdquo; and he pushed the heavy brief towards her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice took it with a laugh, and for the next three-quarters of an hour
+      her fair brow was puckered up in a way quaint to see. At last she finished
+      and shut the brief up. &ldquo;Let me look at the photographs,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey handed them to her. She very carefully examined first one and
+      then the other, and as she did so a light of intelligence broke out upon
+      her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Portia, have you got it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have got something,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I do not know if it is right. Don&rsquo;t
+      you see, the old man was superstitious; they frightened him first of all
+      by a ghostly voice or some such thing into signing the will, and then to
+      death after he had signed it. The lawyer&rsquo;s clerk prepared the will&mdash;he
+      would know how to do it. Then he was smuggled into the room under the bed,
+      or somewhere, dressed up as a ghost perhaps. The sending for the son by
+      the niece was a blind. The thing that was seen running away was a boy&mdash;those
+      footprints were made by a boy. I have seen so many thousands on the sands
+      here that I could swear to it. He was attracted to the house from the
+      road, which was quite near, by catching sight of something unusual through
+      the blind; the brief says there were no curtains or shutters. Now look at
+      the photographs of the footprints. See in No. 1, found outside the window,
+      the toes are pressed down deeply into the mud. The owner of the feet was
+      standing on tip-toe to get a better view. But in No. 2, which was found
+      near where the son thought he saw a person running, the toes are spread
+      out quite wide. That is the footprint of some one who was in a great
+      hurry. Now it is not probable that a boy had anything to do with the
+      testator&rsquo;s death. Why, then, was the boy running so hard? I will tell you:
+      because he was frightened at something he had seen through the blind. So
+      frightened was he, that he will not come forward, or answer the
+      advertisements and inquiries. Find a boy in that town who has a joint
+      missing on the third toe of the right foot, and you will soon know all
+      about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By Jove,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;what a criminal lawyer you would make! I
+      believe that you have got it. But how are we to find this boy with the
+      missing toe-joint? Every possible inquiry has already been made and
+      failed. Nobody has seen such a boy, whose deficiency would probably be
+      known by his parents, or schoolfellows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;it has failed because the boy has taken to wearing
+      shoes, which indeed he would always have to do at school. His parents, if
+      he has any, would perhaps not speak of his disfigurement, and no one else
+      might know of it, especially if he were a new-comer in the neighbourhood.
+      It is quite possible that he took off his boots in order to creep up to
+      the window. And now I will tell you how I should set to work to find him.
+      I should have every bathing-place in the river running through the town&mdash;there
+      is a river&mdash;carefully watched by detectives. In this weather&rdquo; (the
+      autumn was an unusually warm one) &ldquo;boys of that class often paddle and
+      sometimes bathe. If they watch close enough, they will probably find a boy
+      with a missing toe joint among the number.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a good idea,&rdquo; said Geoffrey. &ldquo;I will telegraph to the lawyers at
+      once. I certainly believe that you have got the clue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And as it turned out afterwards Beatrice had got it; her suppositions were
+      right in almost every particular. The boy, who proved to be the son of a
+      pedlar who had recently come into the town, was found wading, and by a
+      clever trick, which need not be detailed, frightened into telling the
+      truth, as he had previously frightened himself into holding his tongue. He
+      had even, as Beatrice conjectured, taken off his boots to creep up to the
+      window, and as he ran away in his fright, had dropped them into a ditch
+      full of water. There they were found, and went far to convince the jury of
+      the truth of his story. Thus it was that Beatrice&rsquo;s quick wit laid the
+      foundations of Geoffrey&rsquo;s great success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This particular Monday was a field day at the Vicarage. Jones had proved
+      obdurate; no power on earth could induce him to pay the £34 11s. 4d. due
+      on account of tithe. Therefore Mr. Granger, fortified by a judgment duly
+      obtained, had announced his intention of distraining upon Jones&rsquo;s hay and
+      cattle. Jones had replied with insolent defiance. If any bailiff, or
+      auctioneer, or such people came to sell his hay he would kill him, or
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So said Jones, and summoned his supporters, many of whom owed tithe, and
+      none of whom wished to pay it, to do battle in his cause. For his part,
+      Mr. Granger retained an auctioneer of undoubted courage who was to arrive
+      on this very afternoon, supported by six policemen, and carry out the
+      sale. Beatrice felt nervous about the whole thing, but Elizabeth was very
+      determined, and the old clergyman was now bombastic and now despondent.
+      The auctioneer arrived duly by the one o&rsquo;clock train. He was a tall
+      able-bodied man, not unlike Geoffrey in appearance, indeed at twenty yards
+      distance it would have been difficult to tell them apart. The sale was
+      fixed for half-past two, and Mr. Johnson&mdash;that was the auctioneer&rsquo;s
+      name&mdash;went to the inn to get his dinner before proceeding to
+      business. He was informed of the hostile demonstration which awaited him,
+      and that an English member of Parliament had been sent down especially to
+      head the mob, but being a man of mettle pooh-poohed the whole affair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All bark, sir,&rdquo; he said to Geoffrey, &ldquo;all bark and no bite; I&rsquo;m not
+      afraid of these people. Why, if they won&rsquo;t bid for the stuff, I will buy
+      it in myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;but I advise you to look out. I fancy that
+      the old man is a rough customer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Geoffrey went back to his dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they sat at the meal, through a gap in the fir trees they saw that the
+      great majority of the population of Bryngelly was streaming up towards the
+      scene of the sale, some to agitate, and some to see the fun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is pretty well time to be off,&rdquo; said Geoffrey. &ldquo;Are you coming, Mr.
+      Granger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; answered the old gentleman, &ldquo;I wished to do so, but Elizabeth
+      thinks that I had better keep away. And after all, you know,&rdquo; he added
+      airily, &ldquo;perhaps it is as well for a clergyman not to mix himself up too
+      much in these temporal matters. No, I want to go and see about some pigs
+      at the other end of the parish, and I think that I shall take this
+      opportunity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not going, Mr. Bingham, are you?&rdquo; asked Beatrice in a voice which
+      betrayed her anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;of course I am. I would not miss the chance for
+      worlds. Why, Beecham Bones is going to be there, the member of Parliament
+      who has just done his four months for inciting to outrage. We are old
+      friends; I was at school with him. Poor fellow, he was mad even in those
+      days, and I want to chaff him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you had far better not go, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said Beatrice;
+      &ldquo;they are a very rough set.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody is not so cowardly as you are,&rdquo; put in Elizabeth. &ldquo;I am going
+      at any rate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right, Miss Elizabeth,&rdquo; said Geoffrey; &ldquo;we will protect each other
+      from the revolutionary fury of the mob. Come, it is time to start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so they went, leaving Beatrice a prey to melancholy forebodings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She waited in the house for the best part of an hour, making pretence to
+      play with Effie. Then her anxiety got the better of her; she put on her
+      hat and started, leaving Effie in charge of the servant Betty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice walked quickly along the cliff till she came in sight of Jones&rsquo;s
+      farm. From where she stood she could make out a great crowd of men, and
+      even, when the wind turned towards her, catch the noise of shouting.
+      Presently she heard a sound like the report of a gun, saw the crowd break
+      up in violent confusion, and then cluster together again in a dense mass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What could it mean?&rdquo; Beatrice wondered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the thought crossed her mind, she perceived two men running towards her
+      with all their speed, followed by a woman. Three minutes more and she saw
+      that the woman was Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men were passing her now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Murder!</i>&rdquo; they answered with one voice, and sped on towards
+      Bryngelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and Elizabeth was at hand, horror written on her pale face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice clutched at her. &ldquo;<i>Who</i> is it?&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; gasped her sister. &ldquo;Go and help; he&rsquo;s shot dead!&rdquo; And she
+      too was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth; the
+      solid earth spun round and round. &ldquo;Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey killed!&rdquo; she
+      cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear the sound of them,
+      no words came from her lips. &ldquo;Oh, what should she do? Where should she
+      hide herself in her grief?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone at
+      its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while still
+      the solid earth spun round and round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot
+      through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had only
+      said it to torment her.&rdquo; She rose. She flung herself upon her knees, there
+      by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many years&mdash;she prayed
+      with all her soul. &ldquo;Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him his life and me this
+      agony.&rdquo; In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith was thus re-born, and, as
+      all human beings must in their hour of mortal agony, Beatrice realised her
+      dependence on the Unseen. She rose, and weak with emotion sank back on to
+      the stone. The people were streaming past her now, talking excitedly.
+      Somebody came up to her and stood over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, Heaven, it was Geoffrey!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it you?&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;Elizabeth said that you were murdered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no. It was not I; it is that poor fellow Johnson, the auctioneer.
+      Jones shot him. I was standing next him. I suppose your sister thought
+      that I fell. He was not unlike me, poor fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice looked at him, went red, went white, then burst into a flood of
+      tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange pang seized upon his heart. It thrilled through him, shaking him
+      to the core. Why was this woman so deeply moved? Could it be&mdash;&mdash;?
+      Nonsense; he stifled the thought before it was born.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t cry,&rdquo; Geoffrey said, &ldquo;the people will see you, Beatrice&rdquo; (for the
+      first time he called her by her christian name); &ldquo;pray do not cry. It
+      distresses me. You are upset, and no wonder. That fellow Beecham Bones
+      ought to be hanged, and I told him so. It is his work, though he never
+      meant it to go so far. He&rsquo;s frightened enough now, I can tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice controlled herself with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What happened,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will tell you as we walk along. No, don&rsquo;t go
+      up to the farm. He is not a pleasant sight, poor fellow. When I got up
+      there, Beecham Bones was spouting away to the mob&mdash;his long hair
+      flying about his back&mdash;exciting them to resist laws made by brutal
+      thieving landlords, and all that kind of gibberish; telling them that they
+      would be supported by a great party in Parliament, &amp;c., &amp;c. The
+      people, however, took it all good-naturedly enough. They had a beautiful
+      effigy of your father swinging on a pole, with a placard on his breast, on
+      which was written, &lsquo;The robber of the widow and the orphan,&rsquo; and they were
+      singing Welsh songs. Only I saw Jones, who was more than half drunk,
+      cursing and swearing in Welsh and English. When the auctioneer began to
+      sell, Jones went into the house and Bones went with him. After enough had
+      been sold to pay the debt, and while the mob was still laughing and
+      shouting, suddenly the back door of the house opened and out rushed Jones,
+      now quite drunk, a gun in his hand and Bones hanging on to his coat-tails.
+      I was talking to the auctioneer at the moment, and my belief is that the
+      brute thought that I was Johnson. At any rate, before anything could be
+      done he lifted the gun and fired, at me, as I think. The charge, however,
+      passed my head and hit poor Johnson full in the face, killing him dead.
+      That is all the story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And quite enough, too,&rdquo; said Beatrice with a shudder. &ldquo;What times we live
+      in! I feel quite sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Supper that night was a very melancholy affair. Old Mr. Granger was
+      altogether thrown off his balance; and even Elizabeth&rsquo;s iron nerves were
+      shaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It could not be worse, it could not be worse,&rdquo; moaned the old man, rising
+      from the table and walking up and down the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, father,&rdquo; said Elizabeth the practical. &ldquo;He might have been shot
+      before he had sold the hay, and then you would not have got your tithe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey could not help smiling at this way of looking at things, from
+      which, however, Mr. Granger seemed to draw a little comfort. From
+      constantly thinking about it, and the daily pressure of necessity, money
+      had come to be more to the old man than anything else in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hardly was the meal done when three reporters arrived and took down
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s statement of what had occurred, for publication in various
+      papers, while Beatrice went away to see about packing Effie&rsquo;s things. They
+      were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on the
+      following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten, and in
+      his irritation of mind Mr. Granger insisted upon everybody going to bed.
+      Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him on his escape as
+      she did so, and went at once; but Beatrice lingered a little. At last she
+      came forward and held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night. I hope that this is not good-bye also,&rdquo; he added with some
+      anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; broke in Mr. Granger. &ldquo;Beatrice will go and see you off.
+      I can&rsquo;t; I have to go and meet the coroner about the inquest, and
+      Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they won&rsquo;t want you; there
+      were so many witnesses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it is only good-night,&rdquo; said Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went to her room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or
+      pretending to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but
+      rest she could not. It was &ldquo;only good-night,&rdquo; a last good-night. He was
+      going away&mdash;back to his wife, back to the great rushing world, and to
+      the life in which she had no share. Very soon he would forget her. Other
+      interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and he would
+      forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or remember her
+      only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it mean? Why was her
+      heart so sore? Why had she felt as though she should die when they told
+      her that he was dead?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the answer rose in her breast. She loved him; it was useless to deny
+      the truth&mdash;she loved him body, and heart and soul, with all her mind
+      and all her strength. She was his, and his alone&mdash;to-day, to-morrow,
+      and for ever. He might go from her sight, she might never, never see him
+      more, but love him she always must. And he was married!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, it was her misfortune; it could not affect the solemn truth. What
+      should she do now, how should she endure her life when her eyes no longer
+      saw his eyes, and her ears never heard his voice? She saw the future
+      stretch itself before her as a vision. She saw herself forgotten by this
+      man whom she loved, or from time to time remembered only with a faint
+      regret. She saw herself growing slowly old, her beauty fading yearly from
+      her face and form, companioned only by the love that grows not old. Oh, it
+      was bitter, bitter! and yet she would not have it otherwise. Even in her
+      pain she felt it better to have found this deep and ruinous joy, to have
+      wrestled with the Angel and been worsted, than never to have looked upon
+      his face. If she could only know that what she gave was given back again,
+      that he loved her as she loved him, she would be content. She was
+      innocent, she had never tried to draw him to her; she had used no touch or
+      look, no woman&rsquo;s arts or lures such as her beauty placed at her command.
+      There had been no word spoken, scarcely a meaning glance had passed
+      between them, nothing but frank and free companionship as of man with man.
+      She knew he did not love his wife and that his wife did not love him&mdash;this
+      she could <i>see</i>. But she had never tried to win him from her, and
+      though she sinned in thought, though her heart was guilty&mdash;oh, her
+      hands were clean!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her restlessness overcame her. She could no longer lie in bed. Elizabeth,
+      watching through her veil of sleep, saw Beatrice rise, put on a wrapper,
+      and, going to the window, throw it wide. At first she thought of
+      interfering, for Elizabeth was a prudent person and did not like draughts;
+      but her sister&rsquo;s movements excited her curiosity, and she refrained.
+      Beatrice sat down on the foot of her bed, and leaning her arm upon the
+      window-sill looked out upon the lovely quiet night. How dark the pine
+      trees massed against the sky; how soft was the whisper of the sea, and how
+      vast the heaven through which the stars sailed on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was it, then, this love of hers? Was it mere earthly passion? No, it
+      was more. It was something grander, purer, deeper, and quite undying.
+      Whence came it, then? If she was, as she had thought, only a child of
+      earth, whence came this deep desire which was not of the earth? Had she
+      been wrong, had she a soul&mdash;something that could love with the body
+      and through the body and beyond the body&mdash;something of which the body
+      with its yearnings was but the envelope, the hand or instrument? Oh, now
+      it seemed to Beatrice that this was so, and that called into being by her
+      love she and her soul stood face to face acknowledging their unity. Once
+      she had held that it was phantasy: that such spiritual hopes were but
+      exhalations from a heart unsatisfied; that when love escapes us on the
+      earth, in our despair, we swear it is immortal, and that we shall find it
+      in the heavens. Now Beatrice believed this no more. Love had kissed her on
+      the eyes, and at his kiss her sleeping spirit was awakened, and she saw a
+      vision of the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, she loved him, and must always love him! But she could never know on
+      earth that he was hers, and if she had a spirit to be freed after some few
+      years, would not his spirit have forgotten hers in that far hereafter of
+      their meeting?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped her brow upon her arm and softly sobbed. What was there left
+      for her to do except to sob&mdash;till her heart broke?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth, lying with wide-open ears, heard the sobs. Elizabeth, peering
+      through the moonlight, saw her sister&rsquo;s form tremble in the convulsion of
+      her sorrow, and smiled a smile of malice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The thing is done,&rdquo; she thought; &ldquo;she cries because the man is going.
+      Don&rsquo;t cry, Beatrice, don&rsquo;t cry! We will get your plaything back for you.
+      Oh, with such a bait it will be easy. He is as sweet on you as you on
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something evil, something almost devilish, in this scene of the
+      one watching woman holding a clue to and enjoying the secret tortures of
+      the other, plotting the while to turn them to her innocent rival&rsquo;s
+      destruction and her own advantage. Elizabeth&rsquo;s jealousy was indeed bitter
+      as the grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Beatrice ceased sobbing. She lifted her head, and by a sudden
+      impulse threw out the passion of her heart with all her concentrated
+      strength of mind towards the man she loved, murmuring as she did so some
+      passionate, despairing words which she knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment Geoffrey, sleeping soundly, dreamed that he saw Beatrice
+      seated by her window and looking at him with eyes which no earthly
+      obstacle could blind. She was speaking; her lips moved, but though he
+      could hear no voice the words she spoke floated into his mind&mdash;
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Be a god and hold me
+        With a charm!
+     Be a man and fold me
+        With thine arm.
+
+     Teach me, only teach, Love!
+        As I ought
+     I will speak thy speech, Love,
+        Think thy thought&mdash;
+
+     Meet, if thou require it,
+        Both demands,
+     Laying flesh and spirit
+        In thy hands.
+
+     That shall be to-morrow
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.
+
+     Must a little weep, Love,
+        (Foolish me!)
+     And so fall asleep, Love,
+        Loved by thee.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey heard them in his heart. Then they were gone, the vision of
+      Beatrice was gone, and suddenly he awoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, what was this flood of inarticulate, passion-laden thought that beat
+      upon his brain telling of Beatrice? Wave after wave it came, utterly
+      overwhelming him, like the heavy breath of flowers stirred by a night wind&mdash;like
+      a message from another world. It was real; it was no dream, no fancy; she
+      was present with him though she was not there; her thought mingled with
+      his thought, her being beat upon his own. His heart throbbed, his limbs
+      trembled, he strove to understand and could not. But in the mystery of
+      that dread communion, the passion he had trodden down and refused
+      acknowledgment took life and form within him; it grew like the Indian&rsquo;s
+      magic tree, from seed to blade, from blade to bud, and from bud to bloom.
+      In that moment it became clear to him: he knew he loved her, and knowing
+      what such a love must mean, for him if not for her, Geoffrey sank back and
+      groaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Beatrice? Of a sudden she ceased speaking to herself; she felt her
+      thought flung back to her weighted with another&rsquo;s thought. She had broken
+      through the barriers of earth; the quick electric message of her heart had
+      found a path to him she loved and come back answered. But in what tongue
+      was that answer writ? Alas! she could not read it, any more than he could
+      read the message. At first she doubted; surely it was imagination. Then
+      she remembered it was absolutely proved that people dying could send a
+      vision of themselves to others far away; and if that could be, why not
+      this? No, it was truth, a solemn truth; she knew he felt her thought, she
+      knew that his life beat upon her life. Oh, here was mystery, and here was
+      hope, for if this could be, and it <i>was</i>, what might not be? If her
+      blind strength of human love could so overstep the boundaries of human
+      power, and, by the sheer might of its volition, mock the physical barriers
+      that hemmed her in, what had she to fear from distance, from separation,
+      ay, from death itself? She had grasped a clue which might one day, before
+      the seeming end or after&mdash;what did it matter?&mdash;lay strange
+      secrets open to her gaze. She had heard a whisper in an unknown tongue
+      that could still be learned, answering Life&rsquo;s agonizing cry with a song of
+      glory. If only he loved her, some day all would be well. Some day the
+      barriers would fall. Crumbling with the flesh, they would fall and set her
+      naked spirit free to seek its other self. And then, having found her love,
+      what more was there to seek? What other answer did she desire to all the
+      problems of her life than this of Unity attained at last&mdash;Unity
+      attained in Death!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if he did not love her, how could he answer her? Surely that message
+      could not pass except along the golden chord of love, which ever makes its
+      sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The troubled glory passed&mdash;it throbbed itself away; the spiritual
+      gusts of thought grew continually fainter, till, like the echoes of a
+      dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sank to
+      nothingness. Then wearied with an extreme of wild emotion Beatrice sought
+      her bed again and presently was lost in sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Geoffrey woke on the next morning, after a little reflection, he came
+      to the decision that he had experienced a very curious and moving dream,
+      consequent on the exciting events of the previous day, or on the pain of
+      his impending departure. He rose, packed his bag&mdash;everything else was
+      ready&mdash;and went in to breakfast. Beatrice did not appear till it was
+      half over. She looked very pale, and said that she had been packing
+      Effie&rsquo;s things. Geoffrey noticed that she barely touched his fingers when
+      he rose to shake hands with her, and that she studiously avoided his
+      glance. Then he began to wonder if she also had strangely dreamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next came the bustle of departure. Effie was despatched in the fly with
+      the luggage and Betty, the fat Welsh servant, to look after her. Beatrice
+      and Geoffrey were to walk to the station.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Time for you to be going, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger. &ldquo;There,
+      good-bye, good-bye! God bless you! Never had such charming lodgers before.
+      Hope you will come back again, I&rsquo;m sure. By the way, they are certain to
+      summon you as a witness at the trial of that villain Jones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye, Mr. Granger,&rdquo; Geoffrey answered; &ldquo;you must come and see me in
+      town. A change will do you good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, perhaps I may. I have not had a change for twenty-five years. Never
+      could afford it. Aren&rsquo;t you going to say good-bye to Elizabeth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye, Miss Granger,&rdquo; said Geoffrey politely. &ldquo;Many thanks for all
+      your kindness. I hope we shall meet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo; answered Elizabeth; &ldquo;so do I. I am sure that we shall meet
+      again, and I am sure that I shall be glad to see you when we do, Mr.
+      Bingham,&rdquo; she added darkly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute he had left the Vicarage and, with Beatrice at his side,
+      was walking smartly towards the station.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is very melancholy,&rdquo; he said, after a few moments&rsquo; silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Going away generally is,&rdquo; she answered&mdash;&ldquo;either for those who go or
+      those who stay behind,&rdquo; she added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or for both,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came another pause; he broke it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Beatrice, may I write to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And will you answer my letters?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I will answer them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I had my way, then, you should spend a good deal of your time in
+      writing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; he added earnestly, &ldquo;what a delight
+      it has been to me to learn to know you. I have had no greater pleasure in
+      my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad,&rdquo; Beatrice answered shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; Geoffrey said presently, &ldquo;there is something I want to ask
+      you. You are as good as a reference book for quotations, you know. Some
+      lines have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I cannot
+      remember where they come from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are they?&rdquo; she asked, looking up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought he
+      saw, a strange fear shining in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here are four of them,&rdquo; he answered unconcernedly; &ldquo;we have no time for
+      long quotations:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;&lsquo;That shall be to-morrow,
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice heard&mdash;heard the very lines which had been upon her lips in
+      the wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop; she became
+      white as the dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supreme effort she
+      recovered herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that you must know the lines, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said in a low
+      voice. &ldquo;They come from a poem of Browning&rsquo;s, called &lsquo;A Woman&rsquo;s Last
+      Word.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey made no answer; what was he to say? For a while they walked on in
+      silence. They were getting close to the station now. Separation, perhaps
+      for ever, was very near. An overmastering desire to know the truth took
+      hold of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; he said again, &ldquo;you look pale. Did you sleep well last
+      night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you have curious dreams?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did,&rdquo; she answered, looking straight before her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned a shade paler. Then it was true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice,&rdquo; he said in a half whisper, &ldquo;what do they mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much as anything else, or as little,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are people to do who dream such dreams?&rdquo; he said again, in the same
+      constrained voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget them,&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if they come back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget them again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if they will not be forgotten?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned and looked him full in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Die of them,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;then they will be forgotten, or&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or what, Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here is the station,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;and Betty is quarrelling with the
+      flyman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes more and Geoffrey was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE FLAT NEAR THE EDGWARE ROAD
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s journey to town was not altogether a cheerful one. To begin
+      with, Effie wept copiously at parting with her beloved &ldquo;auntie,&rdquo; as she
+      called Beatrice, and would not be comforted. The prospect of rejoining her
+      mother and the voluble Anne had no charms for Effie. They all three got on
+      best apart. Geoffrey himself had also much to think about, and found
+      little satisfaction in the thinking. He threw his mind back over the
+      events of the past few weeks. He remembered how he had first seen
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s face through the thick mist on the Red Rocks, and how her
+      beauty had struck him as no beauty ever had before. Then he thought of the
+      adventure of their shipwreck, and of the desperate courage with which she
+      had saved his life, almost at the cost of her own. He thought, too, of
+      that scene when on the following day he had entered the room where she was
+      asleep, when the wandering ray of light had wavered from her breast to his
+      own, when that strange presentiment of the ultimate intermingling of their
+      lives had flashed upon him, and when she had awakened with an unearthly
+      greeting on her lips. While Effie slowly sobbed herself to silence in the
+      corner opposite to him, one by one, he recalled every phase and scene of
+      their ever-growing intimacy, till the review culminated in his mysterious
+      experience of the past night, and the memory of Beatrice&rsquo;s parting words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all men Geoffrey was among those least inclined to any sort of
+      superstition; from boyhood he had been noted for common sense, and a
+      somewhat disbelieving turn of mind. But he had intellect, and imagination
+      which is simply intellect etherealised. Without these, with his peculiar
+      mental constitution, he would, for instance, probably have been a
+      religious sceptic; having them, he was nothing of the sort. So in this
+      matter of his experience of the previous night, and generally of the
+      strange and almost unnatural sympathy in which he found himself with this
+      lady, common sense and the results of his observation and experience
+      pointed to the whole thing being nonsense&mdash;the result of
+      &ldquo;propinquity, Sir, propinquity,&rdquo; and a pretty face&mdash;and nothing more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But here his intellect and his imagination stepped in, telling him plainly
+      that it was not nonsense, that he had not merely made a donkey of himself
+      over an hysterical, or possibly a love-sick girl. They told him that
+      because a thing is a mystery it is not necessarily a folly, though
+      mysteries are for the most part dealt in by fools. They suggested that
+      there may be many things and forces above us and around us, invisible as
+      an electric current, intangible as light, yet existent and capable of
+      manifestation under certain rare and favourable conditions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And was it not possible that such conditions should unite in a woman like
+      Beatrice, who combined in herself a beauty of body which was only
+      outpassed by the beauty of her mind? It was no answer to say that most
+      women could never inspire the unearthly passion with which he had been
+      shaken some ten hours past, or that most men could never become aware of
+      the inspiration. Has not humanity powers and perceptions denied to the
+      cattle of the fields, and may there not be men and women as far removed
+      from their fellows in this respect as these are from the cattle?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the weak point of mysterious occurrences is that they lead nowhere,
+      and do not materially alter the facts of life. One cannot, for instance,
+      plead a mystery in a court of law; so, dropping the imaginative side of
+      the question as one beyond him, Geoffrey came to its practical aspect,
+      only to find it equally thorny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Odd as it may seem, Geoffrey did not to this moment know the exact
+      position which he occupied in the mind of Beatrice, or that she occupied
+      in his. He was not in love with her, at least not in a way in which he had
+      ever experienced the influence of that, on the whole, inconvenient and
+      disagreeable passion. At any rate he argued from the hypothesis that he
+      was not in love with her. This he refused to admit now in the light of
+      day, though he had admitted it fully in the watches of the night. It would
+      not do to admit it. But he was forced to acknowledge that she had crept
+      into his life and possessed it so completely that then and for months
+      afterwards, except in deep sleep or in hours of severe mental strain, not
+      a single half hour would pass without bringing its thought of Beatrice.
+      Everything that was beautiful, or grand, or elevating, reminded him of her&mdash;and
+      what higher compliment could a mistress have? If he listened to glorious
+      music, the voice of Beatrice spoke to him through the notes; if he watched
+      the clouds rolling in heavy pomp across a broken sky he thought of
+      Beatrice; if some chance poem or novel moved him, why Beatrice was in his
+      mind to share the pleasure. All of which was very interesting, and in some
+      ways delightful, but under our current system not otherwise than
+      inconvenient to a married man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Beatrice was gone, and he must come back to his daily toil,
+      sweetened by Honoria&rsquo;s bitter complaints of their poverty, and see her no
+      more. The thought made Geoffrey&rsquo;s heart ache with a physical pain, but his
+      reason told him that it was best so. After all, there were no bones
+      broken; there had been no love scenes, no kiss, no words that cannot be
+      recalled; whatever there was lay beneath the surface, and while
+      appearances were kept up all was well. No doubt it was an hypocrisy, but
+      then hypocrisy is one of the great pillars of civilization, and how does
+      it matter what the heart says while the lips are silent? The Recording
+      Angel can alone read hearts, and he must often find them singularly
+      contradictory and untrustworthy writings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Die of them, die of her dreams! No, Beatrice would not die of them, and
+      certainly he should not. Probably in the end she would marry that pious
+      earthly lump, Owen Davies. It was not pleasant to think of, it was even
+      dreadful, but really if she were to ask him his opinion, &ldquo;as a friend,&rdquo; he
+      should tell her it was the best thing that she could do. Of course it
+      would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart the lie; but when
+      the heart rises in rebellion against the intelligence it must be
+      suppressed. Unfortunately, however, though a small member, it is very
+      strong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They reached London at last, and as had been arranged, Anne, the French <i>bonne</i>,
+      met them at the station to take Effie home. Geoffrey noticed that she
+      looked smarter and less to his taste than ever. However, she embraced
+      Effie with an enthusiasm which the child scarcely responded to, and at the
+      same time carried on an ocular flirtation with a ticket collector.
+      Although early in the year for yellow fogs, London was plunged in a dense
+      gloom. It had been misty that morning at Bryngelly, and become more and
+      more so as the day advanced; but, though it was not yet four o&rsquo;clock,
+      London was dark as night. Luckily, however, it is not far from Paddington
+      to the flat near the Edgware Road, where Geoffrey lived, so having
+      personally instructed the cabman, he left Anne to convoy Effie and the
+      luggage, and went on to the Temple by Underground Railway with an easy
+      mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after Geoffrey reached his chambers in Pump Court the solicitor
+      arrived as had been arranged, not his uncle&mdash;who was, he learned,
+      very unwell&mdash;but a partner. To his delight he then found that
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s ghost theory was perfectly accurate; the boy with the missing
+      toe-joint had been discovered who saw the whole horrible tragedy through a
+      crack in the blind; moreover the truth had been wrung from him and he
+      would be produced at the trial&mdash;indeed a proof of his evidence was
+      already forthcoming. Also some specimens of the ex-lawyer&rsquo;s clerk&rsquo;s
+      handwriting had been obtained, and were declared by two experts to be
+      identical with the writing on the will. One thing, however, disturbed him:
+      neither the Attorney-General nor Mr. Candleton was yet in town, so no
+      conference was possible that evening. However, both were expected that
+      night&mdash;the Attorney-General from Devonshire and Mr. Candleton from
+      the Continent; so the case being first on the list, it was arranged that
+      the conference should take place at ten o&rsquo;clock on the following morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On arriving home Geoffrey was informed that Lady Honoria was dressing, and
+      had left a message saying he must be quick and do likewise as a gentleman
+      was coming to dinner. Accordingly he went to his own room&mdash;which was
+      at the other end of the flat&mdash;and put on his dress clothes. Before
+      going to the dining-room, however, he said good-night to Effie&mdash;who
+      was in bed, but not asleep&mdash;and asked her what time she had reached
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At twenty minutes past five, daddy,&rdquo; Effie said promptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twenty minutes past five! Why, you don&rsquo;t mean to say that you were an
+      hour coming that little way! Did you get blocked in the fog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, daddy, but&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anne did tell me not to say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I tell you to say, dear&mdash;never mind Anne!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anne stopped and talked to the ticket-man for a long, long time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did she?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the parlourmaid came to say that Lady Honoria and the
+      &ldquo;gentleman&rdquo; were waiting for dinner. Geoffrey asked her casually what time
+      Miss Effie had reached home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About half-past five, sir. Anne said the cab was blocked in the fog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well. Tell her ladyship that I shall be down in a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said the child, &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t said my prayers. Mother did not come,
+      and Anne said it was all nonsense about prayers. Auntie did always hear me
+      my prayers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, and so will I. There, kneel upon my lap and say them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the middle of the prayers&mdash;which Effie did not remember as well as
+      she might have done&mdash;the parlourmaid arrived again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please, sir, her ladyship&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell her ladyship I am coming, and that if she is in a hurry she can go
+      to dinner! Go on, love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he kissed her and put her to bed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; said Effie, as he was going, &ldquo;shall I see auntie Beatrice any
+      more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And shall you see her any more? You want to see her, don&rsquo;t you, daddy?
+      She did love you very much!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey could bear it no longer. The truth is always sharper when it
+      comes from the mouth of babes and sucklings. With a hurried good-night he
+      fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the little drawing-room he found Lady Honoria, very well dressed, and
+      also her friend, whose name was Mr. Dunstan. Geoffrey knew him at once for
+      an exceedingly wealthy man of small birth, and less breeding, but a
+      burning and a shining light in the Garsington set. Mr. Dunstan was anxious
+      to raise himself in society, and he thought that notwithstanding her
+      poverty, Lady Honoria might be useful to him in this respect. Hence his
+      presence there to-night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Geoffrey?&rdquo; said his wife, advancing to greet him with a
+      kiss of peace. &ldquo;You look very well. But what an immense time you have been
+      dressing. Poor Mr. Dunstan is starving. Let me see. You know Mr. Dunstan,
+      I think. Dinner, Mary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey apologised for being late, and shook hands politely with Mr.
+      Dunstan&mdash;Saint Dunstan he was generally called on account of his
+      rather clerical appearance and in sarcastic allusion to his somewhat shady
+      reputation. Then they went in to dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sorry there is no lady for you, Geoffrey; but you must have had plenty of
+      ladies&rsquo; society lately. By the way, how is Miss&mdash;Miss Granger? Would
+      you believe it, Mr. Dunstan? that shocking husband of mine has been
+      passing the last month in the company of one of the loveliest girls I ever
+      saw, who knows Latin and law and everything else under the sun. She began
+      by saving his life, they were upset together out of a canoe, you know.
+      Isn&rsquo;t it romantic?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Saint Dunstan made some appropriate&mdash;or, rather inappropriate&mdash;remark
+      to the effect that he hoped Mr. Bingham had made the most of such
+      unrivalled opportunities, adding, with a deep sigh, that no lovely young
+      lady had ever saved his life that he might live for her, &amp;c., &amp;c.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Geoffrey broke in without much ceremony. To him it seemed a
+      desecration to listen while this person was making his feeble jokes about
+      Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, dear,&rdquo; he said, addressing his wife, &ldquo;and what have you been doing
+      with yourself all this time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mourning for you, Geoffrey, and enjoying myself exceedingly in the
+      intervals. We have had a delightful time, have we not, Mr. Dunstan? Mr.
+      Dunstan has also been staying at the Hall, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could it be otherwise when you were there, Lady Honoria?&rdquo; answered
+      the Saint in that strain of compliment affected by such men, and which, to
+      tell the truth, jarred on its object, who was after all a lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;the Garsingtons have re-furnished the
+      large hall and their drawing-room. It cost eighteen hundred pounds, but
+      the result is lovely. The drawing-room is done in hand-painted white
+      satin, walls and all, and the hall in old oak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; he answered, reflecting the while that Lord Garsington might as
+      well have paid some of his debts before he spent eighteen hundred pounds
+      on his drawing-room furniture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the Saint and Lady Honoria drifted into a long and animated
+      conversation about their fellow guests, which Geoffrey scarcely tried to
+      follow. Indeed, the dinner was a dull one for him, and he added little or
+      nothing to the stock of talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When his wife left the room, however, he had to say something, so they
+      spoke of shooting. The Saint had a redeeming feature&mdash;he was somewhat
+      of a sportsman, though a poor one, and he described to Geoffrey a new pair
+      of hammerless guns, which he had bought for a trifling sum of a hundred
+      and forty guineas, recommending the pattern to his notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey, &ldquo;I daresay that they are very nice; but, you
+      see, they are beyond me. A poor man cannot afford so much for a pair of
+      guns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, if that is all,&rdquo; answered his guest, &ldquo;I will sell you these; they are
+      a little long in the stock for me, and you can pay me when you like. Or,
+      hang it all, I have plenty of guns. I&rsquo;ll be generous and give them to you.
+      If I cannot afford to be generous, I don&rsquo;t know who can!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you very much, Mr. Dunstan,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey coldly, &ldquo;but I am
+      not in the habit of accepting such presents from my&mdash;acquaintances.
+      Will you have a glass of sherry?&mdash;no. Then shall we join Lady
+      Honoria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech quite crushed the vulgar but not ill-meaning Saint, and
+      Geoffrey was sorry for it a moment after he had made it. But he was weary
+      and out of temper. Why did his wife bring such people to the house? Very
+      shortly afterwards their guest took his leave, reflecting that Bingham was
+      a conceited ass, and altogether too much for him. &ldquo;And I don&rsquo;t believe
+      that he has got a thousand a year,&rdquo; he reflected to himself, &ldquo;and the
+      title is his wife&rsquo;s. I suppose that is what he married her for. She&rsquo;s a
+      much better sort than he is, any way, though I don&rsquo;t quite make her out
+      either&mdash;one can&rsquo;t go very far with her. But she is the daughter of a
+      peer and worth cultivating, but not when Bingham is at home&mdash;not if I
+      know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you said to Mr. Dunstan to make him go away so soon, Geoffrey?&rdquo;
+       asked his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Said to him? oh, I don&rsquo;t know. He offered to give me a pair of guns, and
+      I told him that I did not accept presents from my acquaintances. Really,
+      Honoria, I don&rsquo;t want to interfere with your way of life, but I do not
+      understand how you can associate with such people as this Mr. Dunstan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Associate with him!&rdquo; answered Lady Honoria. &ldquo;Do you suppose I want to
+      associate with him? Do you suppose that I don&rsquo;t know what the man is? But
+      beggars cannot be choosers; he may be a cad, but he has thirty thousand a
+      year, and we simply cannot afford to throw away an acquaintance with
+      thirty thousand a year. It is too bad of you, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she went on with
+      rising temper, &ldquo;when you know all that I must put up with in our miserable
+      poverty-stricken life, to take every opportunity of making yourself
+      disagreeable to the people I think it wise to ask to come and see us. Here
+      I return from comfort to this wretched place, and the first thing that you
+      do is make a fuss. Mr. Dunstan has got boxes at several of the best
+      theaters, and he offered to let me have one whenever I liked&mdash;and now
+      of course there is an end of it. It is too bad, I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is really curious, Honoria,&rdquo; said her husband, &ldquo;to see what
+      obligations you are ready to put yourself under in search of pleasure. It
+      is not dignified of you to accept boxes at theatres from this gentleman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense. There is no obligation about it. If he gave us a box, of course
+      he would make a point of looking in during the evening, and then telling
+      his friends that it was Lady Honoria Bingham he was speaking to&mdash;that
+      is the exchange. I want to go to the theatre; he wants to get into good
+      society&mdash;there you have the thing in a nutshell. It is done every
+      day. The fact of the matter is, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she went on, looking very much
+      as though she were about to burst into a flood of angry tears, &ldquo;as I said
+      just now, beggars cannot be choosers&mdash;I cannot live like the wife of
+      a banker&rsquo;s clerk. I must have <i>some</i> amusement, and <i>some</i>
+      comfort, before I become an old woman. If you don&rsquo;t like it, why did you
+      entrap me into this wretched marriage, before I was old enough to know
+      better, or why do you not make enough money to keep me in a way suitable
+      to my position?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have argued that question before, Honoria,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, keeping his
+      temper with difficulty, &ldquo;and now there is another thing I wish to say to
+      you. Do you know that detestable woman Anne stopped for more than half an
+      hour at Paddington Station this evening, flirting with a ticket collector,
+      instead of bringing Effie home at once, as I told her to do. I am very
+      angry about it. She is not to be relied on; we shall have some accident
+      with the child before we have done. Cannot you discharge her and get
+      another nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I cannot. She is the one comfort I have. Where am I going to find
+      another woman who can make dresses like Anne&mdash;she saves me a hundred
+      a year&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care if she flirted with fifty ticket collectors. I
+      suppose you got this story from Effie; the child ought to be whipped for
+      tale-bearing, and I daresay that it is not true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Effie will certainly not be whipped,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey sternly. &ldquo;I warn
+      you that it will go very badly with anybody who lays a finger on her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very well, ruin the child. Go your own way, Geoffrey! At any rate I
+      am not going to stop here to listen to any more abuse. Good-night,&rdquo; and
+      she went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey sat down, and lit a cigarette. &ldquo;A pleasant home-coming,&rdquo; he
+      thought to himself. &ldquo;Honoria shall have money as much as she can spend&mdash;if
+      I kill myself to get it, she shall have it. What a life, what a life! I
+      wonder if Beatrice would treat her husband like this&mdash;if she had
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, and then with a gesture of
+      impatience threw his cigarette into the fire and went to his room to try
+      and get some sleep, for he was thoroughly wearied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Before ten o&rsquo;clock on the following morning, having already spent two
+      hours over his brief, that he had now thoroughly mastered, Geoffrey was at
+      his chambers, which he had some difficulty in reaching owing to the thick
+      fog that still hung over London, and indeed all England.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To his surprise nothing had been heard either of the Attorney-General or
+      of Mr. Candleton. The solicitors were in despair; but he consoled them by
+      saying that one or the other was sure to turn up in time, and that a few
+      words would suffice to explain the additional light which had been thrown
+      on the case. He occupied his half hour, however, in making a few rough
+      notes to guide him in the altogether improbable event of his being called
+      on to open, and then went into court. The case was first on the list, and
+      there were a good many counsel engaged on the other side. Just as the
+      judge took his seat, the solicitor, with an expression of dismay, handed
+      Geoffrey a telegram which had that moment arrived from Mr. Candleton. It
+      was dated from Calais on the previous night, and ran, &ldquo;Am unable to cross
+      on account of thick fog. You had better get somebody else in Parsons and
+      Douse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we haven&rsquo;t got another brief prepared,&rdquo; said the agonised solicitor.
+      &ldquo;What is more, I can hear nothing of the Attorney-General, and his clerk
+      does not seem to know where he is. You must ask for an adjournment, Mr.
+      Bingham; you can&rsquo;t manage the case alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, and on the case being called he rose and
+      stated the circumstances to the court. But the Court was crusty. It had
+      got the fog down its throat, and altogether It didn&rsquo;t seem to see it.
+      Moreover the other side, marking its advantage, objected strongly. The
+      witnesses, brought at great expense, were there; his Lordship was there,
+      the jury was there; if this case was not taken there was no other with
+      which they could go on, &amp;c., &amp;c.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The court took the same view, and lectured Geoffrey severely. Every
+      counsel in a case, the Court remembered, when It was at the Bar, used to
+      be able to open that case at a moment&rsquo;s notice, and though things had, It
+      implied, no doubt deteriorated to a considerable extent since those palmy
+      days, every counsel ought still to be prepared to do so on emergency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course, however, if he, Geoffrey, told the court that he was absolutely
+      unprepared to go on with the case, It would have no option but to grant an
+      adjournment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am perfectly prepared to go on with it, my lord,&rdquo; Geoffrey interposed
+      calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said the Court in a mollified tone, &ldquo;then go on! I have no
+      doubt that the learned Attorney-General will arrive presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, as is not unusual in a probate suit, followed an argument as to who
+      should open it, the plaintiff or the defendant. Geoffrey claimed that this
+      right clearly lay with him, and the opposing counsel raised no great
+      objection, thinking that they would do well to leave the opening in the
+      hands of a rather inexperienced man, who would very likely work his side
+      more harm than good. So, somewhat to the horror of the solicitors, who
+      thought with longing of the eloquence of the Attorney-General, and the
+      unrivalled experience and finesse of Mr. Candleton, Geoffrey was called
+      upon to open the case for the defendants, propounding the first will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose without fear or hesitation, and with but one prayer in his heart,
+      that no untimely Attorney-General would put in an appearance. He had got
+      his chance, the chance for which many able men have to wait long years,
+      and he knew it, and meant to make the most of it. Naturally a brilliant
+      speaker, Geoffrey was not, as so many good speakers are, subject to fits
+      of nervousness, and he was, moreover, thoroughly master of his case. In
+      five minutes judge, jury and counsel were all listening to him with
+      attention; in ten they were absorbed in the lucid and succinct statement
+      of the facts which he was unfolding to them. His ghost theory was at first
+      received with a smile, but presently counsel on the other side ceased to
+      smile, and began to look uneasy. If he could prove what he said, there was
+      an end of their case. When he had been speaking for about forty minutes
+      one of the opposing counsel interrupted him with some remark, and at that
+      moment he noticed that the Attorney-General&rsquo;s clerk was talking to the
+      solicitor beneath him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bother it, he is coming,&rdquo; thought Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But no, the solicitor bending forward informed him that the
+      Attorney-General had been unavoidably detained by some important
+      Government matter, and had returned his brief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we must get on as we can,&rdquo; Geoffrey said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you continue like that we shall get on very well,&rdquo; whispered the
+      solicitors, and then Geoffrey knew that he was doing well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Mr. Bingham!&rdquo; said his Lordship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Geoffrey went on with his statement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At lunch time it was a question whether another leader should be briefed.
+      Geoffrey said that so far as he was concerned he could get on alone. He
+      knew every point of the case, and he had got a friend to &ldquo;take a note&rdquo; for
+      him while he was speaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After some hesitation the solicitors decided not to brief fresh counsel at
+      this stage of the case, but to leave it entirely in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It would be useless to follow the details of this remarkable will suit,
+      which lasted two days, and attracted much attention. Geoffrey won it and
+      won it triumphantly. His address to the jury on the whole case was long
+      remembered in the courts, rising as it did to a very high level of
+      forensic eloquence. Few who saw it ever forgot the sight of his handsome
+      face and commanding presence as he crushed the case of his opponents like
+      an eggshell, and then with calm and overwhelming force denounced the woman
+      who with her lover had concocted the cruel plot that robbed her uncle of
+      life and her cousins of their property, till at the last, pointing towards
+      her with outstretched hand, he branded her to the jury as a murderess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Few in that crowded court have forgotten the tragic scene that followed,
+      when the trembling woman, worn out by the long anxiety of the trial, and
+      utterly unnerved by her accuser&rsquo;s brilliant invective, rose from her seat
+      and cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We did it&mdash;it is true that we did it to get the money, but we did
+      not mean to frighten him to death,&rdquo; and then fell fainting to the ground&mdash;or
+      Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s quiet words as he sat down:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My lord and gentlemen of the jury, I do not think it necessary to carry
+      my case any further.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no applause, the occasion was too dramatically solemn, but the
+      impression made both upon the court and the outside public, to whom such a
+      scene is peculiarly fitted to appeal, was deep and lasting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey himself was under little delusion about the matter. He had no
+      conceit in his composition, but neither had he any false modesty. He
+      merely accepted the situation as really powerful men do accept such events&mdash;with
+      thankfulness, but without surprise. He had got his chance at last, and
+      like any other able man, whatever his walk of life, he had risen to it.
+      That was all. Most men get such chances in some shape or form, and are
+      unable to avail themselves of them. Geoffrey was one of the exceptions; as
+      Beatrice had said, he was born to succeed. As he sat down, he knew that he
+      was a made man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet while he walked home that night, his ears still full of the
+      congratulations which had rained in on him from every quarter, he was
+      conscious of a certain pride. He will have felt as Geoffrey felt that
+      night, whose lot it has been to fight long and strenuously against
+      circumstances so adverse as to be almost overwhelming, knowing in his
+      heart that he was born to lead and not to follow; and who at last, by one
+      mental effort, with no friendly hand to help, and no friendly voice to
+      guide, has succeeded in bursting a road through the difficulties which
+      hemmed him in, and has suddenly found himself, not above competition
+      indeed, but still able to meet it. He will not have been too proud of that
+      endeavour; it will have seemed but a little thing to him&mdash;a thing
+      full of faults and imperfections, and falling far short of his ideal. He
+      will not even have attached a great importance to his success, because, if
+      he is a person of this calibre, he must remember how small it is, when all
+      is said and done; that even in his day there are those who can beat him on
+      his own ground; and also that all worldly success, like the most perfect
+      flower, yet bears in it the elements of decay. But he will have reflected
+      with humble satisfaction on those long years of patient striving which
+      have at length lifted him to an eminence whence he can climb on and on,
+      scarcely encumbered by the jostling crowd; till at length, worn out, the
+      time comes for him to fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Geoffrey thought and felt. The thing was to be done, and he had done
+      it. Honoria should have money now; she should no longer be able to twit
+      him with their poverty. Yes, and a better thought still, Beatrice would be
+      glad to hear of his little triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached home rather late. Honoria was going out to dinner with a
+      distinguished cousin, and was already dressing. Geoffrey had declined the
+      invitation, which was a short one, because he had not expected to be back
+      from chambers. In this enthusiasm, however, he went to his wife&rsquo;s room to
+      tell her of the event.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;what have you been doing? I think that you might have
+      arranged to come out with me. My going out so much by myself does not look
+      well. Oh, I forgot; of course you are in that case.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;that is, I was. I have won the case. Here is a very fair report
+      of it in the <i>St. James&rsquo;s Gazette</i> if you care to read it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heavens, Geoffrey! How can you expect me to read all that stuff when
+      I am dressing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t expect you to, Honoria; only, as I say, I have won the case, and
+      I shall get plenty of work now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you? I am glad to hear it; perhaps we shall be able to escape from
+      this horrid flat if you do. There, Anne! Je vous l&rsquo;ai toujours dit, cette
+      robe ne me va pas bien.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mais, milady, la robe va parfaitement&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is your opinion,&rdquo; grumbled Lady Honoria. &ldquo;Well, it isn&rsquo;t mine. But
+      it will have to do. Good-night, Geoffrey; I daresay that you will have
+      gone to bed when I get back,&rdquo; and she was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey picked up his <i>St. James&rsquo;s Gazette</i> with a sigh. He felt
+      hurt, and knew that he was a fool for his pains. Lady Honoria was not a
+      sympathetic person; it was not fair to expect it from her. Still he felt
+      hurt. He went upstairs and heard Effie her prayers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where has you beed, daddy?&mdash;to the Smoky Town?&rdquo; The Temple was
+      euphemistically known to Effie as the Smoky Town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You go to the Smoky Town to make bread and butter, don&rsquo;t you, daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, to make bread and butter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And did you make any, daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Effie, a good deal to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where is it? In your pocket?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, love, not exactly. I won a big lawsuit to-day, and I shall get a
+      great many pennies for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; answered Effie meditatively, &ldquo;I am glad that you did win. You do
+      like to win, doesn&rsquo;t you, daddy, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will give you a kiss, daddy, because you did win,&rdquo; and she suited
+      the action to the word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey went from the little room with a softened heart. He dressed and
+      ate some dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he sat down and wrote a long letter to Beatrice, telling her all
+      about the trial, and not sparing her his reasons for adopting each
+      particular tactic and line of argument which conduced to the great result.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And though his letter was four sheets in length, he knew that Beatrice
+      would not be bored at having to read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE RISING STAR
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      As might be expected, the memorable case of Parsons and Douse proved to be
+      the turning point in Geoffrey&rsquo;s career, which was thenceforward one of
+      brilliant and startling success. On the very next morning when he reached
+      his chambers it was to find three heavy briefs awaiting him, and they
+      proved to be but the heralds of an uninterrupted flow of lucrative
+      business. Of course, he was not a Queen&rsquo;s Counsel, but now that his great
+      natural powers of advocacy had become generally known, solicitors
+      frequently employed him alone, or gave him another junior, so that he
+      might bring those powers to bear upon juries. Now it was, too, that
+      Geoffrey reaped the fruits of the arduous legal studies which he had
+      followed without cessation from the time when he found himself thrown upon
+      his own resources, and which had made a sound lawyer of him as well as a
+      brilliant and effective advocate. Soon, even with his great capacity for
+      work, he had as much business as he could attend to. When fortune gives
+      good gifts, she generally does so with a lavish hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus it came to pass that, about three weeks after the trial of Parsons
+      and Douse, Geoffrey&rsquo;s uncle the solicitor died, and to his surprise left
+      him twenty thousand pounds, &ldquo;believing,&rdquo; he said in his will, which was
+      dated three days before the testator&rsquo;s death, &ldquo;that this sum will assist
+      him to rise to the head of his profession.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that it had dawned upon her that her husband really was a success,
+      Honoria&rsquo;s manner towards him modified very considerably. She even became
+      amiable, and once or twice almost affectionate. When Geoffrey told her of
+      the twenty thousand pounds she was radiant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, we shall be able to go back to Bolton Street now,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and as
+      luck will have it, our old house is to let. I saw a bill in the window
+      yesterday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you can go back as soon as you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And can we keep a carriage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not yet; I am doing well, but not well enough for that. Next year, if
+      I live, you will be able to have a carriage. Don&rsquo;t begin to grumble,
+      Honoria. I have got £150 to spare, and if you care to come round to a
+      jeweller&rsquo;s you can spend it on what you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you delightful person!&rdquo; said his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went to the jeweller&rsquo;s, and Lady Honoria bought ornaments to the
+      value of £150, and carried them home and hung over them, as another class
+      of woman might hang over her first-born child, admiring them with a tender
+      ecstasy. Whenever he had a sum of money that he could afford to part with,
+      Geoffrey would take her thus to a jeweller&rsquo;s or a dressmaker&rsquo;s, and stand
+      by coldly while she bought things to its value. Lady Honoria was
+      delighted. It never entered into her mind that in a sense he was taking a
+      revenge upon her, and that every fresh exhibition of her rejoicings over
+      the good things thus provided added to his contempt for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those were happy days for Lady Honoria! She rejoiced in this return of
+      wealth like a school-boy at the coming of the holidays, or a half-frozen
+      wanderer at the rising of the sun. She had been miserable during all this
+      night of poverty, as miserable as her nature admitted of, now she was
+      happy again, as she understood happiness. For bred, educated, civilized&mdash;what
+      you will&mdash;out of the more human passions, Lady Honoria had replaced
+      them by this idol-worship of wealth, or rather of what wealth brings. It
+      gave her a positive physical satisfaction; her beauty, which had begun to
+      fade, came back to her; she looked five years younger. And all the while
+      Geoffrey watched her with an ever-growing scorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once it broke out. The Bolton Street house had been furnished; he gave her
+      fifteen hundred pounds to do it, and with what things they owned she
+      managed very well on that. They moved into it, and Honoria had set herself
+      up with a sufficient supply of grand dresses and jewellery, suitable to
+      her recovered position. One day however, it occurred to her that Effie was
+      a child of remarkable beauty, who, if properly dressed, would look very
+      nice in the drawing-room at tea-time. So she ordered a lovely costume for
+      her&mdash;this deponent is not able to describe it, but it consisted
+      largely of velvet and lace. Geoffrey heard nothing of this dress, but
+      coming home rather early one afternoon&mdash;it was on a Saturday, he
+      found the child being shown off to a room full of visitors, and dressed in
+      a strange and wonderful attire with which, not unnaturally, she was vastly
+      pleased. He said nothing at the time, but when at length the dropping fire
+      of callers had ceased, he asked who put Effie into that dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria, &ldquo;and a pretty penny it has cost, I can tell
+      you. But I can&rsquo;t have the child come down so poorly clothed, it does not
+      look well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then she can stay upstairs,&rdquo; said Geoffrey frowning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; asked his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes. They
+      are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her to take
+      to vanity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t understand you, Geoffrey. Why should not the child be
+      handsomely dressed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not! Great heaven, Honoria, do you suppose that I want to see Effie
+      grow up like you, to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking idleness, and
+      make a god of luxury. I had rather see her&rdquo;&mdash;he was going to add,
+      &ldquo;dead first,&rdquo; but checked himself and said&mdash;&ldquo;have to work for her
+      living. Dress yourself up as much as you like, but leave the child alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria was furious, but she was also a little frightened. She had
+      never heard her husband speak quite like this before, and there was
+      something underneath his words that she did not quite understand. Still
+      less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly told her that
+      he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked; then accompanied her to
+      a mantle shop, and stood patiently by, smiling coldly while she invested
+      it in lace and embroideries. Honoria thought that he was making reparation
+      for his sharp words, and so he was, but to himself, and in another sense.
+      Every time he gave her money in this fashion, Geoffrey felt like a man who
+      has paid off a debt of honour. She had taunted him again and again with
+      her poverty&mdash;the poverty she said that he had brought her; for every
+      taunt he would heap upon her all those things in which her soul delighted.
+      He would glut her with wealth as, in her hour of victory, Queen Tomyris
+      glutted dead Cyrus with the blood of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an odd way of taking a revenge, and one that suited Lady Honoria
+      admirably; but though its victim felt no sting, it gave Geoffrey much
+      secret relief. Also he was curious; he wished to see if there was any
+      bottom to such a woman&rsquo;s desire for luxury, if it would not bring satiety
+      with it. But Lady Honoria was a very bad subject for such an experiment.
+      She never showed the least sign of being satiated, either with fine
+      things, with pleasures, or with social delights. They were her natural
+      element, and he might as soon have expected a fish to weary of the water,
+      or an eagle of the rushing air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The winter wore away and the spring came. One day, it was in April,
+      Geoffrey, who was a moderate Liberal by persuasion, casually announced at
+      dinner that he was going to stand for Parliament in the Unionist interest.
+      The representation of one of the few Metropolitan divisions which had then
+      returned a Home Ruler had fallen vacant. As it chanced he knew the head
+      Unionist whip very well. They had been friends since they were lads at
+      school together, and this gentleman, having heard Geoffrey make a
+      brilliant speech in court, was suddenly struck with the idea that he was
+      the very man to lead a forlorn hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The upshot of it was that Geoffrey was asked if he would stand, and
+      replied that he must have two days to think it over. What he really wanted
+      the two days for was to enable him to write to Beatrice and receive an
+      answer from her. He had an almost superstitious faith in her judgment, and
+      did not like to act without it. After carefully weighing the pros and
+      cons, his own view was that he should do well to stand. Probably he would
+      be defeated, and it might cost him five hundred pounds. On the other hand
+      it would certainly make his name known as a politician, and he was now in
+      a fair way to earn so large an income that he could well afford to risk
+      the money. The only great objection which he saw, was that if he happened
+      to get in, it must mean that he would have to work all day and all night
+      too. Well, he was strong and the more work he did the better&mdash;it kept
+      him from thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course Beatrice&rsquo;s answer came. Her view coincided with his own; she
+      recommended him to take the opportunity, and pointed out that with his
+      growing legal reputation there was no office in the State to which he
+      might not aspire, when he had once proved himself a capable member of
+      Parliament. Geoffrey read the letter through; then immediately sat down
+      and wrote to his friend the whip, accepting the suggestion of the
+      Government.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next fortnight was a hard one for him, but Geoffrey was as good a man
+      on the platform as in court, and he had, moreover, the very valuable knack
+      of suiting himself to his audience. As his canvass went on it was
+      generally recognised that the seat which had been considered hopeless was
+      now doubtful. A great amount of public interest was concentrated on the
+      election, both upon the Unionist and the Separatist side, each claiming
+      that the result of the poll would show to their advantage. The Home Rule
+      party strained every nerve against him, being most anxious to show that
+      the free and independent electors of this single division, and therefore
+      of the country at large, held the Government policy in particular horror.
+      Letters were obtained from great authorities and freely printed. Irish
+      members, fresh from gaol, were brought down to detail their grievances. It
+      was even suggested that one of them should appear on the platform in
+      prison garb&mdash;in short, every electioneering engine known to political
+      science was brought to bear to forward the fortunes of either side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As time went on Lady Honoria, who had been somewhat indifferent at first,
+      grew quite excited about the result. For one thing she found that the
+      contest attached an importance to herself in the eyes of the truly great,
+      which was not without its charm. On the day of the poll she drove about
+      all day in an open carriage under a bright blue parasol, having Effie (who
+      had become very bored) by her side, and two noble lords on the front seat.
+      As a consequence the result was universally declared by a certain section
+      of the press to be entirely due to the efforts of an unprincipled but
+      titled and lovely woman. It was even said that, like another lady of rank
+      in a past generation, she kissed a butcher in order to win his vote. But
+      those who made the remark did not know Lady Honoria; she was incapable of
+      kissing a butcher, or indeed anybody else. Her inclinations did not lie in
+      that direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the end Geoffrey was returned by a magnificent majority of ten votes,
+      reduced on a scrutiny to seven. He took his seat in the House on the
+      following night amidst loud Unionist cheering. In the course of the
+      evening&rsquo;s debate a prominent member of the Government made allusion to his
+      return as a proof of the triumph of Unionist principles. Thereon a very
+      leading member of the Separatist opposition retorted that it was nothing
+      of the sort, &ldquo;that it was a matter of common notoriety that the honourable
+      member&rsquo;s return was owing to the unusual and most uncommon ability
+      displayed by him in the course of his canvass, aided as it was, by
+      artfully applied and aristocratic feminine influence.&rdquo; This was a delicate
+      allusion to Honoria and her blue parasol.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Geoffrey and his wife were driving back to Bolton Street, after the
+      declaration of the poll, a little incident occurred. Geoffrey told the
+      coachman to stop at the first telegraph office and, getting out of the
+      carriage, wired to Beatrice, &ldquo;In by ten votes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who have you been telegraphing to, Geoffrey?&rdquo; asked Lady Honoria.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I telegraphed to Miss Granger,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! So you still keep up a correspondence with that pupil teacher girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do. I wish that I had a few more such correspondents.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed. You are easy to please. I thought her one of the most
+      disagreeable young women whom I ever met.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it does not say much for your taste, Honoria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife made no further remark, but she had her thoughts. Honoria
+      possessed good points: among others she was not a jealous person; she was
+      too cold and too indifferent to be jealous. But she did not like the idea
+      of another woman obtaining an influence over her husband, who, as she now
+      began to recognise, was one of the most brilliant men of his day, and who
+      might well become one of the most wealthy and powerful. Clearly he existed
+      for <i>her</i> benefit, not for that of any other woman. She was no fool,
+      and she saw that a considerable intimacy must exist between the two.
+      Otherwise Geoffrey would not have thought of telegraphing to Beatrice at
+      such a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Within a week of his election Geoffrey made a speech. It was not a long
+      speech, nor was it upon any very important issue; but it was exceedingly
+      good of its kind, good enough to be reported verbatim indeed, and those
+      listening to it recognised that they had to deal with a new man who would
+      one day be a very big man. There is no place where an able person finds
+      his level quicker than in the House of Commons, composed as it is for the
+      most part, of more or less wealthy or frantic mediocrities. But Geoffrey
+      was not a mediocrity, he was an exceedingly able and powerful man, and
+      this fact the House quickly recognised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the next few months Geoffrey worked as men rarely work. All day he was
+      at his chambers or in court, and at night he sat in the House, getting up
+      his briefs when he could. But he always did get them up; no solicitors had
+      to complain that the interests of their client were neglected by him; also
+      he still found time to write to Beatrice. For the rest he went out but
+      little, and except in the way of business associated with very few. Indeed
+      he grew more and more silent and reserved, till at last he won the
+      reputation of being cold and hard. Not that he was really so. He threw
+      himself head and soul into his work with a fixed determination to reach
+      the top of the tree. He knew that he should not care very much about it
+      when he got there, but he enjoyed the struggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey was not a truly ambitious man; he was no mere self-seeker. He
+      knew the folly of ambition too well, and its end was always clearly before
+      his eyes. He often thought to himself that if he could have chosen his
+      lot, he would have asked for a cottage with a good garden, five hundred a
+      year, and somebody to care for. But perhaps he would soon have wearied of
+      his cottage. He worked to stifle thought, and to some extent he succeeded.
+      But he was at bottom an affectionate-natured man, and he could not stifle
+      the longing for sympathy which was his secret weakness, though his pride
+      would never allow him to show it. What did he care for his triumphs when
+      he had nobody with whom to share them? All he could share were their
+      fruits, and these he gave away freely enough. It was but little that
+      Geoffrey spent upon his own gratification. A certain share of his gains he
+      put by, the rest went in expenses. The house in Bolton Street was a very
+      gay place in those days, but its master took but little part in its
+      gaieties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what was the fact? The longer he remained separated from Beatrice the
+      more intensely did he long for her society. It was of no use; try as he
+      would, he could not put that sweet face from his mind; it drew him as a
+      magnet draws a needle. Success did not bring him happiness, except in the
+      sense that it relieved him from money cares.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People of coarse temperament only can find real satisfaction in worldly
+      triumphs, and eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow they die! Men like
+      Geoffrey soon learn that this also is vanity. On the contrary, as his mind
+      grew more and more wearied with the strain of work, melancholy took an
+      ever stronger hold of it. Had he gone to a doctor, he might have been told
+      that his liver was out of order, which was very likely true. But this
+      would not mend matters. &ldquo;What a world,&rdquo; he might have cried, &ldquo;what a world
+      to live in when all the man&rsquo;s happiness depends upon his liver!&rdquo; He
+      contracted an accursed habit of looking on the black side of things;
+      trouble always caught his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no wonderful case. Men of large mind are very rarely happy men. It
+      is your little animal-minded individual who can be happy. Thus women, who
+      reflect less, are as a class much happier and more contented than men. But
+      the large-minded man sees too far, and guesses too much of what he cannot
+      see. He looks forward, and notes the dusty end of his laborious days; he
+      looks around and shudders at the unceasing misery of a coarse struggling
+      world; the sight of the pitiful beggar babe craving bread on tottering
+      feet, pierces his heart. He cannot console himself with a reflection that
+      the child had no business to be born, or that if he denuded himself of his
+      last pound he would not materially help the class which bred it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And above the garish lights of earthly joys and the dim reek of earthly
+      wretchedness, he sees the solemn firmament that veils his race&rsquo;s destiny.
+      For such a man, in such a mood, even religion has terrors as well as
+      hopes, and while the gloom gathers about his mind these are with him more
+      and more. What lies beyond that arching mystery to whose horizon he daily
+      draws more close&mdash;whose doors may even now be opening for him? A
+      hundred hands point out a hundred roads to knowledge&mdash;they are lost
+      half way. Only the cold spiritual firmament, unlit by any guiding stars,
+      unbrightened by the flood of human day, and unshadowed by the veils of
+      human night, still bends above his head in awful changelessness, and still
+      his weary feet draw closer to the portals of the West.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is very sad and wrong, but it is not altogether his fault; it is rather
+      a fault of the age, of over-education, of over-striving to be wise.
+      Cultivate the searching spirit and it will grow and rend you. The spirit
+      would soar, it would see, but the flesh weighs it down, and in all flesh
+      there is little light. Yet, at times, brooding on some unnatural height of
+      Thought, its eyes seem to be opened, and it catches gleams of terrifying
+      days to come, or perchance, discerns the hopeless gates of an immeasurable
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, for that simpler faith which ever recedes farther from the ken of the
+      cultivated, questioning mind! There alone can peace be found, and for the
+      foolish who discard it, setting up man&rsquo;s wisdom at a sign, soon the human
+      lot will be one long fear. Grown scientific and weary with the weight of
+      knowledge, they will reject their ancient Gods, and no smug-faced
+      Positivism will bring them consolation. Science, here and there illumining
+      the gloom of destiny with its poor electric lights, cries out that they
+      are guiding stars. But they are no stars, and they will flare away. Let us
+      pray for darkness, more darkness, lest, to our bewildered sight, they do
+      but serve to show that which shall murder Hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So think Geoffrey and his kin, and in their unexpressed dismay, turn,
+      seeking refuge from their physical and spiritual loneliness, but for the
+      most part finding none. Nature, still strong in them, points to the dear
+      fellowship of woman, and they make the venture to find a mate, not a
+      companion. But as it chanced in Geoffrey&rsquo;s case he did find such a
+      companion in Beatrice, after he had, by marriage, built up an impassable
+      wall between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he longed for her society with an intensity that alarmed him. He
+      had her letters indeed, but what are letters! One touch of a beloved hand
+      is worth a thousand letters. In the midst of his great success Geoffrey
+      was wretched at heart, yet it seemed to him that if he once more could
+      have Beatrice at his side, though only as a friend, he would find rest and
+      happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When a man&rsquo;s heart is thus set upon an object, his reason is soon
+      convinced of its innocence, even of its desirability, and a kindly fate
+      will generally contrive to give him the opportunity of ruin which he so
+      ardently desires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      GEOFFREY HAS A VISITOR
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      And Beatrice&mdash;had she fared better during these long months? Alas,
+      not at all. She had gone away from the Bryngelly Station on that autumn
+      morning of farewell sick at heart, and sick at heart she had remained.
+      Through all the long winter months sorrow and bitterness had been her
+      portion, and now in the happiness of spring, sorrow and bitterness were
+      with her still. She loved him, she longed for his presence, and it was
+      denied to her. She could not console herself as can some women, nor did
+      her deep passion wear away; on the contrary, it seemed to grow and gather
+      with every passing week. Neither did she wish to lose it, she loved too
+      well for that. It was better to be thus tormented by conscience and by
+      hopelessness than to lose her cause of pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One consolation Beatrice had and one only: she knew that Geoffrey did not
+      forget her. His letters told her this. These letters indeed were
+      everything to her&mdash;a woman can get so much more comfort out of a
+      letter than a man. Next to receiving them she loved to answer them. She
+      was a good and even a brilliant letter writer, but often and often she
+      would tear up what she had written and begin again. There was not much
+      news in Bryngelly; it was difficult to make her letters amusing. Also the
+      farcical nature of the whole proceeding seemed to paralyse her. It was
+      ridiculous, having so much to say, to be able to say nothing. Not that
+      Beatrice wished to indite love-letters&mdash;such an idea had never
+      crossed her mind, but rather to write as they had talked. Yet when she
+      tried to do so the results were not satisfactory to her, the words looked
+      strange on paper&mdash;she could not send them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Geoffrey&rsquo;s meteor-like advance to fame and fortune she took the keenest
+      joy and interest, far more than he did indeed. Though, like that of most
+      other intelligent creatures, her soul turned with loathing from the dreary
+      fustian of politics, she would religiously search the parliamentary column
+      from beginning to end on the chance of finding his name or the notice of a
+      speech by him. The law reports also furnished her with a happy
+      hunting-ground in which she often found her game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they were miserable months. To rise in the morning, to go through the
+      round of daily duty&mdash;thinking of Geoffrey; to come home wearied, and
+      finally to seek refuge in sleep and dreams of him&mdash;this was the sum
+      of them. Then there were other troubles. To begin with, things had gone
+      from bad to worse at the Vicarage. The tithes scarcely came in at all, and
+      every day their poverty pinched them closer. Had it not been for
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s salary it was difficult to see how the family could have
+      continued to exist. She gave it almost all to her father now, only keeping
+      back a very small sum for her necessary clothing and such sundries as
+      stamps and writing paper. Even then, Elizabeth grumbled bitterly at her
+      extravagance in continuing to buy a daily paper, asking what business she
+      had to spend sixpence a week on such a needless luxury. But Beatrice would
+      not make up her mind to dock the paper with its occasional mention of
+      Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again, Owen Davies was a perpetual anxiety to her. His infatuation for
+      herself was becoming notorious; everybody saw it except her father. Mr.
+      Granger&rsquo;s mind was so occupied with questions connected with tithe that
+      fortunately for Beatrice little else could find an entry. Owen dogged her
+      about; he would wait whole hours outside the school or by the Vicarage
+      gate merely to speak a few words to her. Sometimes when at length she
+      appeared he seemed to be struck dumb, he could say nothing, but would gaze
+      at her with his dull eyes in a fashion that filled her with vague alarm.
+      He never ventured to speak to her of his love indeed, but he looked it,
+      which was almost as bad. Another thing was that he had grown jealous. The
+      seed which Elizabeth had planted in his mind had brought forth abundantly,
+      though of course Beatrice did not know that this was her sister&rsquo;s doing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the very morning that Geoffrey went away Mr. Davies had met her as she
+      was walking back from the station and asked her if Mr. Bingham had gone.
+      When she replied that this was so, she had distinctly heard him murmur,
+      &ldquo;Thank God! thank God!&rdquo; Subsequently she discovered also that he bribed
+      the old postman to keep count of the letters which she sent and received
+      from Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These things filled Beatrice with alarm, but there was worse behind. Mr.
+      Davies began to send her presents, first such things as prize pigeons and
+      fowls, then jewellery. The pigeons and fowls she could not well return
+      without exciting remark, but the jewellery she sent back by one of the
+      school children. First came a bracelet, then a locket with his photograph
+      inside, and lastly, a case that, when she opened it, which her curiosity
+      led her to do, nearly blinded her with light. It was a diamond necklace,
+      and she had never seen such diamonds before, but from their size and
+      lustre she knew that each stone must be worth hundreds of pounds. Beatrice
+      put it in her pocket and carried it until she met him, which she did in
+      the course of that afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Davies,&rdquo; she said before he could speak, and handing him the package,
+      &ldquo;this has been sent to me by mistake. Will you kindly take it back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took it, abashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Davies,&rdquo; she went on, looking him full in the eyes, &ldquo;I hope that
+      there will be no more such mistakes. Please understand that I cannot
+      accept presents from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Bingham had sent it, you would have accepted it,&rdquo; he muttered
+      sulkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice turned and flashed such a look on him that he fell back and left
+      her. But it was true, and she knew that it was true. If Geoffrey had given
+      her a sixpence with a hole in it, she would have valued it more than all
+      the diamonds on earth. Oh! what a position was hers. And it was wrong,
+      too. She had no right to love the husband of another woman. But right or
+      wrong the fact remained: she did love him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the worst of it was that, as she well knew, sooner or later all this
+      about Mr. Davies must come to the ears of her father, and then what would
+      happen? One thing was certain. In his present poverty-stricken condition
+      he would move heaven and earth to bring about her marriage to this rich
+      man. Her father never had been very scrupulous where money was concerned,
+      and the pinch of want was not likely to make him more so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, we may be sure, did all this escape the jealous eye of Elizabeth.
+      Things looked black for her, but she did not intend to throw up the cards
+      on that account. Only it was time to lead trumps. In other words, Beatrice
+      must be fatally compromised in the eyes of Owen Davies, if by any means
+      this could be brought about. So far things had gone well for her schemes.
+      Beatrice and Geoffrey loved each other, of that Elizabeth was certain. But
+      the existence of this secret, underhand affection would avail her naught
+      unless it could be ripened into acts. Everybody is free to indulge in
+      secret predilections, but if once they are given way to, if once a woman&rsquo;s
+      character is compromised, then the world avails itself of its
+      opportunities and destroys her. What man, thought Elizabeth, would marry a
+      compromised woman? If Beatrice could be compromised, Owen Davies would not
+      take her to wife&mdash;therefore this must be brought about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It sounds wicked and unnatural. &ldquo;Impossible that sister should so treat
+      sister,&rdquo; the reader of this history may say, thinking of her own, and of
+      her affectionate and respectable surroundings. But it is not impossible.
+      If you, who doubt, will study the law reports, and no worse occupation can
+      be wished to you, you will find that such things are possible. Human
+      nature can rise to strange heights, and it can also fall to depths beyond
+      your fathoming. Because a thing is without parallel in your own small
+      experience it in no way follows that it cannot be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth was a very remorseless person; she was more&mdash;she was a
+      woman actuated by passion and by greed: the two strongest motives known to
+      the human heart. But with her recklessness she united a considerable
+      degree of intelligence, or rather of intellect. Had she been a savage she
+      might have removed her sister from her path by a more expeditious way;
+      being what she was, she merely strove to effect the same end by a method
+      not punishable by law, in short, by murdering her reputation. Would she be
+      responsible if her sister went wrong, and was thus utterly discredited in
+      the eyes of this man who wished to marry her, and whom Elizabeth wished to
+      marry? Of course not; that was Beatrice&rsquo;s affair. But she could give her
+      every chance of falling into temptation, and this it was her fixed design
+      to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Circumstances soon gave her an opportunity. The need of money became very
+      pressing at the Vicarage. They had literally no longer the wherewithal to
+      live. The tithe payers absolutely refused to fulfil their obligations. As
+      it happened, Jones, the man who had murdered the auctioneer, was never
+      brought to trial. He died shortly after his arrest in a fit of <i>delirium
+      tremens</i> and nervous prostration brought on by the sudden cessation of
+      a supply of stimulants, and an example was lost, that, had he been duly
+      hanged, might have been made of the results of defying the law. Mr.
+      Granger was now too poor to institute any further proceedings, which, in
+      the state of public feeling in Wales, might or might not succeed; he could
+      only submit, and submission meant beggary. Indeed he was already a beggar.
+      In this state of affairs he took counsel with Elizabeth, pointing out that
+      they must either get money or starve. Now the only possible way to get
+      money was by borrowing it, and Mr. Granger&rsquo;s suggestion was that he should
+      apply to Owen Davies, who had plenty. Indeed he would have done so long
+      ago, but that the squire had the reputation of being an exceedingly
+      close-fisted man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But this proposition did not at all suit Elizabeth&rsquo;s book. Her great
+      object had been to conceal Mr. Davies&rsquo;s desires as regards Beatrice from
+      her father, and her daily dread was that he might become acquainted with
+      them from some outside source. She knew very well that if her father went
+      up to the Castle to borrow money it would be lent, or rather given, freely
+      enough; but she also knew that the lender would almost certainly take the
+      opportunity, the very favourable opportunity, to unfold his wishes as
+      regards the borrower&rsquo;s daughter. The one thing would naturally lead to the
+      other&mdash;the promise of her father&rsquo;s support of Owen&rsquo;s suit would be
+      the consideration for the money received. How gladly that support would be
+      given was also obvious to her, and with her father pushing Beatrice on the
+      one side and Owen Davies pushing her on the other, how could Elizabeth be
+      sure that she would not yield? Beatrice would be the very person to be
+      carried away by an idea of duty. Their father would tell her that he had
+      got the money on this undertaking, and it was quite possible that her
+      pride might bring her to fulfil a bond thus given, however distasteful the
+      deed might be to her personally. No, her father must at all hazards be
+      prevented from seeking assistance from Owen Davies. And yet the money must
+      be had from somewhere, or they would be ruined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, she had it&mdash;Geoffrey Bingham should lend the money! He could well
+      afford it now, and she shrewdly guessed that he would not grudge the coat
+      off his back if he thought that by giving it he might directly or
+      indirectly help Beatrice. Her father must go up to town to see him, she
+      would have no letter-writing; one never knows how a letter may be read. He
+      must see Mr. Bingham, and if possible bring him down to Bryngelly. In a
+      moment every detail of the plot became clear to Elizabeth&rsquo;s mind, and then
+      she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must not go to Mr. Davies, father,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;he is a hard man, and
+      would only refuse and put you in a false position; you must go to Mr.
+      Bingham. Listen: he is rich now, and he is very fond of you and of
+      Beatrice. He will lend you a hundred pounds at once. You must go to London
+      by the early train to-morrow, and drive straight to his chambers and see
+      him. It will cost two pounds to get there and back, but that cannot be
+      helped; it is safer than writing, and I am sure that you will not go for
+      nothing. And see here, father, bring Mr. Bingham back with you for a few
+      days if you can. It will be a little return for his kindness, and I know
+      that he is not well. Beatrice had a letter from him in which he said that
+      he was so overworked that he thought he must take a little rest soon.
+      Bring him back for Whit-Sunday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger hesitated, demurred, and finally yielded. The weak, querulous
+      old farmer clergyman, worn out with many daily cares and quite unsupported
+      by mental resources, was but a tool in Elizabeth&rsquo;s able hands. He did not
+      indeed feel any humiliation at the idea of trying to borrow the cash, for
+      his nature was not finely strung, and money troubles had made him callous
+      to the verge of unscrupulousness; but he did not like the idea of a
+      journey to London, where he had not been for more than twenty years, and
+      the expenditure that it entailed. Still he acted as Elizabeth bade him,
+      even to keeping the expedition secret from Beatrice. Beatrice, as her
+      sister explained to him, was proud as Lucifer, and might raise objections
+      if she knew that he was going to London to borrow money of Mr. Bingham.
+      This indeed she would certainly have done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the following afternoon&mdash;it was the Friday before Whit-Sunday, and
+      the last day of the Easter sittings&mdash;Geoffrey sat in his chambers, in
+      the worst possible spirits, thoroughly stale and worn out with work. There
+      was a consultation going on, and his client, a pig-headed Norfolk farmer,
+      who was bent upon proceeding to trial with some extraordinary action for
+      trespass against his own landlord, was present with his solicitor.
+      Geoffrey in a few short, clear words had explained the absurdity of the
+      whole thing, and strongly advised him to settle, for the client had
+      insisted on seeing him, refusing to be put off with a written opinion. But
+      the farmer was not satisfied, and the solicitor was now endeavouring to
+      let the pure light of law into the darkness of his injured soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey threw himself back in his chair, pushed the dark hair from his
+      brow, and pretended to listen. But in a minute his mind was far away.
+      Heavens, how tired he was! Well, there would be rest for a few days&mdash;till
+      Tuesday, when he had a matter that must be attended to&mdash;the House had
+      risen and so had the courts. What should he do with himself? Honoria
+      wished to go and stay with her brother, Lord Garsington, and, for a
+      wonder, to take Effie with her. He did not like it, but he supposed that
+      he should have to consent. One thing was, <i>he</i> would not go. He could
+      not endure Garsington, Dunstan, and all their set. Should he run down to
+      Bryngelly? The temptation was very great; that would be happiness indeed,
+      but his common sense prevailed against it. No, it was better that he
+      should not go there. He would leave Bryngelly alone. If Beatrice wished
+      him to come she would have said so, and she had never even hinted at such
+      a thing, and if she had he did not think that he would have gone. But he
+      lacked the heart to go anywhere else. He would stop in town, rest, and
+      read a novel, for Geoffrey, when he found time, was not above this
+      frivolous occupation. Possibly, under certain circumstances, he might even
+      have been capable of writing one. At that moment his clerk entered, and
+      handed him a slip of paper with something written on it. He opened it idly
+      and read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Revd. Mr. Granger to see you. Told him you were engaged, but he said he
+      would wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey started violently, so violently that both the solicitor and the
+      obstinate farmer looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell the gentleman that I will see him in a minute,&rdquo; he said to the
+      retreating clerk, and then, addressing the farmer, &ldquo;Well, sir, I have said
+      all that I have to say. I cannot advise you to continue this action.
+      Indeed, if you wish to do so, you must really direct your solicitor to
+      retain some other counsel, as I will not be a party to what can only mean
+      a waste of money. Good afternoon,&rdquo; and he rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The farmer was convoyed out grumbling. In another moment Mr. Granger
+      entered, dressed in a somewhat threadbare suit of black, and his thin
+      white hair hanging, as usual, over his eyes. Geoffrey glanced at him with
+      apprehension, and as he did so noticed that he had aged greatly during the
+      last seven months. Had he come to tell him some ill news of Beatrice&mdash;that
+      she was ill, or dead, or going to be married?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Granger?&rdquo; he said, as he stretched out his hand, and
+      controlling his voice as well as he could. &ldquo;How are you? This is a most
+      unexpected pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; answered the old man, while he seated
+      himself nervously in a chair, placing his hat with a trembling hand upon
+      the floor beside him. &ldquo;Yes, thank you, I am pretty well, not very grand&mdash;worn
+      out with trouble as the sparks fly upwards,&rdquo; he added, with a vague
+      automatic recollection of the scriptural quotation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope that Miss Elizabeth and Be&mdash;that your daughters are well
+      also,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, unable to restrain his anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Bingham. Elizabeth isn&rsquo;t very grand either,
+      complains of a pain in her chest, a little bilious perhaps&mdash;she
+      always is bilious in the spring.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Miss Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I think she&rsquo;s well&mdash;very quiet, you know, and a little pale,
+      perhaps; but she is always quiet&mdash;a strange woman Beatrice, Mr.
+      Bingham, a very strange woman, quite beyond me! I do not understand her,
+      and don&rsquo;t try to. Not like other women at all, takes no pleasure in things
+      seemingly; curious, with her good looks&mdash;very curious. But nobody
+      understands Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. &ldquo;And how are tithes being paid, Mr.
+      Granger? not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died in
+      prison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at random;
+      the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him. What did
+      interest him was this money question. Nor was it very wonderful; the poor
+      narrow-minded old man had thought about money till he could scarcely find
+      room for anything else, indeed nothing else really touched him closely. He
+      broke into a long story of his wrongs, and, drawing a paper from his
+      breast pocket, with shaking finger pointed out to Geoffrey how that his
+      clerical income for the last six months had been at the rate of only forty
+      pounds a year, upon which sum even a Welsh clergyman could not consider
+      himself passing rich. Geoffrey listened and sympathised; then came a
+      pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That&rsquo;s how we&rsquo;ve been getting on at Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; Mr. Granger
+      said presently, &ldquo;starving, pretty well starving. It&rsquo;s only you who have
+      been making money; we&rsquo;ve been sitting on the same dock-leaf while you have
+      become a great man. If it had not been for Beatrice&rsquo;s salary&mdash;she&rsquo;s
+      behaved very well about the salary, has Beatrice&mdash;I am sure I don&rsquo;t
+      understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she keeps; I know
+      that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter, because she got a
+      cough from it&mdash;we should have been in the workhouse, and that&rsquo;s where
+      we shall be yet,&rdquo; and he rubbed the back of his withered hand across his
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe herself&mdash;Beatrice
+      shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak while <i>he</i> lived
+      in luxury! It made him sick to think of it. For a moment he could say
+      nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have come here&mdash;I&rsquo;ve come,&rdquo; went on the old man in a broken voice,
+      broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear
+      lest it should be refused, &ldquo;to ask you if you could lend me a little
+      money. I don&rsquo;t know where to turn, I don&rsquo;t indeed, or I would not do it,
+      Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could lend me
+      a hundred pounds I&rsquo;d give you note of hand for it and try to pay it back
+      little by little; we might take twenty pounds a year from Beatrice&rsquo;s
+      salary&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t, please&mdash;do not talk of such a thing!&rdquo; ejaculated the
+      horrified Geoffrey. &ldquo;Where the devil is my cheque-book? Oh, I know, I left
+      it in Bolton Street. Here, this will do as well,&rdquo; and he took up a draft
+      note made out to his order, and, rapidly signing his name on the back of
+      it, handed it to Mr. Granger. It was in payment of the fees in the great
+      case of Parsons and Douse and some other matters. Mr. Granger took the
+      draft, and, holding it close to his eyes, glanced at the amount; it was
+      £200.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But this is double what I asked for,&rdquo; he said doubtfully. &ldquo;Am I to return
+      you £100?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey, &ldquo;I daresay that you have some debts to pay.
+      Thank Heaven, I can get on very well and earn more money than I want. Not
+      enough clothing&mdash;it is shocking to think of!&rdquo; he added, more to
+      himself than to his listener.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man rose, his eyes full of tears. &ldquo;God bless you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;God
+      bless you. I do not know how to thank you&mdash;I don&rsquo;t indeed,&rdquo; and he
+      caught Geoffrey&rsquo;s hand between his trembling palms and pressed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please do not say any more, Mr. Granger; it really is only a matter of
+      mutual obligation. No, no, I don&rsquo;t want any note of hand. If I were to die
+      it might be used against you. You can pay me whenever it is convenient.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are too good, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said the old clergyman. &ldquo;Where could
+      another man be found who would lend me £200 without security?&rdquo; (where
+      indeed!) &ldquo;By the way,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;I forgot; my mind is in such a whirl.
+      Will you come back with me for a few days to Bryngelly? We shall all be so
+      pleased if you can. Do come, Mr. Bingham; you look as though you want a
+      change, you do indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the desk. But half an hour before he
+      had made up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And now&mdash;&mdash;The
+      vision of Beatrice rose before his eyes. Beatrice who had gone cold all
+      winter and never told him one word of their biting poverty&mdash;the
+      longing for the sight of Beatrice came into his heart, and like a
+      hurricane swept the defences of his reason to the level ground. Temptation
+      overwhelmed him; he no longer struggled against it. He must see her, if it
+      was only to say good-bye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said quietly, lifting his bowed head. &ldquo;Yes, I have nothing
+      particular to do for the next day or two. I think that I will come. When
+      do you go back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I thought of taking the night mail, but I feel so tired. I really
+      don&rsquo;t know. I think I shall go by the nine o&rsquo;clock train to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will suit me very well,&rdquo; said Geoffrey; &ldquo;and now what are you going
+      to do to-night? You had better come and dine and sleep at my house. No
+      dress clothes? Oh, never mind; there are some people coming but they won&rsquo;t
+      care; a clergyman is always dressed. Come along and I will get that draft
+      cashed. The bank is shut, but I can manage it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BACK AT BRYNGELLY
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey and Mr. Granger reached Bolton Street about six o&rsquo;clock. The
+      drawing-room was still full of callers. Lady Honoria&rsquo;s young men mustered
+      in great force in those days. They were very inoffensive young men and
+      Geoffrey had no particular objection to them. Only he found it difficult
+      to remember all their names. When Geoffrey entered the drawing-room there
+      were no fewer than five of them, to say nothing of two stray ladies, all
+      superbly dressed and sitting metaphorically at Honoria&rsquo;s very pretty feet.
+      Otherwise their contributions to the general store of amusement did not
+      amount to much, for her ladyship did most of the talking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey introduced Mr. Granger, whom Honoria could not at first remember.
+      Nor did she receive the announcement that he was going to dine and stay
+      the night with any particular enthusiasm. The young men melted away at
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s advent like mists before a rising sun. He greeted them civilly
+      enough, but with him they had nothing in common. To tell the truth they
+      were a little afraid of him. This man with his dark handsome face sealed
+      with the stamp of intellect, his powerful-looking form (ill dressed,
+      according to their standard) and his great and growing reputation, was a
+      person with whom they had no sympathy, and who, they felt, had no sympathy
+      with them. We talk as though there is one heaven and one hell for all of
+      us, but here must be some mistake. An impassable gulf yawns between the
+      different classes of mankind. What has such a man as Geoffrey to do with
+      the feeble male and female butterflies of a London drawing-room? There is
+      only one link between them: they live on the same planet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the fine young men and the two stray ladies had melted away, Geoffrey
+      took Mr. Granger up to his room. Coming downstairs again he found Lady
+      Honoria waiting for him in the study.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that individual really going to dine and sleep here?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, Honoria, and he has brought no dress clothes,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Geoffrey, it is too bad of you,&rdquo; said the lady with some
+      pardonable irritation. &ldquo;Why do you bring people to dinner in this
+      promiscuous way? It will quite upset the table. Just fancy asking an old
+      Welsh clergyman to dine, who has not the slightest pretensions to being a
+      gentleman, when one has the Prime Minister and a Bishop coming&mdash;and a
+      clergyman without dress clothes too. What has he come for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He came to see me on business, and as to the people coming to dinner, if
+      they don&rsquo;t like it they can grumble when they go home. By the way,
+      Honoria, I am going down to Wales for a day or two to-morrow. I want a
+      change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Going to see the lovely Beatrice, I suppose. You had better be
+      careful, Geoffrey. That girl will get you into a mess, and if she does
+      there are plenty of people who are ready to make an example of you. You
+      have enemies enough, I can tell you. I am not jealous, it is not in my
+      line, but you are too intimate with that girl, and you will be sorry for
+      it one day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said Geoffrey angrily, but nevertheless he felt that Lady
+      Honoria&rsquo;s words were words of truth. It struck him, moreover, that she
+      must feel this strongly, or she would not have spoken in that tone.
+      Honoria did not pose as a household philosopher. Still he would not draw
+      back now. His heart was set on seeing Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to understand,&rdquo; went on his wife, &ldquo;that you still object to my
+      staying with the Garsingtons? I think it is a little hard if I do not make
+      a fuss about your going to see your village paragon, that you should
+      refuse to allow me to visit my own brother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey felt that he was being bargained with. It was degrading, but in
+      the extremity of his folly he yielded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go if you like,&rdquo; he said shortly, &ldquo;but if you take Effie, mind she is
+      properly looked after, that is all,&rdquo; and he abruptly left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria looked after him, slowly nodding her handsome head. &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; she
+      said to herself, &ldquo;I have found out how to manage you now. You have your
+      weak point like other people, Master Geoffrey&mdash;and it spells
+      Beatrice. Only you must not go too far. I am not jealous, but I am not
+      going to have a scandal for fifty Beatrices. I will not allow you to lose
+      your reputation and position. Just imagine a man like that pining for a
+      village girl&mdash;she is nothing more! And they talk about his being so
+      clever. Well, he always liked ladies&rsquo; society; that is his failing, and
+      now he has burnt his fingers. They all do sooner or later, especially
+      these clever men. The women flatter them, that&rsquo;s it. Of course the girl is
+      trying to get hold of him, and she might do worse, but so surely as my
+      name is Honoria Bingham I will put a spoke in her wheel before she has
+      done. Bah! and they laugh at the power of women when a man like Geoffrey,
+      with all the world to lose, grows love-sick for a pretty face; it is a <i>very</i>
+      pretty face by the way. I do believe that if I were out of the way he
+      would marry her. But I am in the way, and mean to stay there. Well, it is
+      time to dress for dinner. I only hope that old clown of a clergyman won&rsquo;t
+      do something ridiculous. I shall have to apologise for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Dinner-time had come; it was a quarter past eight, and the room was filled
+      with highly bred people all more or less distinguished. Mr. Granger had
+      duly appeared, arrayed in his threadbare black coat, relieved, however, by
+      a pair of Geoffrey&rsquo;s dress shoes. As might have been expected, the great
+      folk did not seem surprised at his presence, or to take any particular
+      notice of his attire, the fact being that such people never are surprised.
+      A Zulu chief in full war dress would only excite a friendly interest in
+      their breasts. On the contrary they recognised vaguely that the old
+      gentleman was something out of the common run, and as such worth
+      cultivating. Indeed the Prime Minister, hearing casually that he was a
+      clergyman from Wales, asked to be introduced to him, and at once fell into
+      conversation about tithes, a subject of which Mr. Granger was thoroughly
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently they went down to dinner, Mr. Granger escorting the wife of the
+      Bishop, a fat and somewhat apoplectic lady, blessed with an excellent
+      appetite. On his other side was the Prime Minister, and between the two he
+      got on very well, especially after a few glasses of wine. Indeed, both the
+      apoplectic wife of the Bishop and the head of Her Majesty&rsquo;s Government
+      were subsequently heard to declare that Mr. Granger was a very
+      entertaining person. To the former he related with much detail how his
+      daughter had saved their host&rsquo;s life, and to the latter he discoursed upon
+      the subject of tithes, favouring him with his ideas of what legislation
+      was necessary to meet the question. Somewhat to his own surprise, he found
+      that his views were received with attention and even with respect. In the
+      main, too, they received the support of the Bishop, who likewise felt
+      keenly on the subject of tithes. Never before had Mr. Granger had such a
+      good dinner nor mingled with company so distinguished. He remembered both
+      till his dying day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning Geoffrey and Mr. Granger started before Lady Honoria was up.
+      Into the details of their long journey to Wales (in a crowded third-class
+      carriage) we need not enter. Geoffrey had plenty to think of, but his
+      fears had vanished, as fears sometimes do when we draw near to the object
+      of them, and had been replaced by a curious expectancy. He saw now, or
+      thought he saw, that he had been making a mountain out of a molehill.
+      Probably it meant nothing at all. There was no real danger. Beatrice liked
+      him, no doubt; possibly she had even experienced a fit of tenderness
+      towards him. Such things come and such things go. Time is a wonderful
+      healer of moral distempers, and few young ladies endure the chains of an
+      undesirable attachment for a period of seven whole months. It made him
+      almost blush to think that this might be so, and that the gratuitous
+      extension of his misfortune to Beatrice might be nothing more than the
+      working of his own unconscious vanity&mdash;a vanity which, did she know
+      of it, would move her to angry laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remembered how once, when he was quite a young fellow, he had been
+      somewhat smitten with a certain lady, who certainly, if he might judge
+      from her words and acts, reciprocated the sentiment. And he remembered
+      also, how when he met that lady some months afterwards she treated him
+      with a cold indifference, indeed almost with an insolence, that quite
+      bewildered him, making him wonder how the same person could show in such
+      different lights, till at length, mortified and ashamed by his mistake, he
+      had gone away in a rage and seen her face no more. Of course he had set it
+      down to female infidelity; he had served her turn, she had made a fool of
+      him, and that was all she wanted. Now he might enjoy his humiliation. It
+      did not occur to him that it might be simple &ldquo;cussedness,&rdquo; to borrow an
+      energetic American term, or that she had not really changed, but was angry
+      with him for some reason which she did not choose to show. It is difficult
+      to weigh the motives of women in the scales of male experience, and many
+      other men besides Geoffrey have been forced to give up the attempt and to
+      console themselves with the reflection that the inexplicable is generally
+      not worth understanding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, probably it would be the same case over again. And yet, and yet&mdash;was
+      Beatrice of that class? Had she not too much of a man&rsquo;s
+      straightforwardness of aim to permit her to play such tricks? In the
+      bottom of his soul he thought that she had, but he would not admit it to
+      himself. The fact of the matter was that, half unknowingly, he was trying
+      to drug his conscience. He knew that in his longing to see her dear face
+      once more he had undertaken a dangerous thing. He was about to walk with
+      her over an abyss on a bridge which might bear them, or&mdash;might break.
+      So long as he walked there alone it would be well, but would it bear them
+      <i>both?</i> Alas for the frailty of human nature, this was the truth; but
+      he would not and did not acknowledge it. He was not going to make love to
+      Beatrice, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of her society. In friendship
+      there could be no harm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not difficult thus to still the qualms of an uneasy mind, more
+      especially when the thing in question at its worst is rather an offence
+      against local custom than against natural law. In many countries of the
+      world&mdash;in nearly all countries, indeed, at different epochs of their
+      history&mdash;it would have been no wrong that Geoffrey and Beatrice
+      should love each other, and human nature in strong temptation is very apt
+      to override artificial barriers erected to suit the convenience or promote
+      the prosperity of particular sections of mankind. But, as we have heard,
+      even though all things may be lawful, yet all things are not expedient. To
+      commit or even to condone an act because the principle that stamps it as
+      wrong will admit of argument on its merits is mere sophistry, by the aid
+      of which we might prove ourselves entitled to defy the majority of laws of
+      all calibres. Laws vary to suit the generations, but each generation must
+      obey its own, or confusion will ensue. A deed should be judged by its
+      fruits; it may even be innocent in itself, yet if its fruits are evil the
+      doer in a sense is guilty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus in some countries to mention the name of your mother-in-law entails
+      the most unpleasant consequences on that intimate relation. Nobody can say
+      that to name the lady is a thing wicked in itself; yet the man who,
+      knowing the penalties which will ensue, allows himself, even in a fit of
+      passion against that relative, to violate the custom and mention her by
+      name is doubtless an offender. Thus, too, the result of an entanglement
+      between a woman and a man already married generally means unhappiness and
+      hurt to all concerned, more especially to the women, whose prospects are
+      perhaps irretrievably injured thereby. It is useless to point to the
+      example of the patriarchs, some foreign royal families, and many
+      respectable Turks; it is useless to plead that the love is deep and holy
+      love, for which a man or woman might well live and die, or to show
+      extenuating circumstances in the fact of loneliness, need of sympathy, and
+      that the existing marriage is a hollow sham. The rule is clear. A man may
+      do most things except cheat at cards or run away in action; a woman may
+      break half-a-dozen hearts, or try to break them, and finally put herself
+      up at auction and take no harm at all&mdash;but neither of them may in any
+      event do <i>this</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not that Geoffrey, to do him justice, had any such intentions. Most men
+      are incapable of plots of that nature. If they fall, it is when the voice
+      of conscience is lost in the whirlwind of passion, and counsel is darkened
+      by the tumultuous pleadings of the heart. Their sin is that they will,
+      most of them, allow themselves to be put in positions favourable to the
+      development of these disagreeable influences. It is not safe to light
+      cigarettes in a powder factory. If Geoffrey had done what he ought to have
+      done, he would never have gone to Bryngelly, and there would have been no
+      story to tell, or no more than there usually is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length Mr. Granger and his guest reached Bryngelly; there was nobody to
+      meet them, for nobody knew that they were coming, so they walked up to the
+      Vicarage. It was strange to Geoffrey once more to pass by the little
+      church through those well-remembered, wind-torn pines and see that low
+      long house. It seemed wonderful that all should still be just as it was,
+      that there should be no change at all, when he himself had seen so much.
+      There was Beatrice&rsquo;s home; where was Beatrice?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He passed into the house like a man in a dream. In another moment he was
+      in the long parlour where he had spent so many happy hours, and Elizabeth
+      was greeting him. He shook hands with her, and as he did so, noticed
+      vaguely that she too was utterly unchanged. Her straw-coloured hair was
+      pushed back from the temples in the same way, the mouth wore the same hard
+      smile, her light eyes shone with the same cold look; she even wore the
+      same brown dress. But she appeared to be very pleased to see him, as
+      indeed she was, for the game looked well for Elizabeth. Her father kissed
+      her hurriedly, and bustled from the room to lock up his borrowed cash,
+      leaving them together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Somehow Geoffrey&rsquo;s conversational powers failed him. Where was Beatrice?
+      she ought to be back from school. It was holiday time indeed. Could she be
+      away?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made an effort, and remarked absently that things seemed very unchanged
+      at Bryngelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are looking for Beatrice,&rdquo; said Elizabeth, answering his thought and
+      not his words. &ldquo;She has gone out walking, but I think she will be back
+      soon. Excuse me, but I must go and see about your room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey hung about a little, then he lit his pipe and strolled down to
+      the beach, with a vague unexpressed idea of meeting Beatrice. He did not
+      meet Beatrice, but he met old Edward, who knew him at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s queer to see you here again, specially when I
+      thinks as how I saw you first, and you a dead &lsquo;un to all purposes, with
+      your mouth open, and Miss Beatrice a-hanging on to your hair fit to pull
+      your scalp off. You never was nearer old Davy than you was that night,
+      sir, nor won&rsquo;t be. And now you&rsquo;ve been spared to become a Parliament man,
+      I hears, and much good may you do there&mdash;it will take all your time,
+      sir&mdash;and I think, sir, that I should like to drink your health.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey put his hand in his pocket and gave the old man a sovereign. He
+      could afford to do so now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Miss Beatrice go out canoeing now?&rdquo; he asked while Edward mumbled
+      his astonished thanks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At times, sir&mdash;thanking you kindly; it ain&rsquo;t many suvrings as comes
+      my way&mdash;though I hate the sight on it, I do. I&rsquo;d like to stave a hole
+      in the bottom of that there cranky concern; it ain&rsquo;t safe, and that&rsquo;s the
+      fact. There&rsquo;ll be another accent out of it one of these fine days and no
+      coming to next time. But, Lord bless you, it&rsquo;s her way of pleasuring
+      herself. She&rsquo;s a queer un is Miss Beatrice, and she gets queerer and
+      queerer, what with their being so tight screwed up at the Vicarage, no
+      tithes and that, and one thing and another. Not but what I&rsquo;m thinking,
+      sir,&rdquo; he added in a portentous whisper, &ldquo;as the squire has got summut to
+      do with it. He&rsquo;s a courting of her, he is; he&rsquo;s as hard after her as a dog
+      fish after a stray herring, and why she can&rsquo;t just say yes and marry him
+      I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps she doesn&rsquo;t like him,&rdquo; said Geoffrey coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May be, sir, may be; maids all have their fancies, in whatsoever walk o&rsquo; 
+      life it has pleased God to stick &lsquo;em, but it&rsquo;s a wonderful pity, it is. He
+      ain&rsquo;t no great shakes, he ain&rsquo;t, but he&rsquo;s a sound man&mdash;no girl can&rsquo;t
+      want a sounder&mdash;lived quiet all his days you see, sir, and what&rsquo;s
+      more he&rsquo;s got the money, and money&rsquo;s tight up at the Vicarage, sir. Gals
+      must give up their fancies sometimes, sir. Lord! a brace of brats and
+      she&rsquo;d forget all about &lsquo;em. I&rsquo;m seventy years old and I&rsquo;ve seen their
+      ways, sir, though in a humble calling. You should say a word to her, sir;
+      she&rsquo;d thank you kindly five years after. You&rsquo;d do her a good turn, sir,
+      you would, and not a bad un as the saying goes, and give it the lie&mdash;no,
+      beg your pardon, that is the other way round&mdash;she&rsquo;s bound to do you
+      the bad turn having saved your life, though I don&rsquo;t see how she could do
+      that unless, begging your pardon, she made you fall in love with her,
+      being married, which though strange wouldn&rsquo;t be wunnerful seeing what she
+      is and seeing how I has been in love with her myself since she was seven,
+      old missus and all, who died eight years gone and well rid of the
+      rheumatics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice was one of the few subjects that could unlock old Edward&rsquo;s
+      breast, and Geoffrey retired before his confusing but suggestive
+      eloquence. Hurriedly bidding the old man good-night he returned to the
+      house, and leaning on the gate watched the twilight dying on the bosom of
+      the west.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, a bunch of wild roses in her girdle, Beatrice emerged from the
+      gathering gloom and stood before him face to face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE THIRD APPEAL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Face to face they stood, while at the vision of her sweetness his heart
+      grew still. Face to face, and the faint light fell upon her tender
+      loveliness and died in her deep eyes, and the faint breeze fragrant with
+      the breath of pines gently stirred her hair. Oh, it was worth living to
+      see her thus!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; she said in a puzzled tone, stepping forward to pass
+      the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Beatrice!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She gave a little cry, and clutched the railing, else she would have
+      fallen. One moment she stayed so, looking up towards his face that was hid
+      in the deepening shadow&mdash;looking with wild eyes of hope and fear and
+      love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it you,&rdquo; she said at length, &ldquo;or another dream?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is I, Beatrice!&rdquo; he answered, amazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She recovered herself with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why did you frighten me so?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;It was unkind&mdash;oh, I
+      did not mean to say anything cross. What did I say? I forget. I am so glad
+      that you have come!&rdquo; and she put her hand to her forehead and looked at
+      him again as one might gaze at a ghost from the grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you not expect me?&rdquo; Geoffrey asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Expect you? no. No more than I expected&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and she stopped
+      suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very odd,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I thought you knew that your father was going
+      to ask me down. I returned from London with him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From London,&rdquo; she murmured. &ldquo;I did not know; Elizabeth did not tell me
+      anything about it. I suppose that she forgot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here I am at any rate, and how are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well now, quite well. There, I am all right again. It is very wrong
+      to frighten people in that way, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she added in her usual
+      voice. &ldquo;Let me pass through the gate and I will shake hands with you&mdash;if,&rdquo;
+       she added, in a tone of gentle mockery, &ldquo;one may shake hands with so great
+      a man. But I told you how it would be, did I not, just before we were
+      drowned together, you know? How is Effie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Effie flourishes,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Do you know, you do not look very grand.
+      Your father told me that you had a cold in the winter,&rdquo; and Geoffrey
+      shivered as he thought of the cause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, thank you, I have nothing to complain of. I am strong and well. How
+      long do you stay here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not long. Perhaps till Tuesday morning, perhaps till Monday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice sighed. Happiness is short. She had not brought him here, she
+      would not have lifted a finger to bring him here, but since he had come
+      she wished that he was going to stay longer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is supper time,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;let us go in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went in and ate their supper. It was a happy meal. Mr. Granger was
+      in almost boisterous spirits. It is wonderful what a difference the
+      possession of that two hundred pounds made in his demeanour; he seemed
+      another man. It was true that a hundred of it must go in paying debts, but
+      a hundred would be left, which meant at least a year&rsquo;s respite for him.
+      Elizabeth, too, relaxed her habitual grimness; the two hundred pounds had
+      its influence on her also, and there were other genial influences at work
+      in her dark secret heart. Beatrice knew nothing of the money and sat
+      somewhat silent, but she too was happy with the wild unreal happiness that
+      sometimes visits us in dreams.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Geoffrey, if Lady Honoria could have seen him she would have stared
+      in astonishment. Of late he had been a very silent man, many people indeed
+      had found him a dull companion. But under the influence of Beatrice&rsquo;s
+      presence he talked and talked brilliantly. Perhaps he was unconsciously
+      striving to show at his very best before her, as a man naturally does in
+      the presence of a woman whom he loves. So brilliantly did he talk that at
+      last they all sat still and listened to him, and they might have been
+      worse employed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length supper was done, and Elizabeth retired to her room. Presently,
+      too, Mr. Granger was called out to christen a sick baby and went
+      grumbling, and they were left alone. They sat in the window-place and
+      looked out at the quiet night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me about yourself,&rdquo; said Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he told her. He narrated all the steps by which he had reached his
+      present position, and showed her how from it he might rise to the topmost
+      heights of all. She did not look at him, and did not answer him, but once
+      when he paused, thinking that he had talked enough about himself, she
+      said, &ldquo;Go on; tell me some more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At last he had told her all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you have the power and the opportunity, and you will one
+      day be among the foremost men of your generation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I doubt it,&rdquo; he said with a sigh. &ldquo;I am not ambitious. I only work for
+      the sake of work, not for what it will bring. One day I daresay that I
+      shall weary of it all and leave it. But while I do work, I like to be
+      among the first in my degree.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;you must not give it up; you must go on and on.
+      Promise me,&rdquo; she continued, looking at him for the first time&mdash;&ldquo;promise
+      me that while you have health and strength you will persevere till you
+      stand alone and quite pre-eminent. Then you can give it up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should I promise you this, Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I ask it of you. Once I saved your life, Mr. Bingham, and it
+      gives me some little right to direct its course. I wish that the man whom
+      I saved to the world should be among the first men in the world, not in
+      wealth, which is an accident, but in intellect and force. Promise me this
+      and I shall be happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I promise you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I promise that I will try to rise because you
+      ask it, not because the prospect attracts me; but as he spoke his heart
+      was wrung. It was bitter to hear her speak thus of a future in which she
+      would have no share, which, as her words implied, would be a thing utterly
+      apart from her, as much apart as though she were dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said again, &ldquo;you gave me my life, and it makes me very unhappy
+      to think that I can give you nothing in return. Oh, Beatrice, I will tell
+      you what I have never told to any one. I am lonely and wretched. With the
+      exception of yourself, I do not think that there is anybody who really
+      cares for&mdash;I mean who really sympathises with me in the world. I
+      daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a humiliating thing to say,
+      and, in a fashion, a selfish thing. I never should have said it to any
+      living soul but you. What is the use of being great when there is nobody
+      to work for? Things might have been different, but the world is a hard
+      place. If you&mdash;if you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the
+      tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it. Then
+      there was a moment&rsquo;s pause, and very gently she drew her hand away and
+      thrust it in her bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have your wife to share your fortune,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;you have Effie to
+      inherit it, and you can leave your name to your country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came a heavy pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you,&rdquo; he said, breaking it, &ldquo;what future is there for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed softly. &ldquo;Women have no future and they ask none. At least I do
+      not now, though once I did. It is enough for them if they can ever so
+      little help the lives of others. That is their happiness, and their reward
+      is&mdash;rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then Mr. Granger came back from his christening, and Beatrice rose
+      and went to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Looks a little pale, doesn&rsquo;t she, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; said her father. &ldquo;I think
+      she must be troubled in her mind. The fact is&mdash;well, there is no
+      reason why I should not tell you; she thinks so much of you, and you might
+      say a word to brighten her up&mdash;well, it&rsquo;s about Mr. Davies. I fancy,
+      you know, that she likes him and is vexed because he does not come
+      forward. Well, you see&mdash;of course I may be mistaken, but I have
+      sometimes thought that he may. I have seen him look as if he was thinking
+      of it, though of course it is more than Beatrice has got any right to
+      expect. She&rsquo;s only got herself and her good looks to give him, and he&rsquo;s a
+      rich man. Think of it, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; and the old gentleman turned up his
+      eyes piously, &ldquo;just think what a thing it would be for her, and indeed for
+      all of us, if it should please God to send a chance like that in her way;
+      she would be rich for life, and such a position! But it is possible; one
+      never knows; he might take a fancy to her. At any rate, Mr. Bingham, I
+      think you could cheer her up a little; there is no need for her to give up
+      hope yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey burst into a short grim laugh. The idea of Beatrice languishing
+      for Owen Davies, indeed the irony of the whole position, was too much for
+      his sense of humour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I daresay that it might be a good match for her, but I do
+      not know how she would get on with Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get on! why, well enough, of course. Women are soft, and can squeeze into
+      most holes, especially if they are well lined. Besides, he may be a bit
+      heavy, but I think she is pining for him, and it&rsquo;s a pity that she should
+      waste her life like that. What, are you going to bed? Well, good-night&mdash;good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey did go to bed, but not to sleep. For a long while he lay awake,
+      thinking. He thought of the last night which he had spent in this little
+      room, of its strange experiences, of all that had happened since, and of
+      the meeting of to-day. Could he, after that meeting, any longer doubt what
+      were the feelings with which Beatrice regarded him? It was difficult to
+      so, and yet there was still room for error. Then he thought of what old
+      Edward had said to him, and of what Mr. Granger had said with reference to
+      Beatrice and Owen Davies. The views of both were crudely and even vulgarly
+      expressed, but they coincided, and, what was more, there was truth in
+      them, and he knew it. The idea of Beatrice marrying Mr. Davies, to put it
+      mildly, was repulsive to him; but had he any claim to stand between her
+      and so desirable a settlement in life? Clearly, he had not, his conscience
+      told him so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could it be right, moreover, that this kind of tie which existed between
+      them should be knitted more closely? What would it mean? Trouble, and
+      nothing but trouble, more especially to Beatrice, who would fret her days
+      away to no end. He had done wrong in coming here at all, he had done wrong
+      in taking her hand. He would make the only reparation in his power (as
+      though in such a case as that of Beatrice reparation were now possible)!
+      He would efface himself from her life and see her no more. Then she might
+      learn to forget him, or, at the worst, to remember him with but a vague
+      regret. Yes, cost what it might, he would force himself to do it before
+      any actual mischief ensued. The only question was, should he not go
+      further? Should he not tell her that she would do well to marry Mr.
+      Davies?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pondering over this most painful question, at last he went to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When men in Geoffrey&rsquo;s unhappy position turn penitent and see the error of
+      their ways, the prudent resolves that ensue are apt to overshoot the mark
+      and to partake of an aggressive nature. Not satisfied with leaving things
+      alone, they must needs hasten to proclaim their new-found virtue to the
+      partner of their fault, and advertise their infallible specific (to be
+      taken by the partner) for restoring the <i>status quo ante</i>. Sometimes
+      as a consequence of this pious zeal they find themselves misunderstood, or
+      even succeed in precipitating the catastrophe which they laudably desire
+      to prevent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The morrow was Whit-Sunday, and a day that Geoffrey had occasion to
+      remember for the rest of his life. They all met at breakfast and shortly
+      afterwards went to church, the service being at half-past ten. By way of
+      putting into effect the good resolutions with which he was so busy paving
+      an inferno of his own, Geoffrey did not sit by Beatrice, but took a seat
+      at the end of the little church, close to the door, and tried to console
+      himself by looking at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a curious sullen-natured day, and although there was not very much
+      sun the air was as hot as though they were in midsummer. Had they been in
+      a volcanic region, Geoffrey would have thought that such weather preceded
+      a shock of earthquake. As it was he knew that the English climate was
+      simply indulging itself at the expense of the population. But as up to the
+      present, the season had been cold, this knowledge did not console him.
+      Indeed he felt so choked in the stuffy little church that just before the
+      sermon (which he happened to be aware was <i>not</i> written by Beatrice)
+      he took an opportunity to slip out unobserved. Not knowing where to go, he
+      strolled down to the beach, on which there was nobody to be seen, for, as
+      has been observed, Bryngelly slept on Sundays. Presently, however, a man
+      approached walking rapidly, and to all appearance aimlessly, in whom he
+      recognised Owen Davies. He was talking to himself while he walked, and
+      swinging his arms. Geoffrey stepped aside to let him pass, and as he did
+      so was surprised and even shocked to see the change in the man. His plump
+      healthy-looking face had grown thin, and wore a half sullen, half pitiful
+      expression; there were dark circles round his blue eyes, once so placid,
+      and his hair would have been the better for cutting. Geoffrey wondered if
+      he had had an illness. At that moment Owen chanced to look round and saw
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I heard that you were here. They
+      told me at the station last night. You see this is a small place and one
+      likes to know who comes and goes,&rdquo; he added as though in excuse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked on and Geoffrey walked with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do not look well, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have you been laid up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I am quite right; it is only my mind that is ill.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, thinking that he certainly did look strange.
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you live too much alone and it depresses you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I live alone, because I can&rsquo;t help myself. What is a man to do, Mr.
+      Bingham, when the woman he loves will not marry him, won&rsquo;t look at him,
+      treats him like dirt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marry somebody else,&rdquo; suggested Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it is easy for you to say that&mdash;you have never loved anybody,
+      and you don&rsquo;t understand. I cannot marry anybody else, I want her only.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her? Whom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who! why, Beatrice&mdash;whom else could a man want to marry, if once he
+      had seen her. But she will not have me; she hates me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; said Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell you,&rdquo;
+       and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoarsely in his ear: &ldquo;Because
+      she loves <i>you</i>, Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; said Geoffrey shaking his arm free,
+      &ldquo;I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off your head.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be angry with me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It is true. I have watched her and
+      I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why does she
+      always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo;
+       Owen went on piteously, &ldquo;be merciful&mdash;you have your wife and lots of
+      women to make love to if you wish&mdash;leave me Beatrice. If you don&rsquo;t I
+      think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her, ever since she was
+      a child, and now my love travels faster and grows stronger every day, and
+      carries me away with it like a rock rolling down a hill. You can only
+      bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her everything, as much money as
+      she wants, all that she wants, and I will make her a good husband; I will
+      never leave her side.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no doubt that would be delightful for her,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey;
+      &ldquo;but does it not strike you that all this is just a little undignified?
+      These remarks, interesting as they are, should be made to Miss Granger,
+      not to me, Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t care; it is my only chance, and what do I
+      mind about being undignified? Oh, Mr. Bingham, I have never loved any
+      other woman, I have been lonely all my days. Do not stand in my path now.
+      If you only knew what I have suffered, how I have prayed God night after
+      night to give me Beatrice, you would help me. Say that you will help me!
+      You are one of those men who can do anything; she will listen to you. If
+      you tell her to marry me she will do so, and I shall bless you my whole
+      life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey looked upon this abject suppliant with the most unmitigated
+      scorn. There is always something contemptible in the sight of one man
+      pleading to another for assistance in his love affairs&mdash;that is a
+      business which he should do for himself. How much greater, then, is the
+      humiliation involved when the amorous person asks the aid of one whom he
+      believes to be his rival&mdash;his successful rival&mdash;in the lady&rsquo;s
+      affection?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; Geoffrey said, &ldquo;I think that I have had enough
+      of this. I am not in a position to force Miss Granger to accept advances
+      which appear to be unwelcome according to your account. But if I get an
+      opportunity I will do this: I will tell her what you say. You really must
+      manage the rest for yourself. Good morning to you, Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned sharply and went while Owen watched him go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe him,&rdquo; he groaned to himself. &ldquo;He will try to make her his
+      lover. Oh, God help me&mdash;I cannot bear to think of it. But if he does,
+      and I find him out, let him be careful. I will ruin him, yes, I will ruin
+      him! I have the money and I can do it. Ah, he thinks me a fool, they all
+      think me a fool, but I haven&rsquo;t been quiet all these years for nothing. I
+      can make a noise if necessary. And if he is a villain, God will help me to
+      destroy him. I have prayed to God, and God will help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went back to the Castle. Owen Davies was a type of the class of
+      religious men who believe that they can enlist the Almighty on the side of
+      their desires, provided only that those desires receive the sanction of
+      human law or custom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus within twenty-four hours Geoffrey received no less than three appeals
+      to help the woman whom he loved to the arms of a distasteful husband. No
+      wonder then that he grew almost superstitious about the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A NIGHT OF STORM
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon the whole Vicarage party walked up to the farm to inspect
+      another litter of young pigs. It struck Geoffrey, remembering former
+      editions, that the reproductive powers of Mr. Granger&rsquo;s old sow were
+      something little short of marvellous, and he dreamily worked out a
+      calculation of how long it would take her and her progeny to produce a pig
+      to every square yard of the area of plucky little Wales. It seemed that
+      the thing could be done in six years, which was absurd, so he gave up
+      calculating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had no words alone with Beatrice that afternoon. Indeed, a certain
+      coldness seemed to have sprung up between them. With the almost
+      supernatural quickness of a loving woman&rsquo;s intuition, she had divined that
+      something was passing in his mind, inimical to her most vital interests,
+      so she shunned his company, and received his conventional advances with a
+      politeness which was as cold as it was crushing. This did not please
+      Geoffrey; it is one thing (in her own interests, of course) to make up
+      your mind heroically to abandon a lady whom you do not wish to compromise,
+      and quite another to be snubbed by that lady before the moment of final
+      separation. Though he never put the idea into words or even defined it in
+      his mind&mdash;for Geoffrey was far too anxious and unhappy to be
+      flippant, at any rate in thought&mdash;he would at heart have wished her
+      to remain the same, indeed to wax ever tenderer, till the fatal time of
+      parting arrived, and even to show appreciation of his virtuous conduct.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to the utter destruction of most such hands as Geoffrey held, loving
+      women never will play according to the book. Their conduct imperils
+      everything, for it is obvious that it takes two to bring an affair of this
+      nature to a dignified conclusion, even when the stakes are highest, and
+      the matter is one of life and death. Beatrice after all was very much of a
+      woman, and she did not behave much better than any other woman would have
+      done. She was angry and suspicious, and she showed it, with the result
+      that Geoffrey grew angry also. It was cruel of her, he thought,
+      considering all things. He forgot that she could know nothing of what was
+      in his mind, however much she might guess; also as yet he did not know the
+      boundless depth and might of her passion for him, and all that it meant to
+      her. Had he realised this he would have acted very differently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They came home and took tea, then Mr. Granger and Elizabeth made ready to
+      go to evening service. To Geoffrey&rsquo;s dismay Beatrice did the same. He had
+      looked forward to a quiet walk with her&mdash;really this was not to be
+      borne. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, she was ready the first, and
+      he got a word with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not know that you were going to church,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I thought that
+      we might have had a walk together. Very likely I shall have to go away
+      early to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; answered Beatrice coldly. &ldquo;But of course you have your work to
+      attend to. I told Elizabeth that I was coming to church, and I must go; it
+      is too sultry to walk; there will be a storm soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment Elizabeth came in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Beatrice,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;are you coming to church? Father has gone
+      on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice pretended not to hear, and reflected a moment. He would go away
+      and she would see him no more. Could she let slip this last hour? Oh, she
+      could not do it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that moment of reflection her fate was sealed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she answered slowly, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think that I am coming; it is too
+      sultry to go to church. I daresay that Mr. Bingham will accompany you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey hastily disclaimed any such intention, and Elizabeth started
+      alone. &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;I thought that you would not come, my
+      dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, when she had well gone, &ldquo;shall we go out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is pleasanter here,&rdquo; answered Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Beatrice, don&rsquo;t be so unkind,&rdquo; he said feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As you like,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;There is a fine sunset&mdash;but I think that
+      we shall have a storm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They went out, and turned up the lonely beach. The place was utterly
+      deserted, and they walked a little way apart, almost without speaking. The
+      sunset was magnificent; great flakes of golden cloud were driven
+      continually from a home of splendour in the west towards the cold lined
+      horizon of the land. The sea was still quiet, but it moaned like a thing
+      in pain. The storm was gathering fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a lovely sunset,&rdquo; said Geoffrey at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a fatal sort of loveliness,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;it will be a bad night,
+      and a wet morrow. The wind is rising; shall we turn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Beatrice, never mind the wind. I want to speak to you, if you will
+      allow me to do so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;what about, Mr. Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To make good resolutions in a matter of this sort is comparatively easy,
+      but the carrying of them out presents some difficulties. Geoffrey,
+      conscience-stricken into priggishness, wished to tell her that she would
+      do well to marry Owen Davies, and found the matter hard. Meanwhile
+      Beatrice preserved silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fact is,&rdquo; he said at length, &ldquo;I most sincerely hope you will forgive
+      me, but I have been thinking a great deal about you and your future
+      welfare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is very kind of you,&rdquo; said Beatrice, with an ominous humility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was disconcerting, but Geoffrey was determined, and he went on in a
+      somewhat flippant tone born of the most intense nervousness and hatred of
+      his task. Never had he loved her so well as now in this moment when he was
+      about to counsel her to marry another man. And yet he persevered in his
+      folly. For, as so often happens, the shrewd insight and knowledge of the
+      world which distinguished Geoffrey as a lawyer, when dealing with the
+      affairs of others, quite deserted him in this crisis of his own life and
+      that of the woman who worshipped him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since I have been here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have had made to me no less than
+      three appeals on your behalf and by separate people&mdash;by your father,
+      who fancies that you are pining for Owen Davies; by Owen Davies, who is
+      certainly pining for you; and by old Edward, intervening as a kind of
+      domestic <i>amicus curiæ</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said Beatrice, in a voice of ice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All these three urged the same thing&mdash;the desirability of your
+      marrying Owen Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s face grew quite pale, her lips twitched and her grey eyes
+      flashed angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and have <i>you</i> any advice to give on the
+      subject, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Beatrice, I have. I have thought it over, and I think that&mdash;forgive
+      me again&mdash;that if you can bring yourself to it, perhaps you had
+      better marry him. He is not such a bad sort of man, and he is well off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had been walking rapidly, and now they were reaching the spot known
+      as the &ldquo;Amphitheatre,&rdquo; that same spot where Owen Davies had proposed to
+      Beatrice some seven months before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice passed round the projecting edge of rock, and walked some way
+      towards the flat slab of stone in the centre before she answered. While
+      she did so a great and bitter anger filled her heart. She saw, or thought
+      she saw, it all. Geoffrey wished to be rid of her. He had discerned an
+      element of danger in their intimacy, and was anxious to make that intimacy
+      impossible by pushing her into a hateful marriage. Suddenly she turned and
+      faced him&mdash;turned like a thing at bay. The last red rays of the
+      sunset struck upon her lovely face made more lovely still by its stamp of
+      haughty anger: they lay upon her heaving breast. Full in the eyes she
+      looked him with those wide angry eyes of hers&mdash;never before had he
+      seen her so imperial a mien. Her dignity and the power of her presence
+      literally awed him, for at times Beatrice&rsquo;s beauty was of that royal stamp
+      which when it hides a heart, is a compelling force, conquering and born to
+      conquer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it not strike you, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said quietly, &ldquo;that you are
+      taking a very great liberty? Does it not strike you that no man who is not
+      a relation has any right to speak to a woman as you have spoken to me?&mdash;that,
+      in short, you have been guilty of what in most people would be an
+      impertinence? What right have you to dictate to me as to whom I should or
+      should not marry? Surely of all things in the world that is my own
+      affair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey coloured to the eyes. As would have been the case with most men
+      of his class, he felt her accusation of having taken a liberty, of having
+      presumed upon an intimacy, more keenly than any which she could have
+      brought against him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; he said humbly. &ldquo;I can only assure you that I had no such
+      intention. I only spoke&mdash;ill-judgedly, I fear&mdash;because&mdash;because
+      I felt driven to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice took no notice of his words, but went on in the same cold voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What right have you to speak of my affairs with Mr. Davies, with an old
+      boatman, or even with my father? Had I wished you to do so I should have
+      asked you. By what authority do you constitute yourself an intermediary
+      for the purpose of bringing about a marriage which you are so good as to
+      consider would be to my pecuniary interest? Do you not know that such a
+      matter is one which the woman concerned, the woman whose happiness and
+      self-respect are at stake, alone can judge of? I have nothing more to say
+      except this. I said just now that you had been guilty of what would in
+      most people be an impertinence. Well, I will add something. In this case,
+      Mr. Bingham, there are circumstances which make it&mdash;a cruel insult!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped speaking, then suddenly, without the slightest warning, burst
+      into passionate weeping. As she did so, the first rush of the storm passed
+      over them, winnowing the air as with a thousand eagles&rsquo; wings, and was
+      lost on the moaning depths beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out of the sky. Now Geoffrey could only see the faint
+      outlines of her weeping face. One moment he hesitated and one only; then
+      Nature prevailed against him, for the next she was in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice scarcely resisted him. Her energies seemed to fail her, or
+      perhaps she had spent them in her bitter words. Her head fell upon his
+      shoulder, and there she sobbed her fill. Presently she lifted it and their
+      lips met in a first long kiss. It was finished; this was the end of it&mdash;and
+      thus did Geoffrey prosper Owen Davies&rsquo;s suit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, you are cruel, cruel!&rdquo; he whispered in her ear. &ldquo;You must have known
+      I loved you, Beatrice, that I spoke against myself because I thought it to
+      be my duty. You must have known that, to my sin and sorrow, I have always
+      loved you, that you have never been an hour from my mind, that I have
+      longed to see your face like a sick man for the light. Tell me, did you
+      not know it, Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How should I know?&rdquo; she answered very softly; &ldquo;I could only guess, and if
+      indeed you love me how could you wish me to marry another man? I thought
+      that you had learned my weakness and took this way to reproach me. Oh,
+      Geoffrey, what have we done? What is there between you and me&mdash;except
+      our love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would have been better if we had been drowned together at the first,&rdquo;
+       he said heavily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;for then we never should have loved one another.
+      Better first to love, and then to die!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not speak so,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;let us sit here and be happy for a little
+      while to-night, and leave trouble till to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, where on a bygone day Beatrice had tarried with another wooer, side
+      by side they sat upon the great stone and talked such talk as lovers use.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above them moaned the rising gale, though sheltered as they were by cliffs
+      its breath scarcely stirred their hair. In front of them the long waves
+      boomed upon the beach, while far out to sea the crescent moon, draped in
+      angry light, seemed to ride the waters like a boat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And were they alone with their great bliss, or did they only dream? Nay,
+      they were alone with love and lovers&rsquo; joys, and all the truth was told,
+      and all their doubts were done. Now there was an end of hopes and fears;
+      now reason fell and Love usurped his throne, and at that royal coming
+      Heaven threw wide her gates. Oh, Sweetest and most dear! Oh, Dearest and
+      most sweet! Oh, to have lived to find this happy hour&mdash;oh, in this
+      hour to die!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See heaviness is behind us, see now we are one. Blow, you winds, blow out
+      your stormy heart; we know the secret of your strength, you rush to your
+      desire. Fall, deep waters of the sea, fall in thunder at the feet of
+      earth; we hear the music of your pleading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Earth, and Seas, and Winds, sing your great chant of love! Heaven and
+      Space and Time, echo back the melody! For Life has called to us the answer
+      of his riddle! Heart to heart we sit, and lips to lips, and we are more
+      wise than Solomon, and richer than barbarian kings, for Happiness is ours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To this end were we born, Dearest and most sweet, and from all time
+      predestinate! To this end, Sweetest and most dear, do we live and die, in
+      death to find completer unity. For here is that secret of the world which
+      wise men search and cannot find, and here too is the gate of Heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Look into my eyes, and let me gaze on yours, and listen how these things
+      shall be. The world is but a mockery, and a shadow is our flesh, for where
+      once they were there shall be naught. Only Love is real; Love shall endure
+      till all the suns are dead, and yet be young.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kiss me, thou Conqueror, for Destiny is overcome, Sorrow is gone by; and
+      the flame that we have hallowed upon this earthly altar shall still burn
+      brightly, and yet more bright, when yonder stars have lost their fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But alas! words cannot give a fitting form to such a song as this. Let
+      music try! But music also folds her wings. For in so supreme an hour
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be
+      written.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the frenzy of
+      a passion gross in its very essence. Let those think it who will, but to
+      dreamers let them leave their dreams. Why then, at such a time, do visions
+      come to children of the world like Beatrice and Geoffrey? Why do their
+      doubts vanish, and what is that breath from heaven which they seem to feel
+      upon their brow? The intoxication of earthly love born of the meeting of
+      youth and beauty. So be it! Slave, bring more such wine and let us drink&mdash;to
+      Immortality and to those dear eyes that mirror forth a spirit&rsquo;s face!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such loves indeed are few. For they must be real and deep, and natures
+      thus shaped are rare, nor do they often cross each other&rsquo;s line of life.
+      Yes, there are few who can be borne so high, and none can breathe that
+      ether long. Soon the wings which Love lent them in his hour of revelation
+      will shrink and vanish, and the borrowers will fall back to the level of
+      this world, happy if they escape uncrushed. Perchance even in their
+      life-days, they may find these spirit wings again, overshadowing the altar
+      of their vows in the hour of earthly marriage, if by some happy fate,
+      marriage should be within their reach, or like the holy pinions of the
+      goddess Nout, folded about a coffin, in the time of earthly death. But
+      scant are the occasions, and few there are who know them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus soared Beatrice and Geoffrey while the wild night beat around them,
+      making a fit accompaniment to their stormy loves. And thus they too fell
+      from heaven to earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We must be going, Geoffrey; it grows late,&rdquo; said Beatrice. &ldquo;Oh, Geoffrey,
+      Geoffrey, what have we done? What can be the end of all this? It will
+      bring trouble on you, I know that it must. The old saying will come true.
+      I saved your life, and I shall bring ruin on you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is characteristic of Beatrice that already she was thinking of the
+      consequences to Geoffrey, not of those to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;we are in a desperate position. Do you wish to
+      face it and come away with me, far away to the other side of the world?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she answered vehemently, &ldquo;it would be your ruin to abandon the
+      career that is before you. What part of the world could you go to where
+      you would not be known? Besides there is your wife to think of. Ah, God,
+      your wife&mdash;what would she say of me? You belong to her, you have no
+      right to desert her. And there is Effie too. No, Geoffrey, no, I have been
+      wicked enough to learn to love you&mdash;oh, as you were never loved
+      before, if it is wicked to do what one cannot help&mdash;but I am not bad
+      enough for this. Walk quicker, Geoffrey; we shall be late, and they will
+      suspect something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Beatrice, the pangs of conscience were finding her out!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are in a dreadful position,&rdquo; he said again. &ldquo;Oh, dearest, I have been
+      to blame. I should never have come back here. It is my fault; and though I
+      never thought of this, I did my best to please you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I thank you for it,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Do not deceive yourself,
+      Geoffrey. Whatever happens, promise me never for one moment to believe
+      that I reproached or blamed you. Why should I blame you because you won my
+      heart? Let me sooner blame the sea on which we floated, the beach where we
+      walked, the house in which we lived, and the Destiny that brought us
+      together. I am proud and glad to love you, dear, but I am not so selfish
+      as to wish to ruin you: Geoffrey&mdash;I had rather die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t talk so,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I cannot bear it. What are we to do? Am I to go
+      away and see you no more? How can we live so, Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and gazing
+      up into his face, &ldquo;you are to go away and see me no more, not for years
+      and years. This is what we have brought upon ourselves, it is the price
+      that we must pay for this hour which has gone. You are to go away
+      to-morrow, that we may be put out of temptation, and you must come back no
+      more. Sometimes I shall write to you, and sometimes perhaps you will write
+      to me, till the thing becomes a burden, then you can stop. And whether you
+      forget me or not&mdash;and, Geoffrey, I do not think you will&mdash;you
+      will know that I shall never forget you, whom I saved from the sea&mdash;to
+      love me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words,
+      instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey bent at
+      heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle, gathering
+      snow. What was he to do, how could he leave her? And yet she was right. He
+      must go, and go quickly, lest his strength might fail him, and hand in
+      hand they should pass a bourne from which there is no return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heaven help us, Beatrice,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I will go to-morrow morning and, if
+      I can, I will keep away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You <i>must</i> keep away. I will not see you any more. I will not bring
+      trouble on you, Geoffrey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You talk of bringing trouble on me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you say nothing of
+      yourself, and yet a man, even a man with eyes on him like myself, is
+      better fitted to weather such a storm. If it ruined me, how much more
+      would it ruin you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were at the gate of the Vicarage now, and the wind rushed so strongly
+      through the firs that she needed to put her lips quite close to his ear to
+      make her words heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop, one minute,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;perhaps you do not quite understand. When a
+      woman does what I have done, it is because she loves with all her life and
+      heart and soul, because all these are a part of her love. For myself, I no
+      longer care anything&mdash;I have <i>no</i> self away from you; I have
+      ceased to be of myself or in my own keeping. I am of you and in yours. For
+      myself and my own fate or name I think no more; with my eyes open and of
+      my own free will I have given everything to you, and am glad and happy to
+      give it. But for you I still do care, and if I took any step, or allowed
+      you to take any that could bring sorrow on you, I should never forgive
+      myself. That is why we must part, Geoffrey. And now let us go in; there is
+      nothing more to say, except this: if you wish to bid me good-bye, a last
+      good-bye, dear Geoffrey, I will meet you to-morrow morning on the beach.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall leave at half-past eight,&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we will meet at seven,&rdquo; Beatrice said, and led the way into the
+      house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth and Mr. Granger were already seated at supper. They supped at
+      nine on Sunday nights; it was just half-past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me,&rdquo; said the old gentleman, &ldquo;we began to think that you two must
+      have been out canoeing and got yourselves drowned in good earnest this
+      time. What have you been doing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have had a long walk,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey; &ldquo;I did not know that it was
+      so late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One wants to be pleased with one&rsquo;s company to walk far on such a night as
+      this,&rdquo; put in Elizabeth maliciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so we were&mdash;at least I was,&rdquo; Geoffrey answered with perfect
+      truth, &ldquo;and the night is not so bad as you might think, at least under the
+      lee of the cliffs. It will be worse by and by!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they sat down and made a desperate show of eating supper. Elizabeth,
+      the keen-eyed, noticed that Geoffrey&rsquo;s hand was shaking. Now what, she
+      wondered, would make the hand of a strong man shake like a leaf? Deep
+      emotion might do it, and Elizabeth thought that she detected other signs
+      of emotion in them both, besides that of Geoffrey&rsquo;s shaking hand. The plot
+      was working well, but could it be brought to a climax? Oh, if he would
+      only throw prudence to the winds and run away with Beatrice, so that she
+      might be rid of her, and free to fight for her own hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after supper both Elizabeth and Beatrice went to bed, leaving
+      their father with Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger, &ldquo;did you get a word with Beatrice? It was very
+      kind of you to go that long tramp on purpose. Gracious, how it blows! we
+      shall have the house down presently. Lightning, too, I declare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey, &ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I hope you told her that there was no need for her to give up hope of
+      him yet, of Mr. Davies, I mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I told her that&mdash;that is if the greater includes the less,&rdquo; he
+      added to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how did she take it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very badly,&rdquo; said Geoffrey; &ldquo;she seemed to think that I had no right to
+      interfere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, that is strange. But it doesn&rsquo;t mean anything. She&rsquo;s grateful
+      enough to you at heart, depend upon it she is, only she did not like to
+      say so. Dear me, how it blows; we shall have a night of it, a regular
+      gale, I declare. So you are going away to-morrow morning. Well, the best
+      of friends must part. I hope that you will often come and see us.
+      Good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more a sense of the irony of the position overcame Geoffrey, and he
+      smiled grimly as he lit his candle and went to bed. At the back of the
+      house was a long passage, which terminated at one end in the room where he
+      slept, and at the other in that occupied by Elizabeth and Beatrice. This
+      passage was lit by two windows, and built out of it were two more rooms&mdash;that
+      of Mr. Granger, and another which had been Effie&rsquo;s. The windows of the
+      passage, like most of the others in the Vicarage, were innocent of
+      shutters, and Geoffrey stood for a moment at one of them, watching the
+      lightning illumine the broad breast of the mountain behind. Then looking
+      towards the door of Beatrice&rsquo;s room, he gazed at it with the peculiar
+      reverence that sometimes afflicts people who are very much in love, and,
+      with a sigh, turned and sought his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not sleep, it was impossible. For nearly two hours he lay turning
+      from side to side, and thinking till his brain seemed like to burst.
+      To-morrow he must leave her, leave her for ever, and go back to his coarse
+      unprofitable struggle with the world, where there would be no Beatrice to
+      make him happy through it all. And she, what of her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The storm had lulled a little, now it came back in strength, heralded by
+      the lightning. He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a window
+      watching it. Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of some little
+      of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have maddened him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In eight hours&mdash;eight short hours&mdash;this matter would be ended so
+      far as concerned their actual intercourse. It would be a secret locked for
+      ever in their two breasts, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as the
+      worm that dieth not. Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart&rsquo;s thought
+      towards his sleeping love. Then once more, as in a bygone night, there
+      broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual sense. Stronger
+      and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy unnatural waves, till his
+      reason seemed to reel and sink, and he remembered naught but Beatrice,
+      knew naught save that her very life was with him now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice,&rdquo; he whispered to the empty air, &ldquo;Beatrice! Oh, my love! my
+      sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered in
+      his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its power
+      and across dividing space they were mingled in one being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A great gust shook the house and passed away along the roaring depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh! what was this? Silently the door opened, and a white draped form
+      passed its threshold. He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible joy,
+      took possession of him. The lightning flared out wildly in the eastern
+      sky. There in the fierce light she stood before him&mdash;she, Beatrice, a
+      sight of beauty and of dread. She stood with white arms outstretched, with
+      white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly beneath her night-dress,
+      her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart, her face upturned, and a stamp
+      of terrifying calm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the wide, blind eyes uplift Thro&rsquo; the darkness and the drift.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Great Heaven, she was asleep!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hush! she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You called me, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she said, in a still, unnatural voice. &ldquo;You
+      called me, my beloved, and I&mdash;have&mdash;come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose aghast, trembling like an aspen with doubt and fear, trembling at
+      the sight of the conquering glory of the woman whom he worshipped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See! She drew on towards him, and she was <i>asleep</i>. Oh, what could he
+      do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the draught of the great gale rushing through the house caught
+      the opened door and crashed it to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She awoke with a wild stare of terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, God, where am I?&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, for your life&rsquo;s sake!&rdquo; he answered, his faculties returning. &ldquo;Hush!
+      or you are lost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was no need to caution here to silence, for Beatrice&rsquo;s senses
+      failed her at the shock, and she sank swooning in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A DAWN OF RAIN
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      That crash of the closing door did not awake Beatrice only; it awoke both
+      Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Elizabeth sat up in bed straining her eyes
+      through the gloom to see what had happened. They fell on Beatrice&rsquo;s bed&mdash;surely&mdash;surely&mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth slipped up, cat-like she crept across the room and felt with her
+      hand at the bed. Beatrice was not there. She sprang to the blind and drew
+      it, letting in such light as there was, and by it searched the room. She
+      spoke: &ldquo;Beatrice, where are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;h,&rdquo; said Elizabeth aloud; &ldquo;I understand. At last&mdash;at last!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What should see do? Should she go and call her father and put them to an
+      open shame? No. Beatrice must come back some time. The knowledge was
+      enough; she wanted the knowledge to use if necessary. She did not wish to
+      ruin her sister unless in self-defence, or rather, for the cause of
+      self-advancement. Still less did she wish to injure Geoffrey, against whom
+      she had no grudge. So she peeped along the passage, then returning, crept
+      back to her bed like a snake into a hole and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger, hearing the crash, thought that the front door had blown
+      open. Rising, he lit a candle and went to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of all this Geoffrey knew nothing, and Beatrice naturally less than
+      nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She lay senseless in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder, her heavy
+      hair streamed down his side almost to his knee. He lifted her, touched her
+      on the forehead with his lips and laid her on the bed. What was to be
+      done? Bring her back to life? No, he dared not&mdash;not here. While she
+      lay thus her helplessness protected her; but if once more she was a
+      living, loving woman here and so&mdash;oh, how should they escape? He
+      dared not touch her or look towards her&mdash;till he had made up his
+      mind. It was soon done. Here she must not bide, and since of herself she
+      could not go, why he must take her now, this moment! However far Geoffrey
+      fell short of virtue&rsquo;s stricter standard, let this always be remembered in
+      his favour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened the door, and as he did so, thought that he heard some one
+      stirring in the house. And so he did; it was Mr. Granger in the
+      sitting-room. Hearing no more, Geoffrey concluded that it was the wind,
+      and turning, groped his way to the bed where Beatrice lay as still as
+      death. For one moment a horrible fear struck him that she might be dead.
+      He had heard of cases of somnambulists who, on being startled from their
+      unnatural sleep, only woke to die. It might be so with her. Hurriedly he
+      placed his hand upon her breast. Yes, her heart stirred&mdash;faintly
+      indeed, but still it stirred. She had only swooned. Then he set his teeth,
+      and placing his arms about her, lifted her as though she were a babe.
+      Beatrice was no slip of a girl, but a well-grown woman of full size. He
+      never felt her weight; it seemed nothing to him. Stealthily as one bent on
+      midnight murder, he stepped with her to the door and through it into the
+      passage. Then supporting her with one arm, he closed the door with his
+      left hand. Stealthily in the gloom he passed along the corridor, his bare
+      feet making no noise upon the boarded floor, till he reached the bisecting
+      passage leading from the sitting-rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced up it apprehensively, and what he saw froze the blood in his
+      veins, for there coming down it, not eight paces from him, was Mr.
+      Granger, holding a candle in his hand. What could be done? To get back to
+      his room was impossible&mdash;to reach that of Beatrice was also
+      impossible. With an effort he collected his thoughts, and like a flash of
+      light it passed into his mind that the empty room was not two paces from
+      him. A stride and he had reached it. Oh, where was the handle? and oh, if
+      the room should be locked! By a merciful chance it was not. He stepped
+      through the door, knocking Beatrice&rsquo;s feet against the framework as he did
+      so, closed it&mdash;to shut it he had no time&mdash;and stood gasping
+      behind it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gleam of light drew nearer. Merciful powers! he had been seen&mdash;the
+      old man was coming in. What could he say? Tell the truth, that was all;
+      but who would believe such a story? why, it was one that he should
+      scarcely care to advance in a court of law. Could he expect a father to
+      believe it&mdash;a father finding a man crouched like a thief behind a
+      door at the dead of night with his lovely daughter senseless in his arms?
+      He had already thought of going straight to Mr. Granger, but had abandoned
+      the idea as hopeless. Who would believe this tale of sleep-walking? For
+      the first time in his life Geoffrey felt terribly afraid, both for
+      Beatrice and himself; the hair rose on his head, his heart stood still,
+      and a cold perspiration started on to his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s very odd,&rdquo; he heard the old man mutter to himself; &ldquo;I could almost
+      swear that I saw something white go into that room. Where&rsquo;s the handle? If
+      I believed in ghosts&mdash;hullo! my candle has blown out! I must go and
+      hunt for a match. Don&rsquo;t quite like going in there without a light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment they were saved. The fierce draught rushing through the
+      open crack of the door from the ill-fitting window had extinguished the
+      candle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey waited a few seconds to allow Mr. Granger to reach his room, and
+      then once more started on his awful journey. He passed out of the room in
+      safety; happily Beatrice showed no signs of recovery. A few quick steps
+      and he was at her own door. And now a new terror seized him. What if
+      Elizabeth was also walking the house or even awake? He thought of putting
+      Beatrice down at the door and leaving her there, but abandoned the idea.
+      To begin with, her father might see her, and then how could her presence
+      be accounted for? or if he did not, she would certainly suffer ill effects
+      from the cold. No, he must risk it, and at once, though he would rather
+      have faced a battery of guns. The door fortunately was ajar. Geoffrey
+      opened it with his foot, entered, and with his foot pushed it to again.
+      Suddenly he remembered that he had never been in the room, and did not
+      know which bed belonged to Beatrice. He walked to the nearest; a
+      deep-drawn breath told him that it was the wrong one. Drawing some faint
+      consolation from the fact that Elizabeth was evidently asleep, he groped
+      his way to the second bed through the deep twilight of the room. The
+      clothes were thrown back. He laid Beatrice down and threw them over her.
+      Then he fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he reached the door he saw Mr. Granger&rsquo;s light disappear into his own
+      room and heard his door close. After that it seemed to him that he took
+      but two steps and was in his own place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He burst out laughing; there was as much hysteria in the laugh as a man
+      gives way to. His nerves were shattered by struggle, love and fear, and
+      sought relief in ghastly merriment. Somehow the whole scene reminded him
+      of one in a comic opera. There was a ludicrous side to it. Supposing that
+      the political opponents, who already hated him so bitterly, could have
+      seen him slinking from door to door at midnight with an unconscious lady
+      in his arms&mdash;what would they have said?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ceased laughing; the fit passed&mdash;indeed it was no laughing matter.
+      Then he thought of the first night of their strange communion, that night
+      before he had returned to London. The seed sown in that hour had blossomed
+      and borne fruit indeed. Who would have dreamed it possible that he should
+      thus have drawn Beatrice to him? Well, he ought to have known. If it was
+      possible that the words which floated through her mind could arise in his
+      as they had done upon that night, what was not possible? And were there
+      not other words, written by the same master-hand, which told of such
+      things as these:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;&lsquo;Now&mdash;now,&rsquo; the door is heard;
+     Hark, the stairs! and near&mdash;
+     Nearer&mdash;and here&mdash;
+     &lsquo;Now&rsquo;! and at call the third,
+     She enters without a word.
+
+     Like the doors of a casket shrine,
+     See on either side,
+     Her two arms divide
+     Till the heart betwixt makes sign,
+     &lsquo;Take me, for I am thine.&rsquo; 
+
+     First, I will pray. Do Thou
+     That ownest the soul,
+     Yet wilt grant control
+     To another, nor disallow
+     For a time, restrain me now!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Did they not run thus? Oh, he should have known! This he could plead, and
+      this only&mdash;that control had been granted to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But how would Beatrice fare? Would she come to herself safely? He thought
+      so, it was only a fainting fit. But when she did recover, what would she
+      do? Nothing rash, he prayed. And what could be the end of it all? Who
+      might say? How fortunate that the sister had been so sound asleep. Somehow
+      he did not trust Elizabeth&mdash;he feared her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well might Geoffrey fear her! Elizabeth&rsquo;s sleep was that of a weasel. She
+      too was laughing at this very moment, laughing, not loud but long&mdash;the
+      laugh of one who wins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had seen him enter, his burden in his arms; saw him come with it to
+      her own bedside, and had breathed heavily to warn him of his mistake. She
+      had watched him put Beatrice on her bed, and heard him sigh and turn away;
+      nothing had escaped her. As soon as he was gone, she had risen and crept
+      up to Beatrice, and finding that she was only in a faint had left her to
+      recover, knowing her to be in no danger. Elizabeth was not a nervous
+      person. Then she had listened till at length a deep sigh told her of the
+      return of her sister&rsquo;s consciousness. After this there was a pause, till
+      presently Beatrice&rsquo;s long soft breaths showed that she had glided from
+      swoon to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The slow night wore away, and at length the cold dawn crept through the
+      window. Elizabeth still watching, for she was not willing to lose a single
+      scene of a drama so entrancing in itself and so important to her
+      interests, saw her sister suddenly sit up in bed and press her hands to
+      her forehead, as though she was striving to recall a dream. Then Beatrice
+      covered her eyes with her hands and groaned heavily. Next she looked at
+      her watch, rose, drank a glass of water, and dressed herself, even to the
+      putting on of an old grey waterproof with a hood to it, for it was wet
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is going to meet her lover,&rdquo; thought Elizabeth. &ldquo;I wish I could be
+      there to see that too, but I have seen enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She yawned and appeared to wake. &ldquo;What, Beatrice, going out already in
+      this pouring rain?&rdquo; she said, with feigned astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I have slept badly and I want to get some air,&rdquo; answered Beatrice,
+      starting and colouring; &ldquo;I suppose that it was the storm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has there been a storm?&rdquo; said Elizabeth, yawning again. &ldquo;I heard nothing
+      of it&mdash;but then so many things happen when one is asleep of which one
+      knows nothing at the time,&rdquo; she added sleepily, like one speaking at
+      random. &ldquo;Mind that you are back to say good-bye to Mr. Bingham; he goes by
+      the early train, you know&mdash;but perhaps you will see him out walking,&rdquo;
+       and appearing to wake up thoroughly, she raised herself in bed and gave
+      her sister one piercing look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice made no answer; that look sent a thrill of fear through her. Oh;
+      what had happened! Or was it all a dream? Had she dreamed that she stood
+      face to face with Geoffrey in his room before a great darkness struck her
+      and overwhelmed her? Or was it an awful truth, and if a truth, how came
+      she here again? She went to the pantry, found a morsel of bread and ate
+      it, for faintness still pursued her. Then feeling better, she left the
+      house and set her face towards the beach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a dreary morning. The great wind had passed; now it only blew in
+      little gusts heavy with driving rain. The sea was sullen and grey and
+      grand. It beat in thunder on the shore and flew over the sunken rocks in
+      columns of leaden spray. The whole earth seemed one desolation, and all
+      its grief was centred in this woman&rsquo;s broken heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey, too, was up. How he had passed the remainder of that tragic
+      night we need not inquire&mdash;not too happily we may be sure. He heard
+      the front door close behind Beatrice, and followed out into the rain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the beach, some half of a mile away, he found her gazing at the sea, a
+      great white gull wheeling about her head. No word of greeting passed
+      between them; they only grasped each other&rsquo;s hands and looked into each
+      other&rsquo;s hollow eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come under the shelter of the cliff,&rdquo; he said, and she came. She stood
+      beneath the cliff, her head bowed low, her face hidden by the hood, and
+      spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me what has happened,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I have dreamed something, a worse
+      dream than any that have gone before&mdash;tell me if it is true. Do not
+      spare me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Geoffrey told her all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had finished she spoke again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By what shall I swear,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that I am not the thing which you must
+      think me? Geoffrey, I swear by my love for you that I am innocent. If I
+      came&mdash;oh, the shame of it! if I came&mdash;to your room last night,
+      it was my feet which led me, not my mind that led my feet. I went to
+      sleep, I was worn out, and then I knew no more till I heard a dreadful
+      sound, and saw you before me in a blaze of light, after which there was
+      darkness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Beatrice, do not be distressed,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I saw that you were
+      asleep. It is a dreadful thing which has happened, but I do not think that
+      we were seen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Elizabeth looked at me very strangely this
+      morning, and she sees everything. Geoffrey, for my part, I neither know
+      nor care. What I do care for is, what must <i>you</i> think of me? You
+      must believe, oh!&mdash;I cannot say it. And yet I am innocent. Never,
+      never did I dream of this. To come to you&mdash;thus&mdash;oh, it is
+      shameless!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice, do not talk so. I tell you I know it. Listen&mdash;I drew you.
+      I did not mean that you should come. I did not think that you would come,
+      but it was my doing. Listen to me, dear,&rdquo; and he told her that which
+      written words can ill express.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he had finished, she looked up, with another face; the deep shadow of
+      her shame had left her. &ldquo;I believe you, Geoffrey,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;because I
+      know that you have not invented this to shield me, for I have felt it
+      also. See by it what you are to me. You are my master and my all. I cannot
+      withstand you if I would. I have little will apart from yours if you
+      choose to gainsay mine. And now promise me this upon your word. Leave me
+      uninfluenced; do not draw me to you to be your ruin. I make no pretence, I
+      have laid my life at your feet, but while I have any strength to struggle
+      against it, you shall never take it up unless you can do so to your own
+      honour, and that is not possible. Oh, my dear, we might have been very
+      happy together, happier than men and women often are, but it is denied to
+      us. We must carry our cross, we must crucify the flesh upon it; perhaps so&mdash;who
+      can say?&mdash;we may glorify the spirit. I owe you a great deal. I have
+      learnt much from you, Geoffrey. I have learned to hope again for a
+      Hereafter. Nothing is left to me now&mdash;but that&mdash;that and an hour
+      hence&mdash;your memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, why should I weep? It is ungrateful, when I have your love, for which
+      this misery is but a little price to pay. Kiss me, dear, and go&mdash;and
+      never see me more. You will not forget me, I know now that you will <i>never</i>
+      forget me all your life. Afterwards&mdash;perhaps&mdash;who can tell? If
+      not, why then&mdash;it will indeed be best&mdash;to die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It is not well to linger over such a scene as this. After all, too, it is
+      nothing. Only another broken heart or so. The world breaks so many this
+      way and the other that it can have little pleasure in gloating over such
+      stale scenes of agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Besides we must not let our sympathies carry us away. Geoffrey and
+      Beatrice deserved all they got; they had no business to put themselves
+      into such a position. They had defied the customs of their world, and the
+      world avenged itself upon them and their petty passions. What happens to
+      the worm that tries to burrow on the highways? Grinding wheels and
+      crushing feet; these are its portion. Beatrice and Geoffrey point a moral
+      and adorn a tale. So far as we can see and judge there was no need for
+      them to have plunged into that ever-running river of human pain. Let them
+      struggle and drown, and let those who are on the bank learn wisdom from
+      the sight, and hold out no hand to help them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey drew a ring from his finger and gave it to his love. It was a
+      common flat-sided silver ring that had been taken from the grave of a
+      Roman soldier: one peculiarity it had, however; on its inner surface were
+      roughly cut the words, &ldquo;ave atque vale.&rdquo; Greeting and farewell! It was a
+      fitting gift to pass between people in their position. Beatrice, trembling
+      sorely, whispered that she would wear it on her heart, upon her hand she
+      could not put it yet awhile&mdash;it might be recognised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then thrice did they embrace there upon the desolate shore, once, as it
+      were, for past joy, once for present pain, and once for future hope, and
+      parted. There was no talk of after meetings&mdash;they felt them to be
+      impossible, at any rate for many years. How could they meet as indifferent
+      friends? Too much they loved for that. It was a final parting, than which
+      death had been less dreadful&mdash;for Hope sits ever by the bed of death&mdash;and
+      misery crushed them to the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left her, and happiness went out of his life as at nightfall the
+      daylight goes out of the day. Well, at least he had his work to go to. But
+      Beatrice, poor woman, what had she?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey left her. When he had gone some thirty paces he turned again and
+      gazed his last upon her. There she stood or rather leant, her hand resting
+      against the wet rock, looking after him with her wide grey eyes. Even
+      through the drizzling rain he could see the gleam of her rich hair, the
+      marking of her lovely face, and the carmine of her lips. She motioned to
+      him to go on. He went, and when he had traversed a hundred paces looked
+      round once more. She was still there, but now her face was a blur, and
+      again the great white gull hovered about her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the mist swept up and hid her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, Beatrice, with all your brains you could never learn those simple
+      principles necessary to the happiness of woman; principles inherited
+      through a thousand generations of savage and semi-civilized ancestresses.
+      To accept the situation and the master that situation brings with it&mdash;this
+      is the golden rule of well-being. Not to put out the hand of your
+      affection further than you can draw it back, this is another, at least not
+      until you are quite sure that its object is well within your grasp. If by
+      misfortune, or the anger of the Fates, you are endowed with those deeper
+      qualities, those extreme capacities of self-sacrificing affection, such as
+      ruined your happiness, Beatrice, keep them in stock; do not expose them to
+      the world. The world does not believe in them; they are inconvenient and
+      undesirable; they are even immoral. What the world wants, and very
+      rightly, in a person of your attractiveness is quiet domesticity of
+      character, not the exhibition of attributes which though they might
+      qualify you for the rank of heroine in a Greek drama, are nowadays only
+      likely to qualify you for the reprobation of society.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What? you would rather keep your love, your reprehensible love which never
+      can be satisfied, and bear its slings and arrows, and die hugging a shadow
+      to your heart, straining your eyes into the darkness of that beyond
+      whither you shall go&mdash;murmuring with your pale lips that <i>there</i>
+      you will find reason and fulfilment? Why it is folly. What ground have you
+      to suppose that you will find anything of the sort? Go and take the
+      opinion of some scientific person of eminence upon this infatuation of
+      yours and those vague visions of glory that shall be. He will explain it
+      clearly enough, will show you that your love itself is nothing but a
+      natural passion, acting, in your case, on a singularly sensitive and
+      etherealised organism. Be frank with him, tell him of your secret hopes.
+      He will smile tenderly, and show you how those also are an emanation from
+      a craving heart, and the innate superstitions of mankind. Indeed he will
+      laugh and illustrate the absurdity of the whole thing by a few pungent
+      examples of what would happen if these earthly affections could be carried
+      beyond the grave. Take what you can <i>now</i> will be the burden of his
+      song, and for goodness&rsquo; sake do not waste your precious hours in dreams of
+      a To Be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice, the world does not want your spirituality. It is not a spiritual
+      world; it has no clear ideas upon the subject&mdash;it pays its religious
+      premium and works off its aspirations at its weekly church going, and
+      would think the person a fool who attempted to carry theories of celestial
+      union into an earthly rule of life. It can sympathise with Lady Honoria;
+      it can hardly sympathise with <i>you</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet you will still choose this better part: you will still &ldquo;live and
+      love, and lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With blinding tears and passionate beseeching, And outstretched arms
+      through empty silence reaching.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, Beatrice, have your will, sow your seed of tears, and take your
+      chance. You may find that you were right and the worldlings wrong, and you
+      may reap a harvest beyond the grasp of their poor imaginations. And if you
+      find that they are right and <i>you</i> are wrong, what will it matter to
+      you who sleep? For of this at least you are sure. If there is no future
+      for such earthly love as yours, then indeed there is none for the children
+      of this world and all their troubling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      LADY HONORIA TAKES THE FIELD
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey hurried to the Vicarage to fetch his baggage and say good-bye. He
+      had no time for breakfast, and he was glad of it, for he could not have
+      eaten a morsel to save his life. He found Elizabeth and her father in the
+      sitting-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, where have you been this wet morning, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; said Mr.
+      Granger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been for a walk with Miss Beatrice; she is coming home by the
+      village,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind rain, and I wanted to get as much
+      fresh air as I could before I go back to the mill. Thank you&mdash;only a
+      cup of tea&mdash;I will get something to eat as I go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How kind of him,&rdquo; reflected Mr. Granger; &ldquo;no doubt he has been speaking
+      to Beatrice again about Owen Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by the way,&rdquo; he added aloud, &ldquo;did you happen to hear anybody moving
+      in the house last night, Mr. Bingham, just when the storm was at its
+      height? First of all a door slammed so violently that I got up to see what
+      it was, and as I came down the passage I could almost have sworn that I
+      saw something white go into the spare room. But my candle went out and by
+      the time that I had found a light there was nothing to be seen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A clear case of ghosts,&rdquo; said Geoffrey indifferently. It was indeed a
+      &ldquo;case of ghosts,&rdquo; and they would, he reflected, haunt him for many a day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very odd,&rdquo; put in Elizabeth vivaciously, her keen eyes fixed intently
+      on his face. &ldquo;Do you know I thought that I twice saw the door of our room
+      open and shut in the most mysterious fashion. I think that Beatrice must
+      have something to do with it; she is so uncanny in her ways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey never moved a muscle, he was trained to keep his countenance.
+      Only he wondered how much this woman knew. She must be silenced somehow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me for changing the subject,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but my time is short, and
+      I have none to spare to hunt the &lsquo;Vicarage Ghost.&rsquo; By the way, there&rsquo;s a
+      good title for somebody. Mr. Granger, I believe that I may speak of
+      business matters before Miss Elizabeth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; said the clergyman; &ldquo;Elizabeth is my right hand,
+      and has the best business head in Bryngelly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey thought that this was very evident, and went on. &ldquo;I only want to
+      say this. If you get into any further difficulties with your rascally
+      tithe-payers, mind and let me know. I shall always be glad to help you
+      while I can. And now I must be going.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke thus for two reasons. First, naturally enough, he meant to make
+      it his business to protect Beatrice from the pressure of poverty, and well
+      knew that it would be useless to offer her direct assistance. Secondly, he
+      wished to show Elizabeth that it would not be to the advantage of her
+      family to quarrel with him. If she <i>had</i> seen a ghost, perhaps this
+      fact would make her reticent on the subject. He did not know that she was
+      playing a much bigger game for her own hand, a game of which the stakes
+      were thousands a year, and that she was moreover mad with jealousy and
+      what, in such a woman, must pass for love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth made no comment on his offer, and before Mr. Granger&rsquo;s profuse
+      thanks were nearly finished, Geoffrey was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three weeks passed at Bryngelly, and Elizabeth still held her hand.
+      Beatrice, pale and spiritless, went about her duties as usual. Elizabeth
+      never spoke to her in any sense that could awaken her suspicions, and the
+      ghost story was, or appeared to be, pretty well forgotten. But at last an
+      event occurred that caused Elizabeth to take the field. One day she met
+      Owen Davies walking along the beach in the semi-insane way which he now
+      affected. He stopped, and, without further ado, plunged into conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear it any longer,&rdquo; he said wildly, throwing up his arms. &ldquo;I saw
+      her yesterday, and she cut me short before I could speak a word. I have
+      prayed for patience and it will not come, only a Voice seemed to say to me
+      that I must wait ten days more, ten short days, and then Beatrice, my
+      beautiful Beatrice, would be my wife at last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you go on in this way, Mr. Davies,&rdquo; said Elizabeth sharply, her heart
+      filled with jealous anger, &ldquo;you will soon be off your head. Are you not
+      ashamed of yourself for making such a fuss about a girl&rsquo;s pretty face? If
+      you want to get married, marry somebody else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marry somebody else,&rdquo; he said dreamily; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know anybody else whom I
+      could marry except you, and you are not Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; answered Elizabeth angrily, &ldquo;I should hope that I have more sense,
+      and if you wanted to marry me you would have to set about it in a
+      different way from this. I am not Beatrice, thank Heaven, but I am her
+      sister, and I warn you that I know more about her than you do. As a friend
+      I warn you to be careful. Supposing that Beatrice were not worthy of you,
+      you would not wish to marry her, would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Owen Davies was at heart somewhat afraid of Elizabeth, like most other
+      people who had the privilege of her acquaintance. Also, apart from matters
+      connected with his insane passion, he was very fairly shrewd. He suspected
+      Elizabeth of something, he did not know of what.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, of course not,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Of course I would not marry her if she
+      was not fit to be my wife&mdash;but I must know that first, before I talk
+      of marrying anybody else. Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. It will soon be
+      settled now; it cannot go on much longer now. My prayers will be answered,
+      I know they will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right there, Owen Davies,&rdquo; thought Elizabeth, as she looked after
+      him with ineffable bitterness, not to say contempt. &ldquo;Your prayers shall be
+      answered in a way that will astonish you. You shall not marry Beatrice,
+      and you shall marry <i>me</i>. The fish has been on the line long enough,
+      now I must begin to pull in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Curiously enough it never really occurred to Elizabeth that Beatrice
+      herself might prove to be the true obstacle to the marriage she plotted to
+      prevent. She knew that her sister was fond of Geoffrey Bingham, but, when
+      it came to the point that she would absolutely allow her affection to
+      interfere with so glorious a success in life, she never believed for one
+      moment. Of course she thought it was possible that if Beatrice could get
+      possession of Geoffrey she might prefer to do so, but failing him, judging
+      from her own low and vulgar standard, Elizabeth was convinced that she
+      would take Owen. It did not seem possible that what was so precious in her
+      own eyes might be valueless and even hateful to those of her sister. As
+      for that little midnight incident, well, it was one thing and marriage was
+      another. People forget such events when they marry; sometimes even they
+      marry in order to forget them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, she must strike, but how? Elizabeth had feelings like other people.
+      She did not mind ruining her sister and rival, but she would very much
+      prefer it should not be known that hers was the hand to cut her down. Of
+      course, if the worst came to the worst, she must do it. Meanwhile, might
+      not a substitute be found&mdash;somebody in whom the act would seem not
+      one of vengeance, but of virtue? Ah! she had it: Lady Honoria! Who could
+      be better for such a purpose than the cruelly injured wife? But then how
+      should she communicate the facts to her ladyship without involving
+      herself? Again she hit upon a device much favoured by such people&mdash;&ldquo;un
+      vieux truc mais toujours bon&rdquo;&mdash;the pristine one of an anonymous
+      letter, which has the startling merit of not committing anybody to
+      anything. An anonymous letter, to all appearance written by a servant: it
+      was the very thing! Most likely it would result in a searching inquiry by
+      Lady Honoria, in which event Elizabeth, of course against her will, would
+      be forced to say what she knew; almost certainly it would result in a
+      quarrel between husband and wife, which might induce the former to show
+      his hand, or even to take some open step as regards Beatrice. She was
+      sorry for Geoffrey, against whom she had no ill feeling, but it could not
+      be helped; he must be sacrificed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That very evening she wrote her letter and sent it to be posted by an old
+      servant living in London. It was a master-piece in its way, especially
+      phonetically. This precious epistle, which was most exceedingly ill writ
+      in a large coarse hand, ran thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Ladi,&mdash;My consence druvs me to it, much again my will. I&rsquo;ve tried
+      hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i heve knowed good
+      and peur and also for the sakes of your evil usband that wulf in scheeps
+      cloathin. But when i think on you my ladi a lorful legel wife gud and
+      virtus and peur and of the things as i hev seen which is enuf to bring a
+      blush to the face of a stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to rite your
+      ladishipp as follers. Your ladishipp forgif me but on the nite of
+      whittsundey last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room of
+      your bad usband&mdash;as I was to mi sham ther to se. Afterward more nor
+      an hour, she cum out ain being carred <i>in his harmes</i>. And if your
+      ladishipp dont believ me, let your ladishipp rite to miss elizbeth, as had
+      this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Riter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria, bearing a
+      London post-mark. She read and re-read it, and soon mastered its meaning.
+      Then, after a night&rsquo;s thought, she took the &ldquo;Riter&rsquo;s&rdquo; advice and wrote to
+      Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her own), vehemently
+      repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply that should dissipate
+      this foul slander from her mind for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer came by return. It was short and artful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Lady Honoria Bingham,&rdquo; it ran, &ldquo;you must forgive me if I decline to
+      answer the questions in your letter. You will easily understand that
+      between a desire to preserve a sister&rsquo;s reputation and an incapacity (to
+      be appreciated by every Christian) to speak other than the truth&mdash;it
+      is possible for a person to be placed in the most cruel of positions&mdash;a
+      position which I am sure will command even your sympathy, though under
+      such circumstances I have little right to expect any from a wife believing
+      herself to have been cruelly wronged. Let me add that nothing short of the
+      compulsion of a court of law will suffice to unseal my lips as to the
+      details of the circumstances (which are, I trust, misunderstood) alluded
+      to in the malicious anonymous letter of which you inclose a copy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That very evening, as the Fates would have it, Lady Honoria and her
+      husband had a quarrel. As usual, it was about Effie, for on most other
+      subjects they preserved an armed neutrality. Its details need not be
+      entered into, but at last Geoffrey, who was in a sadly irritable condition
+      of mind, fairly lost his temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fact is,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that you are not fit to look after the child. You
+      only think of yourself, Honoria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned on him with a dangerous look upon her cold and handsome face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be careful what you say, Geoffrey. It is you who are not fit to have
+      charge of Effie. Be careful lest I take her away from you altogether, as I
+      can if I like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean by that threat?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want to know? Then I will tell you. I understand enough law to be
+      aware that a wife can get a separation from an unfaithful husband, and
+      what is more, can take away his children.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Again I ask what you mean,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, turning cold with anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean this, Geoffrey. That Welsh girl is your mistress. She passed the
+      night of Whit-Sunday in your room, and was carried from it in your arms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a lie,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;she is nothing of the sort. I do not know who
+      gave you this information, but it is a slanderous lie, and somebody shall
+      suffer for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody will suffer for it, Geoffrey, because you will not dare to stir
+      the matter up&mdash;for the girl&rsquo;s sake if not for your own. Can you deny
+      that you were seen carrying her in your arms from your room on Whit-Sunday
+      night? Can you deny that you are in love with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And supposing that I am in love with her, is it to be wondered at, seeing
+      how you treat me and have treated me for years?&rdquo; he answered furiously.
+      &ldquo;It is utterly false to say that she is my mistress.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have not answered my question,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria with a smile of
+      triumph. &ldquo;Were you seen carrying that woman in your arms and from your
+      room at the dead of night? Of course it meant nothing, nothing at all. Who
+      would dare to asperse the character of this perfect, lovely, and
+      intellectual schoolmistress? I am not jealous, Geoffrey&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think not, Honoria, seeing how things are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not jealous, I repeat, but please understand that I will not have
+      this go on, in your own interests and mine. Why, what a fool you must be.
+      Don&rsquo;t you know that a man who has risen, as you have, has a hundred
+      enemies ready to spring on him like a pack of wolves and tear him to
+      pieces? Why many even of those who fawn upon you and flatter you to your
+      face, hate you bitterly in secret, because you have succeeded where they
+      have failed. Don&rsquo;t you know also that there are papers here in London
+      which would give hundreds of pounds for the chance of publishing such a
+      scandal as this, especially against a powerful political opponent. Let it
+      once come out that this obscure girl is your mistress&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Honoria, I tell you she is nothing of the sort. It is true I carried her
+      from my room in a fainting fit, but she came there in her sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria laughed. &ldquo;Really, Geoffrey, I wonder that you think it worth
+      while to tell me such nonsense. Keep it for the divorce court, if ever we
+      get there, and see what a jury says to it. Look here; be sensible. I am
+      not a moralist, and I am not going to play the outraged wife unless you
+      force me to it. I do not mean to take any further notice of this
+      interesting little tale as against you. But if you go on with it, beware!
+      I will not be made to look a fool. If you are going to be ruined you can
+      be ruined by yourself. I warn you frankly, that at the first sign of it, I
+      shall put myself in the right by commencing proceedings against you. Now,
+      of course, I know this, that in the event of a smash, you would be glad
+      enough to be rid of me in order that you might welcome your dear Beatrice
+      in my place. But there are two things to remember: first, that you could
+      not marry her, supposing you to be idiot enough to wish to do so, because
+      I should only get a judicial separation, and you would still have to
+      support me. Secondly, if I go, Effie goes with me, for I have a right to
+      claim her at law; and that fact, my dear Geoffrey, makes me mistress of
+      the situation, because I do not suppose that you would part with Effie
+      even for the sake of Miss Beatrice. And now I will leave you to think it
+      over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And with a little nod she sailed out of the room, completely victorious.
+      She was indeed, reflected Geoffrey, &ldquo;mistress of the situation.&rdquo; Supposing
+      that she brought a suit against him where would he be? She must have
+      evidence, or she would not have known the story. The whole drama had
+      clearly been witnessed by someone, probably either by Elizabeth or the
+      servant girl, and that some one had betrayed it to Honoria and possibly to
+      others. The thought made him sick. He was a man of the world, and a
+      practical lawyer, and though, indeed, they were innocent, he knew that
+      under the circumstances few would be found to believe it. At the very best
+      there must be a terrible and shocking scandal, and Beatrice would lose her
+      good name. He placed himself in the position of counsel for the petitioner
+      in a like case, and thought how he would crush and crumple such a defence
+      in his address to the jury. A probable tale forsooth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Undoubtedly, too, Honoria would be acting wisely from her point of view.
+      Public sympathy would be with her throughout. He knew that, as it was, he
+      was believed generally to owe much of his success to his handsome and
+      high-born wife. Now it would be said that he had used her as a ladder and
+      then thrown her over. With all this, however, he might cope; he could even
+      bear with the vulgar attacks of a vulgar press, and the gibes and jeers of
+      his political and personal enemies, but to lose Effie he could not bear.
+      And if such a case were brought against him it was almost certain that he
+      would lose her, for, if he was worsted, custody of the child would be
+      given to the injured wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was Beatrice to be considered. The same malicious tongue that
+      had revealed this matter to Honoria would probably reveal it to the rest
+      of the world, and even if he escaped the worst penalties of outraged
+      morality, they would certainly be wreaked upon her. Beatrice&rsquo;s reputation
+      would be blasted, her employment lost, and her life made a burden to her.
+      Yes, decidedly, Honoria had the best of the position; decidedly, also, she
+      spoke words of weight and common sense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was to be done? Was there no way out of it? All that night as
+      Geoffrey sat in the House, his arms folded on his breast, and to
+      appearance intently listening to the long harangues of the Opposition,
+      this question haunted him. He argued the situation out this way and that
+      way, till at the last he came to a conclusion. Either he must wait for the
+      scandal to leak out, let Beatrice be ruined, and direct his efforts to the
+      softening of Honoria, and generally to self-preservation, or he must take
+      the bull by the horns, must abandon his great career and his country and
+      seek refuge in another land, say America, taking Beatrice and Effie with
+      him. Once the child was out of the jurisdiction, of course no court could
+      force her from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the two courses, even in so far as he himself was concerned, what
+      between the urgency of the matter and the unceasing pressure of his
+      passion, Geoffrey inclined to the latter. The relations between himself
+      and Honoria had for years been so strained, so totally different from
+      those which should exist between man and wife, that they greatly mitigated
+      in his mind the apparent iniquity of such a step. Nor would he feel much
+      compunction at removing the child from her mother, for there was no love
+      lost between the two, and as time went on he guessed shrewdly there would
+      be less and less. For the rest, he had some seventeen thousand pounds in
+      hand; he would take half and leave Honoria half. He knew that he could
+      always earn a living wherever he went, and probably much more than a
+      living, and of whatever he earned a strict moiety should be paid to
+      Honoria. But first and above everything, there was Beatrice to be
+      considered. She must be saved, even if he ruined himself to save her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria, it is scarcely necessary to say, had little idea that she
+      was driving her husband to such dangerous and determined councils. She
+      wanted to frighten Geoffrey, not to lose him and all he meant to her; this
+      was the last thing that she would wish to do. She did not greatly care
+      about the Beatrice incident, but her shrewd common sense told her that it
+      might well be used as an engine to ruin them all. Therefore she spoke as
+      she did speak, though in reality matters would have to be bad indeed
+      before she sought the aid of a court of law, where many things concerning
+      herself might come to the light of day which she would prefer to leave in
+      darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor did she stop here; she determined to attack Geoffrey&rsquo;s position in
+      another way, namely, through Beatrice herself. For a long time Honoria
+      hesitated as to the method of this attack. She had some knowledge of the
+      world and of character, and from what she knew of Beatrice she came to the
+      sound conclusion that she was not a woman to be threatened, but rather one
+      to be appealed to. So after much thought she wrote to her thus:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A story, which I still hesitate to believe, has come to me by means of
+      anonymous letters, as to your conduct with my husband. I do not wish to
+      repeat it now, further than to say that, if true, it establishes
+      circumstances which leave no doubt as to the existence of relations so
+      intimate between you as to amount to guilt. It may not be true or it may,
+      in which latter event I wish to say this: With your morality I have
+      nothing to do; it is your affair. Nor do I wish to plead to you as an
+      injured wife or to reproach you, for there are things too wicked for mere
+      reproach. But I will say this: if the story is true, I must presume that
+      you have some affection for the partner of your shame. I put myself out of
+      the question, and in the name of that affection, however guilty it may be,
+      I ask you to push matters no further. To do so will be to bring its object
+      to utter ruin. <i>If you care for him, sever all connection with him
+      utterly and for ever.</i> Otherwise he will live to curse and hate you.
+      Should you neglect this advice, and should the facts that I have heard
+      become public property, I warn you, as I have already warned him, that in
+      self-preservation and for the sake of self-respect, I shall be forced to
+      appeal to the law for my remedy. Remember that his career is at stake, and
+      that in losing it and me he will lose also his child. Remember that if
+      this comes about it will be through <i>you</i>. Do not answer this, it
+      will do no good, for I shall naturally put no faith in your protestations,
+      but if you are in any way or measure guilty of this offence, appealing to
+      you as one woman to another, and for the sake of the man who is dear to
+      both, I say do your best to redeem the evil, <i>by making all further
+      communication between yourself and him an impossibility</i>. H.B.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a clever letter; Lady Honoria could not have devised one more
+      powerful to work on a woman like Beatrice. The same post that took it to
+      her took another from Geoffrey himself. It was long, though guarded, and
+      need not be quoted in its entirety, but it put the whole position before
+      her in somewhat veiled language, and ended by saying, &ldquo;Marriage I cannot
+      give you, only life-long love. In other circumstances to offer this would
+      be an insult, but if things should be as a I fear, it is worth your
+      consideration. I do not say to you <i>come</i>, I say come <i>if you wish</i>.
+      No, Beatrice, I will not put this cruel burden of decision upon you. I say
+      <i>come!</i> I do not command you to come, because I promised to leave you
+      uninfluenced. But I pray you to do so. Let us put an end to this
+      wretchedness, and count the world well lost as our price of love. Come,
+      dearest Beatrice&mdash;to leave me no more till death. I put my life in
+      your hands; if you take it up, whatever trouble you may have to face, you
+      will never lose my affection or esteem. Do not think of me, think of
+      yourself. You have given me your love as you once gave me my life. I owe
+      something in return; I cannot see you shamed and make no offer of
+      reparation. Indeed, so far as I am concerned, I shall think all I lose as
+      nothing compared to what I gain in gaining you. Will you come? If so, we
+      will leave this country and begin afresh elsewhere. After all, it matters
+      little, and will matter less when everything is said and done. My life has
+      for years been but as an unwholesome dream. The one real thing, the one
+      happy thing that I have found in it has been our love. Do not let us throw
+      it away, Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By return of post he received this answer written in pencil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.&mdash;B.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ELIZABETH SHOWS HER TEETH
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Hard had been Beatrice&rsquo;s hours since that grey morning of separation. She
+      must bear all the inner wretchedness of her lot; she must conceal her
+      grief, must suffer the slings and arrows of Elizabeth&rsquo;s sharp tongue, and
+      strive to keep Owen Davies at a distance. Indeed, as the days went on,
+      this last task grew more and more portentous. The man was quite
+      unmanageable; his passion, which was humiliating and hateful to Beatrice,
+      became the talk of the place. Everybody knew of it, except her father, and
+      even his eyes began to be opened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One night&mdash;it was the same upon which Geoffrey and Honoria
+      respectively had posted their letters to Beatrice&mdash;anybody looking
+      into the little room at Bryngelly Castle, which served its owner for all
+      purposes except that of sleeping, would have witnessed a very strange
+      sight. Owen Davies was walking to and fro&mdash;walking rapidly with wild
+      eyes and dishevelled hair. At the turn of each length of the apartment he
+      would halt, and throwing his arms into the air ejaculate:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, God, hear me, and give me my desire! Oh, God, answer me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For two long hours thus he walked and thus cried aloud, till at length he
+      sank panting and exhausted into a chair. Suddenly he raised his head, and
+      appeared to listen intently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Voice,&rdquo; he said aloud; &ldquo;the Voice again. What does it say? To-morrow,
+      to-morrow I must speak; and I shall win her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang up with a shout, and once more began his wild march. &ldquo;Oh,
+      Beatrice!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to-morrow you will promise to marry me; the Voice
+      says so, and soon, soon, perhaps in one short month, you will be my own&mdash;mine
+      only! Geoffrey Bingham shall not come between us then, for I will watch
+      you day and night. You shall be my very, very own&mdash;my own beautiful
+      Beatrice,&rdquo; and he stretched out his arms and clasped at the empty air&mdash;a
+      crazy and unpleasant sight to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so he walked and spoke till the dawn was grey in the east. This
+      occurred on the Friday night. It was on the following morning that
+      Beatrice, the unfortunate and innocent object of these amorous
+      invocations, received the two letters. She had gone to the post-office on
+      her way to the school, on the chance of there being a note from Geoffrey.
+      Poor woman, his letters were the one bright thing in her life. From
+      motives of prudence they were written in the usual semi-formal style, but
+      she was quick to read between the lines, and, moreover, they came from his
+      dear hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the letter sure enough, and another in a woman&rsquo;s writing. She
+      recognised the hand as that of Lady Honoria, which she had often seen on
+      envelopes directed to Geoffrey, and a thrill of fear shot through her. She
+      took the letters, and walking as quickly as she could to the school,
+      locked herself in her own little room, for it was not yet nine o&rsquo;clock,
+      and looked at them with a gathering terror. What was in them? Why did Lady
+      Honoria write to her? Which should she read first? In a moment Beatrice
+      had made up her mind. She would face the worst at once. With a set face
+      she opened Lady Honoria&rsquo;s letter, unfolded it, and read. We already know
+      its contents. As her mind grasped them her lips grew ashy white, and by
+      the time that the horrible thing was done she was nigh to fainting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Anonymous letters! oh, who could have done this cruel thing? Elizabeth, it
+      must be Elizabeth, who saw everything, and thus stabbed her in the back.
+      Was it possible that her own sister could treat her so? She knew that
+      Elizabeth disliked her; she could never fathom the cause, still she knew
+      the fact. But if this were her doing, then she must hate her, and most
+      bitterly; and what had she done to earn such hate? And now Geoffrey was in
+      danger on her account, danger of ruin, and how could she prevent it? This
+      was her first idea. Most people might have turned to their own position
+      and been content to leave their lover to fight his own battle. But
+      Beatrice thought little of herself. He was in danger, and how could she
+      protect him? Why here in the letter was the answer! &ldquo;If you care for him
+      sever all connection with him utterly, and for ever. Otherwise, he will
+      live to curse and hate you.&rdquo; No, no! Geoffrey would never do that. But
+      Lady Honoria was quite right; in his interest, for his sake, she must
+      sever all connection with him&mdash;sever it utterly and for ever. But how&mdash;how?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She thrust the letter into her dress&mdash;a viper would have been a more
+      welcome guest&mdash;and opened Geoffrey&rsquo;s.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It told the same tale, but offered a different solution. The tears started
+      to her eyes as she read his offer to take her to him for good and all, and
+      go away with her to begin life afresh. It seemed a wonderful thing to
+      Beatrice that he should be willing to sacrifice so much upon such a
+      worthless altar as her love&mdash;a wonderful and most generous thing. She
+      pressed the senseless paper to her heart, then kissed it again and again.
+      But she never thought of yielding to this great temptation, never for one
+      second. He prayed her to come, but that she would not do while her will
+      remained. What, <i>she</i> bring Geoffrey to ruin? No, she had rather
+      starve in the streets or perish by slow torture. How could he ever think
+      that she would consent to such a scheme? Indeed she never would; she had
+      brought enough trouble on him already. But oh, she blessed him for that
+      letter. How deeply must he love her when he could offer to do this for her
+      sake!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hark! the children were waiting; she must go and teach. The letter,
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s dear letter, could be answered in the afternoon. So she thrust
+      it in her breast with the other, but closer to her heart, and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon as Mr. Granger, in a happy frame of mind&mdash;for were not
+      his debts paid, and had he not found a most convenient way of providing
+      against future embarrassment?&mdash;was engaged peaceably in contemplating
+      his stock over the gate of his little farm buildings, he was much
+      astonished suddenly to discover Owen Davies at his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Davies?&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;how quietly you must have come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered Owen absently. &ldquo;The fact is, I have followed you because I
+      want to speak to you alone&mdash;quite alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, Mr. Davies&mdash;well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You
+      don&rsquo;t look very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there&rsquo;s nothing
+      wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, I know that
+      full surely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air, &ldquo;and
+      what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your
+      service, as you know,&rdquo; he added apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way
+      that made him start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;my coat, do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think that
+      she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I admit
+      that the arithmetic&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don&rsquo;t wish her to go to the
+      school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I want to
+      marry her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright?
+      Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry his
+      daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am indeed flattered,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is more than she could expect&mdash;not
+      but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever,&rdquo; he added hastily,
+      fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter&rsquo;s market value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-looking&mdash;clever; she is an angel,&rdquo; murmured Owen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, of course she is,&rdquo; said her father, &ldquo;that is, if a woman&mdash;yes,
+      of course&mdash;and what is more, I think she&rsquo;s very fond of you. I think
+      she is pining for you. I&rsquo;ve though so for a long time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she?&rdquo; said Owen anxiously. &ldquo;Then all I have to say is that she takes a
+      very curious way of showing it. She won&rsquo;t say a word to me; she puts me
+      off on every occasion. But it will be all right now&mdash;all right now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives.
+      We know about all that,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger sententiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it
+      indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Granger,&rdquo; he said, seizing his hand, &ldquo;I want to make Beatrice my wife&mdash;I
+      do indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters
+      and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a settlement as
+      any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a father, and I shall
+      raise no difficulties.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very right and proper, I am sure,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger, adopting a loftier
+      tone as he discovered the advantages of his position. &ldquo;But of course on
+      such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer. I daresay that Mr.
+      Bingham would advise me,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;as a friend of the family, you know.
+      He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn&rsquo;t charge anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; answered Owen anxiously. &ldquo;I will do anything
+      you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I&rsquo;ll pay the bill myself. But
+      never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice first. Come
+      along at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, but hadn&rsquo;t you better arrange that part of the business privately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had
+      better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won&rsquo;t speak to
+      her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God
+      directed me to do, and then it will be all right&mdash;I know it will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort,
+      and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies&rsquo;s
+      matrimonial intentions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven;
+      yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay
+      that we shall find Beatrice in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet
+      perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about
+      the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Beatrice?&rdquo; asked her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and
+      troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Beatrice,&rdquo; said her father, &ldquo;we were just asking for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly
+      perceived that some new danger threatened her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born
+      of fear. &ldquo;What is it, father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door.
+      It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two
+      persons principally concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t go,&rdquo; said Owen Davies excitedly, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t go, either of you; what I
+      have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say it
+      before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth glared at him fiercely&mdash;glared first at him and then at the
+      innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why had
+      she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before? But the
+      heart of Beatrice, who sat momentarily expecting to be publicly denounced,
+      grew ever fainter. The waters of desolation were closing in over her soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger sat down firmly and worked himself into the seat of his chair,
+      as though to secure an additional fixedness of tenure. Elizabeth set her
+      teeth, and leaned her elbow on the table, holding her hand so as to shade
+      her face. Beatrice drooped upon her seat like a fading lily, or a prisoner
+      in the dock. She was opposite to them, and Owen Davies, his face alight
+      with wild enthusiasm, stood up and addressed them all like the counsel for
+      the prosecution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Last autumn,&rdquo; he began, speaking to Mr. Granger, who might have been a
+      judge uncertain as to the merits of the case, &ldquo;I asked your daughter
+      Beatrice to marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice gave a sigh, and collected her scattered energies. The storm had
+      burst at last, and she must face it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I asked her to marry me, and she told me to wait a year. I have waited as
+      long as I could, but I could not wait the whole year. I have prayed a
+      great deal, and I am bidden to speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth made a gesture of impatience. She was a person of strong common
+      sense, and this mixture of religion and eroticism disgusted her. She also
+      know that the storm had burst, and that <i>she</i> must face it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I come to tell you that I love your daughter Beatrice, and want to
+      make her my wife. I have never loved anybody else, but I have loved her
+      for years; and I ask your consent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very flattering, very flattering, I am sure, especially in these hard
+      times,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger apologetically, shaking his thin hair down over
+      his forehead, and then rumpling it up again. &ldquo;But you see, Mr. Davies, you
+      don&rsquo;t want to marry me&rdquo; (here Beatrice smiled faintly)&mdash;&ldquo;you want to
+      marry my daughter, so you had better ask her direct&mdash;at least I
+      suppose so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth made a movement as though to speak, then changed her mind and
+      listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beatrice,&rdquo; said Owen Davies, &ldquo;you hear. I ask you to marry me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause. Beatrice, who had sat quite silent, was gathering up
+      her strength to answer. Elizabeth, watching her from beneath her hand,
+      thought that she read upon her face irresolution, softening into consent.
+      What she really saw was but doubt as to the fittest and most certain
+      manner of refusal. Like lightning it flashed into Elizabeth&rsquo;s mind that
+      she must strike now, or hold her hand for ever. If once Beatrice spoke
+      that fatal &ldquo;yes,&rdquo; her revelations might be of no avail. And Beatrice would
+      speak it; she was sure she would. It was a golden road out of her
+      troubles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; said Elizabeth in a shrill, hard voice. &ldquo;Stop! I must speak; it is
+      my duty as a Christian. I must tell the truth. I cannot allow an honest
+      man to be deceived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an awful pause. Beatrice broke it. Now she saw all the truth,
+      and knew what was at hand. She placed her hand upon her heart to still its
+      beating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Elizabeth,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;in our dead mother&rsquo;s name&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; and
+      she stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered her sister, &ldquo;in our dead mother&rsquo;s name, which you have
+      dishonoured, I will do it. Listen, Owen Davies, and father: Beatrice, who
+      sits there&rdquo;&mdash;and she pointed at her with her thin hand&mdash;&ldquo;<i>Beatrice
+      is a scarlet woman!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t understand,&rdquo; gasped Mr. Granger, while Owen looked round
+      wildly, and Beatrice sunk her head upon her breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will explain,&rdquo; said Elizabeth, still pointing at her sister. &ldquo;She
+      is Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s <i>mistress</i>. On the night of Whit-Sunday last
+      she rose from bed and went into his room at one in the morning. I saw her
+      with my own eyes. Afterwards she was brought back to her bed in his arms&mdash;I
+      saw it with my own eyes, and I heard him kiss her.&rdquo; (This was a piece of
+      embroidery on Elizabeth&rsquo;s part.) &ldquo;She is his lover, and has been in love
+      with him for months. I tell you this, Owen Davies, because, though I
+      cannot bear to bring disgrace upon our name and to defile my lips with
+      such a tale, neither can I bear that you should marry a girl, believing
+      her to be good, when she is what Beatrice is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I wish to God that you had held your wicked tongue,&rdquo; said Mr.
+      Granger fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, father. I have a duty to perform, and I will perform it at any cost,
+      and however much it pains me. You know that what I say is true. You heard
+      the noise on the night of Whit-Sunday, and got up to see what it was. You
+      saw the white figure in the passage&mdash;it was Geoffrey Bingham with
+      Beatrice in his arms. Ah! well may she hang her head. Let her deny if it
+      she can. Let her deny that she loves him to her shame, and that she was
+      alone in his room on that night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice rose and spoke. She was pale as death and more beautiful in
+      her shame and her despair than ever she had been before; her glorious eyes
+      shone, and there were deep black lines beneath them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My heart is my own,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and I will make no answer to you about
+      it. Think what you will. For the rest, it is not true. I am not what
+      Elizabeth tells you that I am. I am <i>not</i> Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s
+      mistress. It is true that I was in his room that night, and it is true
+      that he carried me back to my own. But it was in my sleep that I went
+      there, not of my own free will. I awoke there, and fainted when I woke,
+      and then at once he bore me back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth laughed shrill and loud&mdash;it sounded like the cackle of a
+      fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In her sleep,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;oh, she went there in her sleep!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Elizabeth, in my sleep. You do not believe me, but it is true. You
+      do not wish to believe me. You wish to bring the sister whom you should
+      love, who has never offended against you by act or word, to utter disgrace
+      and ruin. In your cowardly spite you have written anonymous letters to
+      Lady Honoria Bingham, to prevail upon her to strike the blow that should
+      destroy her husband and myself, and when you fear that this has failed,
+      you come forward and openly accuse us. You do this in the name of
+      Christian duty; in the name of love and charity, you believe the worst,
+      and seek to ruin us. Shame on you, Elizabeth! shame on you! and may the
+      same measure that you have meted out to me never be paid back to you. We
+      are no longer sisters. Whatever happens, I have done with you. Go your
+      ways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth shrank and quailed beneath her sister&rsquo;s scorn. Even her venomous
+      hatred could not bear up against the flash of those royal eyes, and the
+      majesty of that outraged innocence. She gasped and bit her lip till the
+      blood started, but she said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice turned to her father, and spoke in another and a pleading
+      voice, stretching out her arms towards him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, father,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;at least tell me that <i>you</i> believe me.
+      Though you may think that I might love to all extremes, surely, having
+      known me so many years, you cannot think that I would lie even for my
+      love&rsquo;s sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man looked wildly round, and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In his room and in his arms,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I saw it, it seems. You, too, who
+      have never been known to walk in your sleep from a child; and you will not
+      say that you do not love him&mdash;the scoundrel. It is wicked of
+      Elizabeth&mdash;jealousy bitter as the grave. It is wicked of her to tell
+      the tale; but as it is told, how can I say that I do not believe it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice, her cup being full, once more dropped her head, and turned
+      to go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop,&rdquo; said Owen Davies in a hoarse voice, and speaking for the first
+      time. &ldquo;Hear what <i>I</i> have to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She lifted her eyes. &ldquo;With you, Mr. Davies, I have nothing to do; I am not
+      answerable to you. Go and help your accomplice,&rdquo; and she pointed to
+      Elizabeth, &ldquo;to cry this scandal over the whole world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop,&rdquo; he said again. &ldquo;I will speak. I believe that it is true. I believe
+      that you are Geoffrey Bingham&rsquo;s mistress, curse him! but I do not care. I
+      am still willing to marry you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth gasped. Was this to be the end of her scheming? Would the blind
+      passion of this madman prevail over her revelations, and Beatrice still
+      become his rich and honoured wife, while she was left poor and disgraced?
+      Oh, it was monstrous! Oh, she had never dreamed of this!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noble, noble!&rdquo; murmured Mr. Granger; &ldquo;noble! God bless you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the position was not altogether beyond recovery. His erring daughter
+      might still be splendidly married; he might still look forward to peace
+      and wealth in his old age.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only Beatrice smiled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thank you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am much honoured, but I could never have
+      married you because I do not love you. You must understand me very little
+      if you think that I should be the more ready to do so on account of the
+      danger in which I stand,&rdquo; and she ceased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Beatrice,&rdquo; Owen went on, an evil light shining on his heavy face,
+      while Elizabeth sat astounded, scarcely able to believe her ears. &ldquo;I want
+      you, and I mean to marry you; you are more to me than all the world. I can
+      give you everything, and you had better yield to me, and you shall hear no
+      more of this. But if you won&rsquo;t, then this is what I will do. I will be
+      revenged upon you&mdash;terribly revenged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice shook her head and smiled again, as though to bid him do his
+      worst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And look, Beatrice,&rdquo; he went on, waxing almost eloquent in his jealous
+      despair, &ldquo;I have another argument to urge on you. I will not only be
+      revenged on you, I will be revenged upon your lover&mdash;on this Geoffrey
+      Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Oh!</i>&rdquo; said Beatrice sharply, like one in pain. He had found the way
+      to move her now, and with the cunning of semi-madness he drove the point
+      home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you may start&mdash;I will. I tell you that I will never rest till I
+      have ruined him, and I am rich and can do it. I have a hundred thousand
+      pounds, that I will spend on doing it. I have nothing to fear, except an
+      action for libel. Oh, I am not a fool, though you think I am, I know.
+      Well, I can pay for a dozen actions. There are papers in London that will
+      be glad to publish all this&mdash;yes, the whole story&mdash;with plans
+      and pictures too. Just think, Beatrice, what it will be when all England&mdash;yes,
+      and all the world&mdash;is gloating over your shame, and half-a-dozen
+      prints are using the thing for party purposes, clamouring for the disgrace
+      of the man who ruined you, and whom you will ruin. He has a fine career;
+      it shall be utterly destroyed. By God! I will hunt him to his grave,
+      unless you promise to marry me, Beatrice. Do that, and not a word of this
+      shall be said. Now answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger sank back in his chair; this savage play of human passions was
+      altogether beyond his experience&mdash;it overwhelmed him. As for
+      Elizabeth, she bit her thin fingers, and glared from one to the other. &ldquo;He
+      reckons without me,&rdquo; she thought. &ldquo;He reckons without me&mdash;I will
+      marry him yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Beatrice leant for a moment against the wall and shut her eyes to
+      think. Oh, she saw it all&mdash;the great posters with her name and
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s on them, the shameless pictures of her in his arms, the
+      sickening details, the letters of the outraged matrons, the &ldquo;Mothers of
+      ten,&rdquo; and the moral-minded colonels&mdash;all, all! She heard the prurient
+      scream of every male Elizabeth in England; the allusions in the House&mdash;the
+      jeers, the bitter attacks of enemies and rivals. Then Lady Honoria would
+      begin her suit, and it would all be dragged up afresh, and Geoffrey&rsquo;s
+      fault would be on every lip, till he was <i>ruined</i>. For herself she
+      did not care; but could she bring this on one whose only crime was that
+      she had learned to love him? No, no; but neither could she marry this
+      hateful man. And yet what escape was there? She flung herself upon her
+      woman&rsquo;s wit, and it did not fail her. In a few seconds she had thought it
+      all out and made up her mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can I answer you at a moment&rsquo;s notice, Mr. Davies?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I must
+      have time to think it over. To threaten such revenge upon me is not manly,
+      but I know that you love me, and therefore I excuse it. Still, I must have
+      time. I am confused.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, another year? No, no,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You must answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not ask a year or a month. I only ask for one week. If you will not
+      give me that, then I will defy you, and you may do your worst. I cannot
+      answer now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a bold stroke, but it told. Mr. Davies hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give the girl a week,&rdquo; said her father to him. &ldquo;She is not herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well; one week, no more,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have another stipulation to make,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;You are all to swear
+      to me that for that week no word of this will pass your mouths; that for
+      that week I shall not be annoyed or interfered with, or spoken to on the
+      subject, not by one of you. If at the end of it I still refuse to accept
+      your terms, you can do your worst, but till then you must hold your hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies hesitated; he was suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember,&rdquo; Beatrice went on, raising her voice, &ldquo;I am a desperate woman.
+      I may turn at bay, and do something which you do not expect, and that will
+      be very little to the advantage of any of you. Do you swear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Owen Davies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice looked at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked at her. She saw
+      that the matter had taken a new form. She saw what her jealous folly had
+      hitherto hidden from her&mdash;that Beatrice did not mean to marry Owen
+      Davies, that she was merely gaining time to execute some purpose of her
+      own. What this might be Elizabeth cared little so that it did not utterly
+      extinguish chances that at the moment seemed faint enough. She did not
+      want to push matters against her sister, or her lover Geoffrey, beyond the
+      boundary of her own interests. Beatrice should have her week, and be free
+      from all interference so far as she was concerned. She realised now that
+      it was too late how great had been her error. Oh, if only she had sought
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s confidence at first! But it had seemed to her impossible that
+      she would really throw away such an opportunity in life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly I promise, Beatrice,&rdquo; she said mildly. &ldquo;I do not swear, for
+      &lsquo;swear not at all,&rsquo; you know. I only did what I thought my duty in warning
+      Mr. Davies. If he chooses to go on with the matter, it is no affair of
+      mine. I had no wish to hurt you, or Mr. Bingham. I acted solely from my
+      religious convictions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, stop talking religion, Elizabeth, and practise it a little more!&rdquo;
+       said her father, for once in his life stirred out of his feeble
+      selfishness. &ldquo;We have all undertaken to keep our mouths sealed for this
+      week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice left the room, and after her went Owen Davies without
+      another word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Elizabeth,&rdquo; said her father, rising, &ldquo;you are a wicked woman! What did
+      you do this for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want to know, father?&rdquo; she said coolly; &ldquo;then I will tell you.
+      Because I mean to marry Owen Davies myself. We must all look after
+      ourselves in this world, you know; and that is a maxim which you never
+      forget, for one. I mean to marry him; and though I seem to have failed,
+      marry him I will, yet! And now you know all about it; and if you are not a
+      fool, you will hold your tongue and let me be!&rdquo; and she went also, leaving
+      him alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger held up his hands in astonishment. He was a selfish,
+      money-seeking old man, but he felt that he did not deserve to have such a
+      daughter as this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      WHAT BEATRICE SWORE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice went to her room, but the atmosphere of the place seemed to
+      stifle her. Her brain was reeling, she must go out into the air&mdash;away
+      from her tormentors. She had not yet answered Geoffrey&rsquo;s letter, and it
+      must be answered by this post, for there was none on Sunday. It was
+      half-past four&mdash;the post went out at five; if she was going to write,
+      she should do so at once, but she could not do so here. Besides, she must
+      find time for thought. Ah, she had it; she would take her canoe and paddle
+      across the bay to the little town of Coed and write her letter there. The
+      post did not leave Coed till half-past six. She put on her hat and jacket,
+      and taking a stamp, a sheet of paper, and an envelope with her, slipped
+      quietly from the house down to old Edward&rsquo;s boat-house where the canoe was
+      kept. Old Edward was not there himself, but his son was, a boy of
+      fourteen, and by his help Beatrice was soon safely launched. The sea
+      glittered like glass, and turning southwards, presently she was paddling
+      round the shore of the island on which the Castle stood towards the open
+      bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As she paddled her mind cleared, and she was able to consider the
+      position. It was bad enough. She saw no light, darkness hemmed her in. But
+      at least she had a week before her, and meanwhile what should she write to
+      Geoffrey?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, as she thought, a great temptation assailed Beatrice, and for the
+      first time her resolution wavered. Why should she not accept Geoffrey&rsquo;s
+      offer and go away with him&mdash;far away from all this misery? Gladly
+      would she give her life to spend one short year at his dear side. She had
+      but to say the word, and he would take her to him, and in a month from now
+      they would be together in some foreign land, counting the world well lost,
+      as he had said. Doubtless in time Lady Honoria would get a divorce, and
+      they might be married. A day might even come when all this would seem like
+      a forgotten night of storm and fear; when, surrounded by the children of
+      their love, they would wend peaceably, happily, through the evening of
+      their days towards a bourne robbed of half its terrors by the fact that
+      they would cross it hand-in-hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, that would be well for her; but would it be well for him? When the
+      first months of passion had passed by, would he not begin to think of all
+      that he had thrown away for the sake of a woman&rsquo;s love? Would not the
+      burst of shame and obloquy which would follow him to the remotest corners
+      of the earth wear away his affection, till at last, as Lady Honoria said,
+      he learned to curse and hate her. And if it did not&mdash;if he still
+      loved her through it all&mdash;as, being what he was, he well might do&mdash;could
+      she be the one to bring this ruin on him? Oh, it would have been more kind
+      to let him drown on that night of the storm, when fate first brought them
+      together to their undoing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, no; once and for all, once and for ever, she would <i>not</i> do it.
+      Cruel as was her strait, heavy as was her burden, not one feather&rsquo;s weight
+      of it should he carry, if by any means in her poor power she could hold it
+      from his back. She would not even tell him of what had happened&mdash;at
+      any rate, not now. It would distress him; he might take some desperate
+      step; it was almost certain that he would do so. Her answer must be very
+      short.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was quite close to Coed now, and the water lay calm as a pond. So calm
+      was it that she drew the sheet of paper and the envelope from her pocket,
+      and leaning forward, rested them on the arched covering of the canoe, and
+      pencilled those words which we have already read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.&mdash;B.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus she wrote. Then she paddled to the shore. A fisherman standing on the
+      beach caught her canoe and pulled it up. Leaving it in his charge, she
+      went into the quaint little town, directed and posted her letter, and
+      bought some wool. It was an excuse for having been there should any one
+      ask questions. After that she returned to her canoe. The fisherman was
+      standing by it. She offered him sixpence for his trouble, but he would not
+      take it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, miss,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;thanking you kindly&mdash;but we don&rsquo;t often get a
+      peep at such sweet looks. It&rsquo;s worth sixpence to see you, it is. But,
+      miss, if I may make so bold as to say so, it isn&rsquo;t safe for you to cruise
+      about in that craft, any ways not alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice thanked him and blushed a little. Vaguely it occurred to her that
+      she must have more than a common share of beauty, when a rough man could
+      be so impressed with it. That was what men loved women for, their beauty,
+      as Owen Davies loved and desired her for this same cause and this only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it was the same with Geoffrey&mdash;no, she did not believe it. He
+      loved her for other things besides her looks. Only if she had not been
+      beautiful, perhaps he would not have begun to love her, so she was
+      thankful for her eyes and hair, and form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could folly and infatuation go further? This woman in the darkest hour of
+      her bottomless and unhorizoned despair, with conscience gnawing at her
+      heart, with present misery pressing on her breast, and shame to come
+      hanging over her like a thunder cloud, could yet feel thankful that she
+      had won this barren love, the spring of all her woe. Or was her folly deep
+      wisdom in disguise?&mdash;is there something divine in a passion that can
+      so override and defy the worst agonies of life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was at sea again now, and evening was falling on the waters softly as
+      a dream. Well, the letter was posted. Would it be the last, she wondered?
+      It seemed as though she must write no more letters. And what was to be
+      done? She would <i>not</i> marry Owen Davies&mdash;never would she do it.
+      She could not so shamelessly violate her feelings, for Beatrice was a
+      woman to whom death would be preferable to dishonour, however legal. No,
+      for her own sake she would not be soiled with that disgrace. Did she do
+      this, she would hold herself the vilest of the vile. And still less would
+      she do it for Geoffrey&rsquo;s sake. Her instinct told her what he would feel at
+      such a thing, though he might never say a word. Surely he would loathe and
+      despise her. No, that idea was done with&mdash;utterly done with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then what remained to her? She would not fly with Geoffrey, since to do so
+      would be to ruin him. She would not marry Owen, and not to do so would
+      still be to ruin Geoffrey. She was no fool, she was innocent in act, but
+      she knew that her innocence would indeed be hard to prove&mdash;even her
+      own father did not believe in it, and her sister would openly accuse her
+      to the world. What then should she do? Should she hide herself in some
+      remote half-civilised place, or in London? It was impossible; she had no
+      money, and no means of getting any. Besides, they would hunt her out, both
+      Owen Davies and Geoffrey would track her to the furthest limits of the
+      earth. And would not the former think that Geoffrey had spirited her away,
+      and at once put his threats into execution? Obviously he would. There was
+      no hope in that direction. Some other plan must be found or her lover
+      would still be ruined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So argued Beatrice, still thinking not of herself, but of Geoffrey, of
+      that beloved one who was more to her than all the world, more, a thousand
+      times, than her own safety or well-being. Perhaps she overrated the
+      matter. Owen Davies, Lady Honoria, and even Elizabeth might have done all
+      they threatened; the first of them, perhaps the first two of them,
+      certainly would have done so. But still Geoffrey might have escaped
+      destruction. Public opinion, or the sounder part of it, is sensibly enough
+      hard to move in such a matter, especially when the person said to have
+      been wronged is heart and soul on the side of him who is said to have
+      wronged her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Moreover there might have been ways out of it, of which she knew nothing.
+      But surrounded as she was by threatening powers&mdash;by Lady Honoria
+      threatening actions in the Courts on one side, by Owen Davies threatening
+      exposure on another, by Elizabeth ready and willing to give the most
+      damning evidence on the third, to Beatrice the worst consequences seemed
+      an absolutely necessary sequence. Then there was her own conscience
+      arrayed against her. This particular charge was a lie, but it was not a
+      lie that she loved Geoffrey, and to her the two things seemed very much
+      the same thing. Hers was not a mind to draw fine distinctions in such
+      matters. <i>Se posuit ut culpabilem</i>: she &ldquo;placed herself as guilty,&rdquo;
+       as the old Court rolls put it in miserable Latin, and this sense of guilt
+      disarmed her. She did not realise the enormous difference recognised by
+      the whole civilised world between thought and act, between disposing mind
+      and inculpating deed. Beatrice looked at the question more from the
+      scriptural point of view, remembering that in the Bible such fine
+      divisions are expressly stated to be distinctions without a difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had she gone to Geoffrey and told him her whole story it is probable that
+      he would have defied the conspiracy, faced it out, and possibly come off
+      victorious. But, with that deadly reticence of which women alone are
+      capable, this she did not and would not do. Sweet loving woman that she
+      was, she would not burden him with her sorrows, she would bear them alone&mdash;little
+      reckoning that thereby she was laying up a far, far heavier load for him
+      to carry through all his days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Beatrice accepted the statements of the plaintiff&rsquo;s attorney for gospel
+      truth, and from that false standpoint she drew her auguries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, she was weary! How lovely was the falling night, see how it brooded on
+      the seas! and how clear were the waters&mdash;there a fish passed by her
+      paddle&mdash;and there the first start sprang into the sky! If only
+      Geoffrey were here to see it with her. Geoffrey! she had lost him; she was
+      alone in the world now&mdash;alone with the sea and the stars. Well, they
+      were better than men&mdash;better than all men except one. Theirs was a
+      divine companionship, and it soothed her. Ah, how hateful had been
+      Elizabeth&rsquo;s face, more hateful even than the half-crazed cunning of Owen
+      Davies, when she stretched her hand towards her and called her &ldquo;a scarlet
+      woman.&rdquo; It was so like Elizabeth, this mixing up of Bible terms with her
+      accusation. And after all perhaps it was true.&mdash;What was it, &ldquo;Though
+      thy sins be as scarlet, yet shall they be white as snow.&rdquo; But that was
+      only if one repented. She did not repent, not in the least. Conscience, it
+      is true, reproached her with a breach of temporal and human law, but her
+      heart cried that such love as she had given was immortal and divine, and
+      therefore set beyond the little bounds of time and man. At any rate, she
+      loved Geoffrey and was proud and glad to love him. The circumstances were
+      unfortunate, but she did not make the world or its social arrangements any
+      more than she had made herself, and she could not help that. The fact
+      remained, right or wrong&mdash;she loved him, loved him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How clear were the waters! What was that wild dream which she had dreamt
+      about herself sitting at the bottom of the sea, and waiting for him&mdash;till
+      at last he came. Sitting at the bottom of the sea&mdash;why did it strike
+      her so strangely&mdash;what unfamiliar thought did it waken in her mind?
+      Well, and why not? It would be pleasant there, better at any rate than on
+      the earth. But things cannot be ended so; one is burdened with the flesh,
+      and one must wear it till it fails. Why must she wear it? Was not the sea
+      large enough to hide her bones? Look now, she had but to slip over the
+      edge of the canoe, slip without a struggle into those mighty arms, and in
+      a few short minutes it would all be done and gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She gasped as the thought struck home. <i>Here</i> was the answer to her
+      questionings, the same answer that is given to every human troubling, to
+      all earthly hopes and fears and strivings. One stroke of that black knife
+      and everything would be lost or found. Would it be so great a thing to
+      give her life for Geoffrey?&mdash;why she had well nigh done as much when
+      she had known him but an hour, and now that he was all in all, oh, would
+      it be so great a thing? If she died&mdash;died secretly, swiftly, surely&mdash;Geoffrey
+      would be saved; they would not trouble him then, there would be no one to
+      trouble about: Owen Davies could not marry her then, Geoffrey could not
+      ruin himself over her, Elizabeth could pursue her no further. It would be
+      well to do this thing for Geoffrey, and he would always love her, and
+      beyond that black curtain there might be something better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They said that it was sin. Yes, it might be sin to act thus for oneself
+      alone. But to do it for another&mdash;how of that! Was not the Saviour
+      whom they preached a Man of Sacrifice? Would it be a sin in her to die for
+      Geoffrey, to sacrifice herself that Geoffrey might go free?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, it would be no great merit. Her life was not so easy that she should
+      fear this pure embrace. It would be better, far better, than to marry Owen
+      Davies, than to desecrate their love and teach Geoffrey to despise her.
+      And how else could she ward this trouble from him except by her death, or
+      by a marriage that in her eyes was more dreadful than any death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She could not do it yet. She could not die until she had once more seen
+      his face, even though he did not see hers. No, not to-night would she seek
+      this swift solution. She had words to say&mdash;or words to write&mdash;before
+      the end. Already they rushed in upon her mind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But if no better plan presented itself she would do it, she was sure that
+      she would. It was a sin&mdash;well, let it be a sin; what did she care if
+      she sinned for Geoffrey? He would not think the worse of her for it. And
+      she had hope, yes, Geoffrey had taught her to hope. If there was a Hell,
+      why it was here. And yet not all a Hell, for in it she had found her love!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It grew dark; she could hear the whisper of the waves upon Bryngelly
+      beach. It grew dark; the night was closing round. She paddled to within a
+      few fathoms of the shore, and called in her clear voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, miss,&rdquo; answered old Edward from the beach. &ldquo;Come in on the next
+      wave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She came in accordingly and her canoe was caught and dragged high and dry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; said the old man shaking his head and grumbling,
+      &ldquo;at it again! Out all alone in that thing,&rdquo; and he gave the canoe a
+      contemptuous kick, &ldquo;and in the dark, too. You want a husband to look after
+      you, you do. You&rsquo;ll never rest till you&rsquo;re drowned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Edward,&rdquo; she answered with a little laugh. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose that I
+      shall. There is no peace for the wicked above seas, you know. Now do not
+      scold. The canoe is as safe as church in this weather and in the bay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, it&rsquo;s safe enough in the calm and the bay,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;but
+      supposing it should come on to blow and supposing you should drift beyond
+      the shelter of Rumball Point there, and get the rollers down on you&mdash;why
+      you would be drowned in five minutes. It&rsquo;s wicked, miss, that&rsquo;s what it
+      is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice laughed again and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s a funny one she is,&rdquo; said the old man scratching his head as he
+      looked after her, &ldquo;of all the woman folk as ever I knowed she is the
+      rummest. I sometimes thinks she wants to get drowned. Dash me if I haven&rsquo;t
+      half a mind to stave a hole in the bottom of that there damned canoe, and
+      finish it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice reached home a little before supper time. Her first act was to
+      call Betty the servant and with her assistance to shift her bed and things
+      into the spare room. With Elizabeth she would have nothing more to do.
+      They had slept together since they were children, now she had done with
+      her. Then she went in to supper, and sat through it like a statue,
+      speaking no word. Her father and Elizabeth kept up a strained
+      conversation, but they did not speak to her, nor she to them. Elizabeth
+      did not even ask where she had been, nor take any notice of her change of
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing, however, Beatrice learnt. Her father was going on the Monday to
+      Hereford by an early train to attend a meeting of clergymen collected to
+      discuss the tithe question. He was to return by the last train on the
+      Tuesday night, that is, about midnight. Beatrice now discovered that
+      Elizabeth proposed to accompany him. Evidently she wished to see as little
+      as possible of her sister during this week of truce&mdash;possibly she was
+      a little afraid of her. Even Elizabeth might have a conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she should be left alone from Monday morning till Tuesday night. One
+      can do a good deal in forty hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After supper Beatrice rose and left the room, without a word, and they
+      were glad when she went. She frightened them with her set face and great
+      calm eyes. But neither spoke to the other on the subject. They had entered
+      into a conspiracy of silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice locked her door and then sat at the window lost in thought. When
+      once the idea of suicide has entered the mind it is apt to grow with
+      startling rapidity. She reviewed the whole position; she went over all the
+      arguments and searched the moral horizon for some feasible avenue of
+      escape. But she could find none that would save Geoffrey, except this.
+      Yes, she would do it, as many another wretched woman had done before her,
+      not from cowardice indeed, for had she alone been concerned she would have
+      faced the thing out, fighting to the bitter end&mdash;but for this reason
+      only, it would cut off the dangers which threatened Geoffrey at their very
+      root and source. Of course there must be no scandal; it must never be
+      known that she had killed herself, or she might defeat her own object, for
+      the story would be raked up. But she well knew how to avoid such a
+      possibility; in her extremity Beatrice grew cunning as a fox. Yes, and
+      there might be an inquest at which awkward questions would be asked. But,
+      as she well knew also, before an inquest can be held there must be
+      something to hold it on, and that something would not be there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so in the utter silence of the night and in the loneliness of her
+      chamber did Beatrice dedicate herself to sacrifice upon the altar of her
+      immeasurable love. She would face the last agonies of death when the bloom
+      of her youthful strength and beauty was but opening as a rose in June. She
+      would do more, she would brave the threatened vengeance of the most High,
+      coming before Him a self murderess, and with but one plea for pity&mdash;that
+      she loved so well: <i>quia multum amavit</i>. Yes, she would do all this,
+      would leave the warm world in the dawning summer of her days, and alone go
+      out into the dark&mdash;alone would face those visions which might come&mdash;those
+      Shapes of terror, and those Things of fear, that perchance may wait for
+      sinful human kind. Alone she would go&mdash;oh, hand in hand with him it
+      had been easy, but this must not be. The door of utter darkness would
+      swing to behind her, and who could say if in time to come it should open
+      to Geoffrey&rsquo;s following feet, or if he might ever find the path that she
+      had trod. It must be done, it should be done! Beatrice rose from her seat
+      with bright eyes and quick-coming breath, and swore before God, if God
+      there were, that she would do it, trusting to Him for pardon and for pity,
+      or failing these&mdash;for sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, but first she must once more look upon Geoffrey&rsquo;s dear face&mdash;and
+      then farewell!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pity her! poor mistaken woman, making of her will a Providence, rushing to
+      doom. Pity her, but do not blame her overmuch, or if you do, then blame
+      Judith and Jephtha&rsquo;s daughter and Charlotte Corday, and all the glorious
+      women who from time to time have risen on this sordid world of self, and
+      given themselves as an offering upon the altars of their love, their
+      religion, their honour or their country!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was to
+      come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been, Beatrice
+      lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
+      feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class as
+      usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she was
+      with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of the
+      Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
+      father&rsquo;s oath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly all the rest of the day and evening she spent in writing that which
+      we shall read in time&mdash;only in the late afternoon she went out for a
+      little while in her canoe. Another thing Beatrice did also: she called at
+      the lodging of her assistant, the head school teacher, and told her it was
+      possible that she would not be in her place on the Tuesday (Monday was, as
+      it chanced, a holiday). If anybody inquired as to her absence, perhaps she
+      would kindly tell them that Miss Granger had an appointment to keep, and
+      had taken a morning&rsquo;s holiday in order to do so. She should, however, be
+      back that afternoon. The teacher assented without suspicion, remarking
+      that if Beatrice could not take a morning&rsquo;s holiday, she was sure she did
+      not know who could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next morning they breakfasted very early, because Mr. Granger and
+      Elizabeth had to catch the train. Beatrice sat through the meal in
+      silence, her calm eyes looking straight before her, and the others, gazing
+      on them, and at the lovely inscrutable face, felt an indefinable fear
+      creep into their hearts. What did this woman mean to do? That was the
+      question they asked of themselves, though not of each other. That she
+      meant to do something they were sure, for there was purpose written on
+      every line of her cold face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
+      flashed like an arrow into Beatrice&rsquo;s heart, and pierced it. This was the
+      last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last time that
+      she could ever see her father&rsquo;s and her sister&rsquo;s faces. For her sister,
+      well, it might pass&mdash;for there are some things which even a woman
+      like Beatrice can never quite forgive&mdash;but she loved her father. She
+      loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-seeking had become
+      endeared to her by long and wondering contemplation. Besides, he was her
+      father; he gave her the life she was about to cast away. And she should
+      never see him more. Not on that account did she hesitate in her purpose,
+      which was now set in her mind, like Bryngelly Castle on its rock, but at
+      the thought tears rushed unbidden to her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just then breakfast came to an end, and Elizabeth hurried from the room to
+      fetch her bonnet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said Beatrice, &ldquo;if you can before you go, I should like to hear
+      you say that you do not believe that I told you what was false&mdash;about
+      that story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, eh!&rdquo; answered the old man nervously, &ldquo;I thought that we had agreed to
+      say nothing about the matter at present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but I should like to hear you say it, father. It cuts me that you
+      should think that I would lie to you, for in my life I have never wilfully
+      told you what was not true;&rdquo; and she clasped her hands about his arms, and
+      looked into his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gazed at her doubtfully. Was it possible after all she was speaking the
+      truth? No; it was not possible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t, Beatrice,&rdquo; he said&mdash;&ldquo;not that I blame you overmuch for
+      trying to defend yourself; a cornered rat will show fight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May you never regret those words,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and now good-bye,&rdquo; and she
+      kissed him on the forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment Elizabeth entered, saying that it was time to start, and he
+      did not return the kiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye, Elizabeth,&rdquo; said Beatrice, stretching out her hand. But
+      Elizabeth affected not to see it, and in another moment they were gone.
+      She followed them to the gate and watched them till they vanished down the
+      road. Then she returned, her heart strained almost to bursting. But she
+      wept no tear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to her father and her sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Elizabeth,&rdquo; said Mr. Granger, as they drew near to the station, &ldquo;I am not
+      easy in my thoughts about Beatrice. There was such a strange look in her
+      eyes; it&mdash;in short, it frightens me. I have half a mind to give up
+      Hereford, and go back,&rdquo; and he stopped upon the road, hesitating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As you like,&rdquo; said Elizabeth with a sneer, &ldquo;but I should think that
+      Beatrice is big enough and bad enough to look after herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before the God who made us,&rdquo; said the old man furiously, and striking the
+      ground with his stick, &ldquo;she may be bad, but she is not so bad as you who
+      betrayed her. If Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman Judas; and I
+      believe that you hate her, and would be glad to see her dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth made no answer. They were nearing the station, for her father
+      had started on again, and there were people about. But she looked at him,
+      and he never forgot the look. It was quite enough to chill him into
+      silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations. Her wild
+      purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey&rsquo;s face in
+      the House of Commons, if possible, and then return. She put on her bonnet
+      and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple grey cloth, but
+      on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it she thrust the
+      letter which she had written on the previous day. A small hand-bag, with
+      some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a cloak, made up the total
+      of her baggage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train, which did not stop at Bryngelly, left Coed at ten, and Coed was
+      an hour and a half&rsquo;s walk. She must be starting. Of course, she would have
+      to be absent for the night, and she was sorely puzzled how to account for
+      her absence to Betty, the servant girl; the others being gone there was no
+      need to do so to anybody else. But here fortune befriended her. While she
+      was thinking the matter over, who should come in but Betty herself,
+      crying. She had just heard, she said, that her little sister, who lived
+      with their mother at a village about ten miles away, had been knocked down
+      by a cart and badly hurt. Might she go home for the night? She could come
+      back on the morrow, and Miss Beatrice could get somebody in to sleep if
+      she was lonesome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice sympathised, demurred, and consented, and Betty started at once.
+      As soon as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the house, put the key in her
+      pocket, and started on her five miles&rsquo; tramp. Nobody saw her leave the
+      house, and she passed by a path at the back of the village, so that nobody
+      saw her on the road. Reaching Coed Station quite unobserved, and just
+      before the train was due, she let down her veil, and took a third-class
+      ticket to London. This she was obliged to do, for her stock of money was
+      very small; it amounted, altogether, to thirty-six shillings, of which the
+      fare to London and back would cost her twenty-eight and fourpence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another minute she had entered an empty carriage, and the train had
+      steamed away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She reached Paddington about eight that night, and going to the
+      refreshment room, dined on some tea and bread and butter. Then she washed
+      her hands, brushed her hair, and started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice had never been in London before, and as soon as she left the
+      station the rush and roar of the huge city took hold of her, and confused
+      her. Her idea was to walk to the Houses of Parliament at Westminster. She
+      would, she thought, be sure to see Geoffrey there, because she had bought
+      a daily paper in which she had read that he was to be one of the speakers
+      in a great debate on the Irish Question, which was to be brought to a
+      close that night. She had been told by a friendly porter to follow Praed
+      Street till she reached the Edgware Road, then to walk on to the Marble
+      Arch, and ask again. Beatrice followed the first part of this programme&mdash;that
+      is, she walked as far as the Edgware Road. Then it was that confusion
+      seized her and she stood hesitating. At this juncture, a coarse brute of a
+      man came up and made some remark to her. It was impossible for a woman
+      like Beatrice to walk alone in the streets of London at night, without
+      running the risk of such attentions. She turned from him, and as she did
+      so, heard him say something about her beauty to a fellow Arcadian. Close
+      to where she was stood two hansom cabs. She went to the first and asked
+      the driver for how much he would take her to the House of Commons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two bob, miss,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice shook her head, and turned to go again. She was afraid to spend
+      so much on cabs, for she must get back to Bryngelly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take yer for eighteenpence, miss,&rdquo; called out the other driver. This
+      offer she was about to accept when the first man interposed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You leave my fare alone, will yer? Tell yer what, miss, I&rsquo;m a gentleman,
+      I am, and I&rsquo;ll take yer for a bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled and entered the cab. Then came a whirl of great gas-lit
+      thoroughfares, and in a quarter of an hour they pulled up at the entrance
+      to the House. Beatrice paid the cabman his shilling, thanked him, and
+      entered, only once more to find herself confused with a vision of white
+      statues, marble floors, high arching roofs, and hurrying people. An
+      automatic policeman asked her what she wanted. Beatrice answered that she
+      wished to get into the House.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pass this way, then, miss&mdash;pass this way,&rdquo; said the automatic
+      officer in a voice of brass. She passed, and passed, and finally found
+      herself in a lobby, among a crowd of people of all sorts&mdash;seedy
+      political touts, Irish priests and hurrying press-men. At one side of the
+      lobby were more policemen and messengers, who were continually taking
+      cards into the House, then returning and calling out names. Insensibly she
+      drifted towards these policemen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ladies&rsquo; Gallery, miss?&rdquo; said a voice; &ldquo;your order, please, though I think
+      it&rsquo;s full.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was a fresh complication. Beatrice had no order. She had no idea that
+      one was necessary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t got an order,&rdquo; she said faintly. &ldquo;I did not know that I must
+      have one. Can I not get in without?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Most certainly <i>not</i>, miss,&rdquo; answered the voice, while its owner,
+      suspecting dynamite, surveyed her with a cold official eye. &ldquo;Now make way,
+      make way, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s grey eyes filled with tears, as she turned to go in bitterness
+      of heart. So all her labour was in vain, and that which would be done must
+      be done without the mute farewell she sought. Well, when sorrow was so
+      much, what mattered a little more? She turned to go, but not unobserved. A
+      certain rather youthful Member of Parliament, with an eye for beauty in
+      distress, had been standing close to her, talking to a constituent. The
+      constituent had departed to wherever constituents go&mdash;and many
+      representatives, if asked, would cheerfully point out a locality suitable
+      to the genus, at least in their judgment&mdash;and the member had
+      overheard the conversation and seen Beatrice&rsquo;s eyes fill with tears. &ldquo;What
+      a lovely woman!&rdquo; he had said to himself, and then did what he should have
+      done, namely, lifted his hat and inquired if, as a member of the House, he
+      could be of any service to her. Beatrice listened, and explained that she
+      was particularly anxious to get into the Ladies&rsquo; Gallery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think that I can help you, then,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;As it happens a lady, for
+      whom I got an order, has telegraphed to say that she cannot come. Will you
+      follow me? Might I ask you to give me your name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Everston,&rdquo; answered Beatrice, taking the first that came into her
+      head. The member looked a little disappointed. He had vaguely hoped that
+      this lovely creature was unappropriated. Surely her marriage could not be
+      satisfactory, or she would not look so sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came more stairs and passages, and formalities, till presently
+      Beatrice found herself in a kind of bird-cage, crowded to suffocation with
+      every sort of lady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid&mdash;I am very much afraid&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began her new-found
+      friend, surveying the mass with dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But at that moment, a stout lady in front feeling faint with the heat, was
+      forced to leave the Gallery, and almost before she knew where she was,
+      Beatrice was installed in her place. Her friend had bowed and vanished,
+      and she was left to all purposes alone, for she never heeded those about
+      her, though some of them looked at her hard enough, wondering at her form
+      and beauty, and who she might be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She cast her eye down over the crowded House, and saw a vision of hats,
+      collars, and legs, and heard a tumult of sounds: the sharp voice of a
+      speaker who was rapidly losing his temper, the plaudits of the Government
+      benches, the interruptions from the Opposition&mdash;yes, even yells, and
+      hoots, and noises, that reminded her remotely of the crowing of cocks.
+      Possibly had she thought of it, Beatrice would not have been greatly
+      impressed with the dignity of an assembly, at the doors of which so many
+      of its members seemed to leave their manners, with their overcoats and
+      sticks; it might even have suggested the idea of a bear garden to her
+      mind. But she simply did not think about it. She searched the House keenly
+      enough, but it was to find one face, and one only&mdash;Ah! there he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the House of Commons might vanish into the bottomless abyss, and
+      take with it the House of Lords, and what remained of the British
+      Constitution, and she would never miss them. For, at the best of times,
+      Beatrice&mdash;in common with most of her sex&mdash;in all gratitude be it
+      said, was <i>not</i> an ardent politician.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There Geoffrey sat, his arms folded&mdash;the hat pushed slightly from his
+      forehead, so that she could see his face. There was her own beloved, whom
+      she had come so far to see, and whom to-morrow she would dare so much to
+      save. How sad he looked&mdash;he did not seem to be paying much attention
+      to what was going on. She knew well enough that he was thinking of her;
+      she could feel it in her head as she had often felt it before. But she
+      dared not let her mind go out to him in answer, for, if once she did so,
+      she knew also that he would discover her. So she sat, and fed her eyes
+      upon his face, taking her farewell of it, while round her, and beneath
+      her, the hum of the House went on, as ever present and as unnoticed as the
+      hum of bees upon a summer noon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the gentleman who had been so kind to her, sat down in the next
+      seat to Geoffrey, and began to whisper to him, as he did so glancing once
+      or twice towards the grating behind which she was. She guessed that he was
+      telling him the story of the lady who was so unaccountably anxious to hear
+      the debate, and how pretty she was. But it did not seem to interest
+      Geoffrey much, and Beatrice was feminine enough to notice it, and to be
+      glad of it. In her gentle jealousy, she did not like to think of Geoffrey
+      as being interested in accounts of mysterious ladies, however pretty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length a speaker rose&mdash;she understood from the murmur of those
+      around her that he was one of the leaders of the Opposition, and commenced
+      a powerful and bitter speech. She noticed that Geoffrey roused himself at
+      this point, and began to listen with attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; said one of the ladies near her, &ldquo;Mr. Bingham is taking notes. He
+      is going to speak next&mdash;he speaks wonderfully, you know. They say
+      that he is as good as anybody in the House, except Gladstone, and Lord
+      Randolph.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; answered another lady. &ldquo;Lady Honoria is not here, is she? I don&rsquo;t
+      see her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied the first; &ldquo;she is a dear creature, and so handsome too&mdash;just
+      the wife for a rising man&mdash;but I don&rsquo;t think that she takes much
+      interest in politics. Are not her dinners charming?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment, a volley of applause from the Opposition benches drowned
+      the murmured conversation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This speaker spoke for about three-quarters of an hour, and then at last
+      Geoffrey stood up. One or two other members rose at the same time, but
+      ultimately they gave way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began slowly&mdash;and somewhat tamely, as it seemed to Beatrice, whose
+      heart was in her mouth&mdash;but when he had been speaking for about five
+      minutes, he warmed up. And then began one of the most remarkable
+      oratorical displays of that Parliament. Geoffrey had spoken well before,
+      and would speak well again, but perhaps he never spoke so well as he did
+      upon that night. For nearly an hour and a half he held the House in
+      chains, even the hoots and interruptions died away towards the end of his
+      oration. His powerful presence seemed to tower in the place, like that of
+      a giant among pigmies, and his dark, handsome face, lit with the fires of
+      eloquence, shone like a lamp. He leaned forward with a slight stoop of his
+      broad shoulders, and addressed himself, nominally to the Speaker, but
+      really to the Opposition. He took their facts one by one, and with
+      convincing logic showed that they were no facts; amid a hiss of anger he
+      pulverised their arguments and demonstrated their motives. Then suddenly
+      he dropped them altogether, and addressing himself to the House at large,
+      and the country beyond the House, he struck another note, and broke out
+      into that storm of patriotic eloquence which confirmed his growing
+      reputation, both in Parliament and in the constituencies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice shut her eyes and listened to the deep, rich voice as it rose
+      from height to height and power to power, till the whole place seemed full
+      of it, and every contending sound was hushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, after an invocation that would have been passionate had it not
+      been so restrained and strong, he stopped. She opened her eyes and looked.
+      Geoffrey was seated as before, with his hat on. He had been speaking for
+      an hour and a half, and yet, to her, it seemed but a few minutes since he
+      rose. Then broke out a volley of cheers, in the midst of which a leader of
+      the Opposition rose to reply, not in the very best of tempers, for
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s speech had hit them hard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began, however, by complimenting the honourable member on his speech,
+      &ldquo;as fine a speech as he had listened to for many years, though,
+      unfortunately, made from a mistaken standpoint and the wrong side of the
+      House.&rdquo; Then he twitted the Government with not having secured the
+      services of a man so infinitely abler than the majority of their &ldquo;items,&rdquo;
+       and excited a good deal of amusement by stating, with some sarcastic
+      humour, that, should it ever be his lot to occupy the front Treasury
+      bench, he should certainly make a certain proposal to the honourable
+      member. After this good-natured badinage, he drifted off into the
+      consideration of the question under discussion, and Beatrice paid no
+      further attention to him, but occupied herself in watching Geoffrey drop
+      back into the same apparent state of cold indifference, from which the
+      necessity of action had aroused him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently the gentleman who had found her the seat came up and spoke to
+      her, asking her how she was getting on. Very soon he began to speak of
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s speech, saying that it was one of the most brilliant of the
+      session, if not the most brilliant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then Mr. Bingham is a rising man, I suppose?&rdquo; Beatrice said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rising? I should think so,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;They will get him into the
+      Government on the first opportunity after this; he&rsquo;s too good to neglect.
+      Very few men can come to the fore like Mr. Bingham. We call him the comet,
+      and if only he does not make a mess of his chances by doing something
+      foolish, there is no reason why he should not be Attorney-General in a few
+      years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should he do anything foolish?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, for no reason on earth, that I know of; only, as I daresay you have
+      noticed, men of this sort are very apt to do ridiculous things, throw up
+      their career, get into a public scandal, run away with somebody or
+      something. Not that there should be any fear of such a thing where Mr.
+      Bingham is concerned, for he has a charming wife, and they say that she is
+      a great help to him. Why, there is the division bell. Good-bye, Mrs.
+      Everston, I will come back to see you out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-bye,&rdquo; Beatrice answered, &ldquo;and in case I should miss you, I wish to
+      say something&mdash;to thank you for your kindness in helping me to get in
+      here to-night. You have done me a great service, a very great service, and
+      I am most grateful to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nothing&mdash;nothing,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It has been a pleasure to
+      help you. If,&rdquo; he added with some confusion, &ldquo;you would allow me to call
+      some day, the pleasure will be all the greater. I will bring Mr. Bingham
+      with me, if you would like to know him&mdash;that is, if I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice shook her head. &ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; she answered, smiling sadly. &ldquo;I am
+      going on a long journey to-morrow, and I shall not return here. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In another second he was gone, more piqued and interested about this fair
+      unknown than he had been about any woman for years. Who could she be? and
+      why was she so anxious to hear the debate? There was a mystery in it
+      somewhere, and he determined to solve it if he could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked back,
+      and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition cheers, the
+      victory of the Government was announced. Then came the usual formalities,
+      and the members began to melt away. Beatrice saw the leader of the House
+      and several members of the Government go up to Geoffrey, shake his hand,
+      and congratulate him. Then, with one long look, she turned and went,
+      leaving him in the moment of his triumph, that seemed to interest him so
+      little, but which made Beatrice more proud at heart than if she had been
+      declared empress of the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over his
+      fellow men&mdash;and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable
+      existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never! There
+      should be no &ldquo;public scandal&rdquo; on her account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.
+      Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of
+      its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past
+      her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught the
+      sound of Geoffrey&rsquo;s name, coupled with such words as &ldquo;splendid speech,&rdquo;
+       and other terms of admiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Move on, move on,&rdquo; said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice
+      turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself,
+      leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who had
+      been so kind to her walking along together. They came through the gateway;
+      the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her. Closer she
+      crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow. Within six feet
+      of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar. The light of the match flared
+      upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so well. How tired he
+      looked. A great longing took possession of her to step forward and speak
+      to him, but she restrained herself almost by force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such a lovely woman,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;with the clearest and most
+      beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I
+      can&rsquo;t find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are falling in love, Tom,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw
+      away the match and walked on. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t do that; it is an unhappy thing to
+      do,&rdquo; and he sighed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold
+      horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She trembled so
+      much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she looked after him,
+      with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who had repented him of
+      his forbearance, and was returning to send her away, stood astonished. The
+      two men had gone about ten yards, when something induced Beatrice&rsquo;s friend
+      to look back. His eye fell upon the white, agony-stricken face, now in the
+      full glare of the gas lamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice saw him turn, and understood her danger. &ldquo;Oh, good-bye,
+      Geoffrey!&rdquo; she murmured, for a second allowing her heart to go forth
+      towards him. Then realising what she had done, she dropped her veil, and
+      went swiftly. The gentleman called &ldquo;Tom&rdquo;&mdash;she never learnt his name&mdash;stood
+      for a moment dumbfounded, and at that instant Geoffrey staggered, as
+      though he had been struck by a shot, turned quite white, and halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said his companion, &ldquo;there is that lady again; we must have passed
+      quite close to her. She was looking after us, I saw her face in the
+      gaslight&mdash;and I never want to see such another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey seized him by the arm. &ldquo;Where is she?&rdquo; he asked, &ldquo;and what was
+      she like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She was there a second ago,&rdquo; he said, pointing to the pillar, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ve
+      lost her now&mdash;I fancy she went towards the railway station, but I
+      could not see. Stop, is that she?&rdquo; and he pointed to a tall person walking
+      towards the Abbey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quickly they moved to intercept her, but the result was not satisfactory,
+      and they retreated hastily from the object of their attentions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Beatrice found herself opposite the entrance to the Westminster
+      Bridge Station. A hansom was standing there; she got into it and told the
+      man to drive to Paddington.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before the pair had retraced their steps she was gone. &ldquo;She has vanished
+      again,&rdquo; said &ldquo;Tom,&rdquo; and went on to give a description of her to Geoffrey.
+      Of her dress he had unfortunately taken little note. It might be one of
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s, or it might not. It seemed almost inconceivable to Geoffrey
+      that she should be masquerading about London, under the name of Mrs.
+      Everston. And yet&mdash;and yet&mdash;he could have sworn&mdash;but it was
+      folly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he bade his friend good-night, and took a hansom. &ldquo;The mystery
+      thickens,&rdquo; said the astonished &ldquo;Tom,&rdquo; as he watched him drive away. &ldquo;I
+      would give a hundred pounds to find out what it all means. Oh! that
+      woman&rsquo;s face&mdash;it haunts me. It looked like the face of an angel
+      bidding farewell to Heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But he never did find out any more about it, though the despairing eyes of
+      Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still sometimes haunt his sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey reflected rapidly. The thing was ridiculous, and yet it was
+      possible. Beyond that brief line in answer to his letter, he had heard
+      nothing from Beatrice. Indeed he was waiting to hear from her before
+      taking any further step. But even supposing she were in London, where was
+      he to look for her? He knew that she had no money, he could not stay there
+      long. It occurred to him there was a train leaving Euston for Wales about
+      four in the morning. It was just possible that she might be in town, and
+      returning by this train. He told the cabman to drive to Euston Station,
+      and on arrival, closely questioned a sleepy porter, but without
+      satisfactory results.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he searched the station; there were no traces of Beatrice. He did
+      more; he sat down, weary as he was, and waited for an hour and a half,
+      till it was time for the train to start. There were but three passengers,
+      and none of them in the least resembled Beatrice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is very strange,&rdquo; Geoffrey said to himself, as he walked away. &ldquo;I
+      could have sworn that I felt her presence just for one second. It must
+      have been nonsense. This is what comes of occult influences, and that kind
+      of thing. The occult is a nuisance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If he had only gone to Paddington!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      I WILL WAIT FOR YOU
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice drove back to Paddington, and as she drove, though her face did
+      not change from its marble cast of woe the great tears rolled down it, one
+      by one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They reached the deserted-looking station, and she paid the man out of her
+      few remaining shillings&mdash;seeing that she was a stranger, he insisted
+      upon receiving half-a-crown. Then, disregarding the astonished stare of a
+      night porter, she found her way to the waiting room, and sat down. First
+      she took the letter from her breast, and added some lines to it in pencil,
+      but she did not post it yet; she knew that if she did so it would reach
+      its destination too soon. Then she laid her head back against the wall,
+      and utterly outworn, dropped to sleep&mdash;her last sleep upon this
+      earth, before the longest sleep of all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus Beatrice waited and slept at Paddington, while her lover waited
+      and watched at Euston.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At five she woke, and the heavy cloud of sorrow, past, present, and to
+      come, rushed in upon her heart. Taking her bag, she made herself as tidy
+      as she could. Then she stepped outside the station into the deserted
+      street, and finding a space between the houses, watched the sun rise over
+      the waking world. It was her last sunrise, Beatrice remembered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came back filled with such thoughts as might well strike the heart of
+      a woman about to do the thing she had decreed. The refreshment bar was
+      open now, and she went to it, and bought a cup of coffee and some bread
+      and butter. Then she took her ticket, not to Bryngelly or to Coed, but to
+      the station on this side of Bryngelly, and three miles from it. She would
+      run less risk of being noticed there. The train was shunted up; she took
+      her seat in it. Just as it was starting, an early newspaper boy came
+      along, yawning. Beatrice bought a copy of the <i>Standard</i>, out of the
+      one and threepence that was left of her money, and opened it at the sheet
+      containing the leading articles. The first one began, &ldquo;The most powerful,
+      closely reasoned, and eloquent speech made last night by Mr. Bingham, the
+      Member for Pillham, will, we feel certain, produce as great an effect on
+      the country as it did in the House of Commons. We welcome it, not only on
+      account of its value as a contribution to the polemics of the Irish
+      Question, but as a positive proof of what has already been suspected, that
+      the Unionist party has in Mr. Bingham a young statesman of a very high
+      order indeed, and one whom remarkable and rapid success at the Bar has not
+      hampered, as is too often the case, in the larger and less technical field
+      of politics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so on. Beatrice put the paper down with a smile of triumph. Geoffrey&rsquo;s
+      success was splendid and unquestioned. Nothing could stop him now. During
+      all the long journey she pleased her imagination by conjuring up picture
+      after picture of that great future of his, in which she would have no
+      share. And yet he would not forget her; she was sure of this. Her shadow
+      would go with him from year to year, even to the end, and at times he
+      might think how proud she would have been could she be present to record
+      his triumphs. Alas! she did not remember that when all is lost which can
+      make life beautiful, when the sun has set, and the spirit gone out of the
+      day, the poor garish lights of our little victories can but ill atone for
+      the glories that have been. Happiness and content are frail plants which
+      can only flourish under fair conditions if at all. Certainly they will not
+      thrive beneath the gloom and shadow of a pall, and when the heart is dead
+      no triumphs, however splendid, and no rewards, however great, can
+      compensate for an utter and irredeemable loss. She never guessed, poor
+      girl, that time upon time, in the decades to be, Geoffrey would gladly
+      have laid his honours down in payment for one year of her dear and
+      unforgotten presence. She was too unselfish; she did not think that a man
+      could thus prize a woman&rsquo;s love, and took it for an axiom that to succeed
+      in life was his one real object&mdash;a thing to which so divine a gift as
+      she had given Geoffrey is as nothing. It was therefore this Juggernaut of
+      her lover&rsquo;s career that Beatrice would cast down her life, little knowing
+      that thereby she must turn the worldly and temporal success, which he
+      already held so cheap, to bitterness and ashes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At Chester Beatrice got out of the train and posted her letter to
+      Geoffrey. She would not do so till then because it might have reached him
+      too soon&mdash;before all was finished! Now it would be delivered to him
+      in the House after everything had been accomplished in its order. She
+      looked at the letter; it was, she thought, the last token that could ever
+      pass between them on this earth. Once she pressed it to her heart, once
+      she touched it with her lips, and then put it from her beyond recall. It
+      was done; there was no going back now. And even as she stood the postman
+      came up, whistling, and opening the box carelessly swept its contents into
+      his canvas bag. Could he have known what lay among them he would have
+      whistled no more that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice continued her journey, and by three o&rsquo;clock arrived safely at the
+      little station next to Bryngelly. There was a fair at Coed that day, and
+      many people of the peasant class got in here. Amidst the confusion she
+      gave up her ticket to a small boy, who was looking the other way at the
+      time, and escaped without being noticed by a soul. Indeed, things happened
+      so that nobody in the neighbourhood of Bryngelly ever knew that Beatrice
+      had been to London and back upon those dreadful days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice walked along the cliff, and in an hour was at the door of the
+      Vicarage, from which she seemed to have been away for years. She unlocked
+      it and entered. In the letter-box was a post-card from her father stating
+      that he and Elizabeth had changed their plans and would not be back till
+      the train which arrived at half-past eight on the following morning. So
+      much the better, she thought. Then she disarranged the clothes upon her
+      bed to make it seem as though it had been slept it, lit the kitchen fire,
+      and put the kettle on to boil, and as soon as it was ready she took some
+      food. She wanted all her nerve, and that could not be kept up without
+      food.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shortly after this the girl Betty returned, and went about her duties in
+      the house quite unconscious that Beatrice had been away from it for the
+      whole night. Her sister was much better, she said, in answer to Beatrice&rsquo;s
+      inquiries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When she had eaten what she could&mdash;it was not much&mdash;Beatrice
+      went to her room, undressed herself, bathed, and put on clean, fresh
+      things. Then she unbound her lovely hair, and did it up in a coronet upon
+      her head. It was a fashion that she did not often adopt, because it took
+      too much time, but on this day, of all days, she had a strange fancy to
+      look her best. Also her hair had been done like this on the afternoon when
+      Geoffrey first met her. Next she put on the grey dress once more which she
+      had worn on her journey to London, and taking the silver Roman ring that
+      Geoffrey had given her from the string by which she wore it about her
+      neck, placed it on the third finger of her left hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this being done, Beatrice visited the kitchen and ordered the supper.
+      She went further in her innocent cunning. Betty asked her what she would
+      like for breakfast on the following morning, and she told her to cook some
+      bacon, and to be careful how she cut it, as she did not like thick bacon.
+      Then, after one long last look at the Vicarage, she started for the
+      lodging of the head teacher of the school, and, having found her, inquired
+      as to the day&rsquo;s work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Further, Beatrice told her assistant that she had determined to alter the
+      course of certain lessons in the school. The Wednesday arithmetic class
+      had hitherto been taken before the grammar class. On the morrow she had
+      determined to change this; she would take the grammar class at ten and the
+      arithmetic class at eleven, and gave her reasons for so doing. The teacher
+      assented, and Beatrice shook hands with her and bade her good-night. She
+      would have wished to say how much she felt indebted to her for her help in
+      the school, but did not like to do so, fearing lest, in the light of
+      pending events, the remark might be viewed with suspicion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Beatrice, these were the only lies she ever told!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She left the teacher&rsquo;s lodgings, and was about to go down to the beach and
+      sit there till it was time, when she was met by the father of the crazed
+      child, Jane Llewellyn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Miss Beatrice,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I have been looking for you everywhere. We
+      are in sad trouble, miss. Poor Jane is in a raving fit, and talking about
+      hell and that, and the doctor says she&rsquo;s dying. Can you come, miss, and
+      see if you can do anything to quiet her? It&rsquo;s a matter of life and death,
+      the doctor says, miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice smiled sadly; matters of life and death were in the air. &ldquo;I will
+      come,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but I shall not be able to stay long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How could she better spend her last hour?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She accompanied the man to his cottage. The child, dressed only in a
+      night-shirt, was raving furiously, and evidently in the last stage of
+      exhaustion, nor could the doctor or her mother do anything to quiet her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you see,&rdquo; she screamed, pointing to the wall, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s the Devil
+      waiting for me? And, oh, there&rsquo;s the mouth of hell where the minister said
+      I should go! Oh, hold me, hold me, hold me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice walked up to her, took the thin little hands in hers, and looked
+      her fixedly in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jane,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Jane, don&rsquo;t you know me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Miss Granger,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I know the lesson; I will say it
+      presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice took her in her arms, and sat down on the bed. Quieter and
+      quieter grew the child till suddenly an awful change passed over her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is dying,&rdquo; whispered the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold me close, hold me close!&rdquo; said the child, whose senses returned
+      before the last eclipse. &ldquo;Oh, Miss Granger, I shan&rsquo;t go to hell, shall I?
+      I am afraid of hell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, love, no; you will go to heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jane lay still awhile. Then seeing the pale lips move, Beatrice put her
+      ear to the child&rsquo;s mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come with me?&rdquo; she murmured; &ldquo;I am afraid to go alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Beatrice, her great grey eyes fixed steadily on the closing eyes
+      beneath, whispered back so that no other soul could hear except the dying
+      child:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I will come presently.&rdquo; But Jane heard and understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Promise,&rdquo; said the child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I promise,&rdquo; answered Beatrice in the same inaudible whisper. &ldquo;Sleep,
+      dear, sleep; I will join you very soon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the child looked up, shivered, smiled&mdash;and slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice gave it back to the weeping parents and went her way. &ldquo;What a
+      splendid creature,&rdquo; said the doctor to himself as he looked after her.
+      &ldquo;She has eyes like Fate, and the face of Motherhood Incarnate. A great
+      woman, if ever I saw one, but different from other women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile Beatrice made her way to old Edward&rsquo;s boat-shed. As she
+      expected, there was nobody there, and nobody on the beach. Old Edward and
+      his son were at tea, with the rest of Bryngelly. They would come back
+      after dark and lock up the boat-house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at the sea. There were no waves, but the breeze freshened every
+      minute, and there was a long slow swell upon the water. The rollers would
+      be running beyond the shelter of Rumball Point, five miles away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The tide was high; it mounted to within ten yards of the end of the
+      boat-house. She opened the door, and dragged out her canoe, closing the
+      door again after her. The craft was light, and she was strong for a woman.
+      Close to the boat-house one of the timber breakwaters, which are common at
+      sea-side places, ran down into the water. She dragged the canoe to its
+      side, and then pushed it down the beach till its bow was afloat. Next,
+      mounting on the breakwater, she caught hold of the little chain in the
+      bow, and walking along the timber baulks, pulled with all her force till
+      the canoe was quite afloat. On she went, dragging it after her, till the
+      waves washing over the breakwater wetted her shoes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she brought the canoe quite close, and, watching her opportunity,
+      stepped into it, nearly falling into the water as she did so. But she
+      recovered her balance, and sat down. In another minute she was paddling
+      out to sea with all her strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For twenty minutes or more she paddled unceasingly. Then she rested
+      awhile, only keeping the canoe head on to the sea, which, without being
+      rough, was running more and more freshly. There, some miles away, was the
+      dark mass of Rumball Point. She must be off it before the night closed in.
+      There would be sea enough there; no such craft as hers could live in it
+      for five minutes, and the tide was on the turn. Anything sinking in those
+      waters would be carried far away, and never come back to the shore of
+      Wales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her head and looked at Bryngelly, and the long familiar stretch
+      of cliff. How fair it seemed, bathed in the quiet lights of summer
+      afternoon. Oh! was there any afternoon where the child had gone, and where
+      she was following fast?&mdash;or was it all night, black, eternal night,
+      unbroken by the dram of dear remembered things?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were the Dog Rocks, where she had stood on that misty autumn day,
+      and seen the vision of her coffined mother&rsquo;s face. Surely it was a presage
+      of her fate. There beyond was the Bell Rock, where in that same hour
+      Geoffrey and she had met, and behind it was the Amphitheatre, where they
+      had told their love. Hark! what was that sound pealing faintly at
+      intervals across the deep? It was the great ship&rsquo;s bell that, stirred from
+      time to time by the wash of the high tide, solemnly tolled her passing
+      soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She paddled on; the sound of that death-knell shook her nerves, and made
+      her feel faint and weak. Oh, it would have been easier had she been as she
+      was a year ago, before she learned to love, and hand in hand had seen
+      faith and hope re-arise from the depths of her stirred soul. Then being
+      but a heathen, she could have met her end with all a heathen&rsquo;s strength,
+      knowing what she lost, and believing, too, that she would find but sleep.
+      And now it was otherwise, for in her heart she did not believe that she
+      was about utterly to perish. What, could the body live on in a thousand
+      forms, changed indeed but indestructible and immortal, while the spiritual
+      part, with all its hopes and loves and fears, melted into nothingness? It
+      could not be; surely on some new shore she should once again greet her
+      love. And if it was not, how would they meet her in that under world,
+      coming self-murdered, her life-blood on her hands? Would her mother turn
+      away from her? and the little brother, whom she had loved, would he reject
+      her? And what Voice of Doom might strike her into everlasting
+      hopelessness?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But, be the sin what it might, yet would she sin it for the sake of
+      Geoffrey; ay, even if she must reap a harvest of eternal woe. She bent her
+      head and prayed. &ldquo;Oh, Power, that art above, from whom I come, to whom I
+      go, have mercy on me! Oh, Spirit, if indeed thy name is Love, weigh my
+      love in thy balance, and let it lift the scale of sin. Oh, God of
+      Sacrifice, be not wroth at my deed of sacrifice and give me pardon, give
+      me life and peace, that in a time to come I may win the sight of him for
+      whom I die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A somewhat heathenish prayer indeed, and far too full of human passion for
+      one about to leave the human shores. But, then&mdash;well, it was Beatrice
+      who prayed&mdash;Beatrice, who could realise no heaven beyond the limits
+      of her passion, who still thought more of her love than of saving her own
+      soul alive. Perhaps it found a home&mdash;perhaps, like her who prayed it,
+      it was lost upon the pitiless deep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Beatrice prayed no more. Short was her time. See, there sank the sun
+      in glory; and there the great rollers swept along past the sullen
+      headland, where the undertow met wind and tide. She would think no more of
+      self; it was, it seemed to her, so small, this mendicant calling on the
+      Unseen, not for others, but for self: aid for self, well-being for self,
+      salvation for self&mdash;this doing of good that good might come to self.
+      She had made her prayer, and if she prayed again it should be for
+      Geoffrey, that he might prosper and be happy&mdash;that he might forgive
+      the trouble her love had brought into his life. That he might forget her
+      she could not pray. She had prayed her prayer and said her say, and it was
+      done with. Let her be judged as it seemed good to Those who judge! Now she
+      would fix her thoughts upon her love, and by its strength would she
+      triumph over the bitterness of death. Her eyes flashed and her breast
+      heaved: further out to sea, further yet&mdash;she would meet those rollers
+      a knot or more from the point of the headland, that no record might
+      remain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it her wrong if she loved him? She could not help it, and she was
+      proud to love him. Even now, she would not undo the past. What were the
+      lines that Geoffrey had read to her. They haunted her mind with a strange
+      persistence&mdash;they took time to the beat of her falling paddle, and
+      would not leave her:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
+     Alas, my love, Love&rsquo;s eyes are very blind!
+     What would they have us do? Sunflowers and poppies
+     Stoop to the wind&mdash;&mdash;&ldquo;[*]
+
+     [*] Oliver Madox Brown.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Yes, yes, Love&rsquo;s eyes are very blind, but in their blindness there was
+      more light than in all other earthly things. Oh, she could not live for
+      him, and with him&mdash;it was denied to her&mdash;but she still could die
+      for him, her darling, her darling!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Geoffrey, hear me&mdash;I die for you; accept my sacrifice, and forget me
+      not.&rdquo; So!&mdash;she is in the rollers&mdash;how solemn they are with their
+      hoary heads of foam, as one by one they move down upon her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first! it towers high, but the canoe rides it like a cork. Look! the
+      day is dying on the distant land, but still his glory shines across the
+      sea. Presently all will be finished. Here the breeze is strong; it tears
+      the bonnet from her head, it unwinds the coronet of braided locks, and her
+      bright hair streams out behind her. Feel how the spray stings, striking
+      like a whip. No, not this wave, she rides that also; she will die as she
+      has lived&mdash;fighting to the last; and once more, never faltering, she
+      sets her face towards the rollers and consigns her soul to doom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! that struck her full. Oh, see! Geoffrey&rsquo;s ring has slipped from her
+      wet hand, falling into the bottom of the boat. Can she regain it? she
+      would die with that ring upon her finger&mdash;it is her marriage-ring,
+      wedding her through death to Geoffrey, upon the altar of the sea. She
+      stoops! oh, what a shock of water at her breast! What was it&mdash;what
+      was it?&mdash;<i>Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?</i> She
+      must soon learn now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Geoffrey! hear me, Geoffrey!&mdash;I die, I die for you! I will wait for
+      you at the foundations of the sea, on the topmost heights of heaven, in
+      the lowest deeps of hell&mdash;wherever I am I will always wait for you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It sinks&mdash;it has sunk&mdash;she is alone with God, and the cruel
+      waters. The sun goes out! Look on that great white wave seething through
+      the deepening gloom; hear it rushing towards her, big with fate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Geoffrey, my darling&mdash;I will wait&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Farewell to Beatrice! The light went out of the sky and darkness gathered
+      on the weltering sea. Farewell to Beatrice, and all her love and all her
+      sin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      A WOMAN&rsquo;S LAST WORD
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey came down to breakfast about eleven o&rsquo;clock on the morning of
+      that day the first hours of which he had spent at Euston Station. Not
+      seeing Effie, he asked Lady Honoria where she was, and was informed that
+      Anne, the French <i>bonne</i>, said the child was not well and that she
+      had kept her in bed to breakfast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the matter
+      with her?&rdquo; asked Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not yet,&rdquo; answered his wife. &ldquo;I have had the dressmaker here with my
+      new dress for the duchess&rsquo;s ball to-morrow; it&rsquo;s lovely, but I think that
+      there is a little too much of that creamy lace about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He
+      found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide open,
+      and her little hands quite hot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Send for the doctor at once,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her feet
+      lately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did, two days ago. I wet my feet in a puddle in the street,&rdquo; she
+      answered. &ldquo;But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, if I held them
+      to the fire, because my other boots was not clean. Oh, my head does ache,
+      daddie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the doctor, and then covering the child up, took Geoffrey aside
+      and told him that his daughter had a mild attack of inflammation of the
+      lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked after and
+      guarded from chills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey asked if he should send for a trained nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;I do not think it is necessary, at any rate at
+      present. I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubtless your wife will
+      keep an eye on her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Anne was called up, and vowed that she would guard the cherished child
+      like the apple of her eye. Indeed, no, the boots were not wet&mdash;there
+      was a little, a very little mud on them, that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, don&rsquo;t talk so much, but see that you attend to her properly,&rdquo; said
+      Geoffrey, feeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust Anne. However, he
+      thought he would see himself that there was no neglect. When she heard
+      what was the matter, Lady Honoria was much put out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;children are the most vexatious creatures in the
+      world. The idea of her getting inflammation of the lungs in this
+      unprovoked fashion. The end of it will be that I shall not be able to go
+      to the duchess&rsquo;s ball to-morrow night, and she was so kind about it, she
+      made quite a point of my coming. Besides I have bought that lovely new
+      dress on purpose. I should never have dreamed of going to so much expense
+      for anything else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t trouble yourself,&rdquo; said Geoffrey. &ldquo;The House does not sit
+      to-morrow; I will look after her. Unless Effie dies in the interval, you
+      will certainly be able to go to the ball.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dies&mdash;what nonsense! The doctor says that it is a very slight
+      attack. Why should she die?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure I hope that there is no fear of anything of the sort, Honoria.
+      Only she must be properly looked after. I do not trust this woman Anne. I
+      have half a mind to get in a trained nurse after all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if you do, she will have to sleep out of the house, that&rsquo;s all.
+      Amelia (Lady Garsington) is coming up to-night, and I must have somewhere
+      to put her maid, and there is no room for another bed in Effie&rsquo;s room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very well, very well,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;I daresay that it will be all
+      right, but if Effie gets any worse, you will please understand that room
+      must be made.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Effie did not get worse. She remained much about the same. Geoffrey
+      sat at home all day and employed himself in reading briefs; fortunately he
+      had not to go to court. About six o&rsquo;clock he went down to the House, and
+      having dined very simply and quietly, took his seat and listened to some
+      dreary talk, which was being carried on for the benefit of the reporters,
+      about the adoption of the Welsh language in the law courts of Wales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly he became aware of a most extraordinary sense of oppression. An
+      indefinite dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with terrible
+      apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knock at the portals
+      of his sense, a horror which he could not grasp. His mind was confused,
+      but little by little it grew clearer, and he began to understand that a
+      danger threatened Beatrice, that she was in great peril. He was sure of
+      it. Her agonised dying cries reached him where he was, though in no form
+      which he could understand; once more her thought beat on his thought&mdash;once
+      more and for the last time her spirit spoke to his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his
+      hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he heard
+      the dreary orator and saw the members slipping away to dinner. The
+      conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had been.
+      Nor was this strange! For the link was broken. Beatrice was <i>dead</i>.
+      She had passed into the domains of impenetrable silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in his
+      hand. It was addressed in Beatrice&rsquo;s handwriting and bore the Chester
+      postmark. A chill fear seized him. What did it contain? He hurried with it
+      into a private room and opened it. It was dated from Bryngelly on the
+      previous Sunday and had several inclosures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dearest Geoffrey,&rdquo; it began, &ldquo;I have never before addressed you thus
+      on paper, nor should I do so now, knowing to what risks such written words
+      might put you, were it not that occasions may arise (as in this case)
+      which seem to justify the risk. For when all things are ended between a
+      man and a woman who are to each other what we have been, then it is well
+      that the one who goes should speak plainly before speech becomes
+      impossible, if only that the one who is left should not misunderstand that
+      which has been done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Geoffrey, it is probable&mdash;it is almost certain&mdash;that before
+      your eyes read these words I shall be where in the body they can never see
+      me more. I write to you from the brink of the grave; when you read it, it
+      will have closed over me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Geoffrey, I shall be dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I received your dear letter (it is destroyed now) in which you expressed
+      a wish that I should come away with you to some other country, and I
+      answered it in eight brief words. I dared not trust myself to write more,
+      nor had I any time. How could you think that I should ever accept such an
+      offer for my own sake, when to do so would have been to ruin you? But
+      first I will tell you all that has happened here.&rdquo; (Here followed a long
+      and exact description of those events with which we are already
+      acquainted, including the denunciation of Beatrice by her sister, the
+      threats of Owen Davies as regards Geoffrey himself, and the measures which
+      she had adopted to gain time.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Further,&rdquo; the letter continued, &ldquo;I inclose you your wife&rsquo;s letter to me.
+      And here I wish to state that I have not one word to say against Lady
+      Honoria or her letter. I think that she was perfectly justified in writing
+      as she did, for after all, dear Geoffrey, you are her husband, and in
+      loving each other we have offended against her. She tells me truly that it
+      is my duty to make all further communications between us impossible. There
+      is only one way to do this, and I take it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now I have spoken enough about myself, nor do I wish to enter into
+      details that could only give you pain. There will be no scandal, dear, and
+      if any word should be raised against you after I am gone, I have provided
+      an answer in the second letter which I have inclosed. You can print it if
+      necessary; it will be a sufficient reply to any talk. Nobody after reading
+      it can believe that you were in any way connected with the accident which
+      will happen. Dear, one word more&mdash;still about myself, you see! Do not
+      blame yourself in this matter, for you are not to blame; of my own free
+      will I do it, because in the extremity of the circumstances I think it
+      best that one should go and the other be saved, rather than that both
+      should be involved in a common ruin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear, do you remember how in that strange vision of mine, I dreamed that
+      you came and touched me on the breast and showed me light? So it has come
+      to pass, for you have given me love&mdash;that is light; and now in death
+      I shall seek for wisdom. And this being fulfilled, shall not the rest be
+      fulfilled in its season? Shall I not sit in those cloudy halls till I see
+      you come to seek me, the word of wisdom on your lips? And since I cannot
+      have you to myself, and be all in all to you, why I am glad to go. For
+      here on the world is neither rest nor happiness; as in my dream, too often
+      does &lsquo;Hope seem to rend her starry robes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad to go from such a world, in which but one happy thing has found
+      me&mdash;the blessing of your love. I am worn out with the weariness and
+      struggle, and now that I have lost you I long for rest. I do not know if I
+      sin in what I do; if so, may I be forgiven. If forgiveness is impossible,
+      so be it! You will forgive me, Geoffrey, and you will always love me,
+      however wicked I may be; even if, at the last, you go where I am not, you
+      will remember and love the erring woman to whom, being so little, you
+      still were all in all. We are not married, Geoffrey, according to the
+      customs of the world, but two short days hence I shall celebrate a service
+      that is greater and more solemn than any of the earth. For Death will be
+      the Priest and that oath which I shall take will be to all eternity. Who
+      can prophesy of that whereof man has no sure knowledge? Yet I do believe
+      that in a time to come we shall look again into each other&rsquo;s eyes, and
+      kiss each other&rsquo;s lips, and be one for evermore. If this is so, it is
+      worth while to have lived and died; if not, then, Geoffrey, farewell!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I may I will always be near you. Listen to the night wind and you
+      shall hear my voice; look on the stars, you will see my eyes; and my love
+      shall be as the air you breathe. And when at last the end comes, remember
+      me, for if I live at all I shall be about you then. What have I more to
+      say? So much, my dear, that words cannot convey it. Let it be untold; but
+      whenever you hear or read that which is beautiful or tender, think &lsquo;this
+      is what Beatrice would have said to me and could not!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will be a great man, dear, the foremost or one of the foremost of
+      your age. You have already promised me to persevere to this end: I will
+      not ask you to promise afresh. Do not be content to accept the world as
+      women must. Great men do not accept the world; they reform it&mdash;and
+      you are of their number. And when you are great, Geoffrey, you will use
+      your power, not for self-interest, but to large and worthy ends; you will
+      always strive to help the poor, to break down oppression from those who
+      have to bar it, and to advance the honour of your country. You will do all
+      this from your own heart and not because I ask it of you, but remember
+      that your fame will be my best monument&mdash;though none shall ever know
+      the grave it covers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Farewell, farewell, farewell! Oh, Geoffrey, my darling, to whom I have
+      never been a wife, to whom I am more than any wife&mdash;do not forget me
+      in the long years which are to come. Remember me when others forsake you.
+      Do not forget me when others flatter you and try to win your love, for
+      none can be to you what I have been&mdash;none can ever love you more than
+      that lost Beatrice who writes these heavy words to-night, and who will
+      pass away blessing you with her last breath, to await you, if she may, in
+      the land to which your feet also draw daily on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then came a tear-stained postscript in pencil dated from Paddington
+      Station on that very morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I journeyed to London to see you, Geoffrey. I could not die without
+      looking on your face once more. I was in the gallery of the House and
+      heard your great speech. Your friend found me a place. Afterwards I
+      touched your coat as you passed by the pillar of the gateway. Then I ran
+      away because I saw your friend turn and look at me. I shall kiss this
+      letter&mdash;just here before I close it&mdash;kiss it there too&mdash;it
+      is our last cold embrace. Before the end I shall put on the ring you gave
+      me&mdash;on my hand, I mean. I have always worn it upon my breast. When I
+      touched you as you passed through the gateway I thought that I should have
+      broken down and called to you&mdash;but I found strength not to do so. My
+      heart is breaking and my eyes are blind with tears; I can write no more; I
+      have no more to say. Now once again good-bye. <i>Ave atque vale</i>&mdash;oh,
+      my love!&mdash;B.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The second letter was a dummy. That is to say it purported to be such an
+      epistle as any young lady might have written to a gentleman friend. It
+      began, &ldquo;Dear Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; and ended, &ldquo;Yours sincerely, Beatrice Granger,&rdquo;
+       was filled with chit-chat, and expressed hopes that he would be able to
+      come down to Bryngelly again later in the summer, when they would go
+      canoeing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if Geoffrey was accused by Owen
+      Davies or anybody else of being concerned with her mysterious end, the
+      production of such a frank epistle written two days previously would
+      demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she was full of
+      precautions!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let him who may imagine the effect produced upon Geoffrey by this
+      heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face
+      when he had finished reading it she would never have committed suicide. In
+      a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole truth sank into
+      his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, of unavailing woe and
+      hopelessness swept across his soul, that for a moment he thought his vital
+      forces must give way beneath it, and that he should die, as indeed in this
+      dark hour he would have rejoiced to do. Oh, how pitiful it was&mdash;how
+      pitiful and how awful! To think of this love, so passionately pure, wasted
+      on his own unworthiness. To think of this divine woman going down to
+      lonely death for him&mdash;a strong man; to picture her crouching behind
+      that gateway pillar and touching him as he passed, while he, the thrice
+      accursed fool, knew nothing till too late; to know that he had gone to
+      Euston and not to Paddington; to remember the matchless strength and
+      beauty of the love which he had lost, and that face which he should never
+      see again! Surely his heart would break. No man could bear it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was already
+      dead! Oh, he would kill Owen Davies&mdash;yes, and Elizabeth too, were it
+      not that she was a woman; and as for Honoria he had done with her.
+      Scandal, what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there should be
+      a scandal indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this reptile, who
+      did not hesitate to use a woman&rsquo;s terrors to prosper the fulfilling of his
+      lust&mdash;yes, and then drag him to the Continent and kill him there.
+      Only vengeance was left to him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stop, he must not give way&mdash;perhaps she was not dead&mdash;perhaps
+      that horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm was but a
+      dream. Could he telegraph? No, it was too late; the office at Bryngelly
+      would be closed&mdash;it was past eight now. But he could go. There was a
+      train leaving a little after nine&mdash;he should be there by half-past
+      six to-morrow. And Effie was ill&mdash;well, surely they could look after
+      her for twenty-four hours; she was in no danger, and he must go&mdash;he
+      could not bear this torturing suspense. Great God! how had she done the
+      deed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey snatched a sheet of paper and tried to write. He could not, his
+      hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshment room
+      swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit took effect
+      on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a sheet of paper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been called away upon important business and shall probably not be
+      back till Thursday morning. See that Effie is properly attended to. If I
+      am not back you must not go to the duchess&rsquo;s ball.&mdash;Geoffrey
+      Bingham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoria and dispatched a
+      commissionaire with it. This done, he called a cab and bade the cabman
+      drive to Euston as fast as his horse could go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      AVE ATQUE VALE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      That frightful journey&mdash;no nightmare was ever half so awful! But it
+      came to an end at last&mdash;there was the Bryngelly Station. Geoffrey
+      sprang from the train, and gave his ticket to the porter, glancing in his
+      face as he did so. Surely if there had been a tragedy the man would know
+      of it, and show signs of half-joyous emotion as is the fashion of such
+      people when something awful and mysterious has happened to somebody else.
+      But he showed no such symptoms, and a glimmer of hope found its way into
+      Geoffrey&rsquo;s tormented breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He left the station and walked rapidly towards the Vicarage. Those who
+      know what a pitch of horror suspense can reach may imagine his feelings as
+      he did so. But it was soon to be put an end to now. As he drew near the
+      Vicarage gate he met the fat Welsh servant girl Betty running towards him.
+      Then hope left Geoffrey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl recognised him, and in her confusion did not seem in the least
+      astonished to see him walking there at a quarter to seven on a summer
+      morning. Indeed, even she vaguely connected Geoffrey with Beatrice in her
+      mind, for she at once said in her thick English:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, do you know where Miss Beatrice is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, catching at a railing for support. &ldquo;Why do you ask? I
+      have not seen her for weeks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the girl plunged into a long story. Mr. Granger and Miss Granger were
+      away from home, and would not be back for another two hours. Miss Beatrice
+      had gone out yesterday afternoon, and had not come back to tea. She,
+      Betty, had not thought much of it, believing that she had stopped to spend
+      the evening somewhere, and, being very tired, had gone to bed about eight,
+      leaving the door unlocked. This morning, when she woke, it was to find
+      that Miss Beatrice had not slept in the house that night, and she came out
+      to see if she could find her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where was she going when she went out?&rdquo; Geoffrey asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not know, but she thought that Miss Beatrice was going out in the
+      canoe. Leastways she had put on her tennis shoes, which she always wore
+      when she went out boating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey understood it all now. &ldquo;Come to the boat-house,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went down to the beach, where as yet none were about except a few
+      working people. Near the boat-house Geoffrey met old Edward walking along
+      with a key in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord, sir!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You here, sir! and in that there queer hat, too.
+      What is it, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did Miss Beatrice go out in her canoe yesterday evening, Edward?&rdquo;
+       Geoffrey asked hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir; not as I know on. My boy locked up the boat-house last night,
+      and I suppose he looked in it first. What! You don&rsquo;t mean to say&mdash;&mdash;Stop;
+      we&rsquo;ll soon know. Oh, Goad! the canoe&rsquo;s gone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a silence, an awful silence. Old Edward broke it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She&rsquo;s drowned, sir&mdash;that&rsquo;s what she is&mdash;drowned at last; and
+      she the finest woman in Wales. I knewed she would be one day, poor dear!
+      and she the beauty that she was; and all along of that damned unlucky
+      little craft. Goad help her! She&rsquo;s drowned, I say&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Betty burst out into loud weeping at his words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop that noise, girl,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, turning his pale face towards her.
+      &ldquo;Go back to the Vicarage, and if Mr. Granger comes home before I get back,
+      tell him what we fear. Edward, send some men to search the shore towards
+      Coed, and some more in a sailing boat. I will walk towards the Bell Rock&mdash;you
+      can follow me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started and swiftly tramped along the sands, searching the sea with his
+      eye. On he walked sullenly, desperately striving to hope against hope. On,
+      past the Dog Rocks, round the long curve of beach till he came to the
+      Amphitheatre. The tide was high again; he could barely pass the projecting
+      point. He was round it, and his heart stood still. For there, bottom
+      upwards, and gently swaying to and fro as the spent waves rocked it, was
+      Beatrice&rsquo;s canoe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sadly, hopelessly, heavily, Geoffrey waded knee deep into the water, and
+      catching the bow of the canoe, dragged it ashore. There was, or appeared
+      to be, nothing in it; of course he could not expect anything else. Its
+      occupant had sunk and been carried out to sea by the ebb, whereas the
+      canoe had drifted back to shore with the morning tide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reared it upon its end to let the water drain out of it, and from the
+      hollow of the bow arch something came rolling down, something bright and
+      heavy, followed by a brown object. Hastily he lowered the canoe again, and
+      picked up the bright trinket. It was his own ring come back to him&mdash;the
+      Roman ring he had given Beatrice, and which she told him in the letter she
+      would wear in her hour of death. He touched it with his lips and placed it
+      back upon his hand, this token from the beloved dead, vowing that it
+      should never leave his hand in life, and that after death it should be
+      buried on him. And so it will be, perhaps to be dug up again thousands of
+      years hence, and once more to play a part in the romance of unborn ages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Ave atque vale</i>&mdash;that was the inscription rudely cut within its
+      round. Greeting and farewell&mdash;her own last words to him. Oh,
+      Beatrice, Beatrice! to you also <i>ave atque vale</i>. You could not have
+      sent a fitter message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all?
+      Within the circle of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life:
+      here were the beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and fear, of
+      Joy and Sorrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
+      earthward shall cry &ldquo;<i>Greeting</i>,&rdquo; in another tongue, and Death,
+      descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
+      shall answer &ldquo;<i>Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And what was this other relic? He lifted it&mdash;it was Beatrice&rsquo;s tennis
+      shoe, washed from her foot&mdash;Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Geoffrey broke down&mdash;it was too much. He threw himself upon the
+      great rock and sobbed&mdash;that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
+      had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions of
+      emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He could not
+      have borne it for long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old Edward
+      and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up the little
+      shoe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the old man, &ldquo;as I thought. Goad help her! She&rsquo;s gone; she&rsquo;ll
+      never come ashore no more, she won&rsquo;t. She&rsquo;s twenty miles away by now, she
+      is, breast up, with the gulls a-screaming over her. It&rsquo;s that there damned
+      canoe, that&rsquo;s what it is. I wish to Goad I had broke it up long ago. I&rsquo;d
+      rather have built her a boat for nothing, I would. Damn the unlucky
+      craft!&rdquo; screamed the old man at the top of his voice, and turning his head
+      to hide the tears that were streaming down his rugged face. &ldquo;And her that
+      I nursed and pulled out of the waters once all but dead. Damn it, I say!
+      There, take that, you Sea Witch, you!&rdquo; and he picked up a great boulder
+      and crashed it through the bottom of the canoe with all his strength. &ldquo;You
+      shan&rsquo;t never drown no more. But it has brought you good luck, it has, sir;
+      you&rsquo;ll be a fortunit man all your life now. It has brought you the <i>Drowned
+      One&rsquo;s shoe</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t break it any more,&rdquo; said Geoffrey. &ldquo;She used to value it. You had
+      better bring it along between you&mdash;it may be wanted. I am going to
+      the Vicarage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked back. Mr. Granger and Elizabeth had not yet arrived, but they
+      were expected every minute. He went into the sitting-room. It was full of
+      memories and tokens of Beatrice. There lay a novel which he had given her,
+      and there was yesterday&rsquo;s paper that she had brought from town, the <i>Standard</i>,
+      with his speech in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey covered his eyes with his hand, and thought. None knew that she
+      had committed suicide except himself. If he revealed it things might be
+      said of her; he did not care what was said of him, but he was jealous of
+      her dead name. It might be said, for instance, that the whole tale was
+      true, and that Beatrice died because she could no longer face life without
+      being put to an open shame. Yes, he had better hold his tongue as to how
+      and why she died. She was dead&mdash;nothing could bring her back. But how
+      then should he account for his presence there? Easily enough. He would say
+      frankly that he came because Beatrice had written to him of the charges
+      made against her and the threats against himself&mdash;came to find her
+      dead. And on that point he would still have a word with Owen Davies and
+      Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Scarcely had he made up his mind when Elizabeth and her father entered.
+      Clearly from their faces they had as yet heard nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey rose, and Elizabeth caught sight of him standing with glowing
+      eyes and a face like that of Death himself. She recoiled in alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What brings you here, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo; she said, in her hard voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cannot you guess, Miss Granger?&rdquo; he said sternly. &ldquo;A few days back you
+      made certain charges against your sister and myself in the presence of
+      your father and Mr. Owen Davies. These charges have been communicated to
+      me, and I have come to answer them and to demand satisfaction for them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Granger fidgeted nervously and looked as though he would like to
+      escape, but Elizabeth, with characteristic courage, shut the door and
+      faced the storm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did make those charges, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and they are true
+      charges. But stop, we had better send for Beatrice first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may send, but you will not find her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo; asked her father
+      apprehensively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It means that he has hidden her away, I suppose,&rdquo; said Elizabeth with a
+      sneer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean, Mr. Granger, that your daughter Beatrice is <i>dead</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For once startled out of her self-command, Elizabeth gave a little cry,
+      while her father staggered back against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead! dead! What do you mean? How did she die?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is known to God and her alone,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey. &ldquo;She went out
+      last evening in her canoe. When I arrived here this morning she was missed
+      for the first time. I walked along the beach and found the canoe and this
+      inside of it,&rdquo; and he placed the sodden shoe upon the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a silence. In the midst of it, Owen Davies burst into the room
+      with wild eyes and dishevelled hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it true?&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;tell me&mdash;it cannot be true that Beatrice is
+      drowned. She cannot have been taken from me just when I was going to marry
+      her. Say that it is not true!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A great fury filled Geoffrey&rsquo;s heart. He walked down the room and shut the
+      door, a red light swimming before his eyes. Then he turned and gripped
+      Owen Davies&rsquo;s shoulder like a vice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You accursed blackguard&mdash;you unmanly cur!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you and that
+      wicked woman,&rdquo; and he shook his hand at Elizabeth, &ldquo;conspired together to
+      bring a slur upon Beatrice. You did more: you threatened to attack me, to
+      try and ruin me if she would not give herself up to you. You loathsome
+      hypocrite, you tortured her and frightened her; now I am here to frighten
+      <i>you</i>. You said that you would make the country ring with your tales.
+      I tell you this&mdash;are you listening to me? If you dare to mention her
+      name in such a sense, or if that woman dares, I will break every bone in
+      your wretched body&mdash;by Heaven I will kill you!&rdquo; and he cast Davies
+      from him, and as he did so, struck him heavily across the face with the
+      back of his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man took no notice either of his words or of the deadly insult of the
+      blow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it true?&rdquo; he screamed, &ldquo;is it true that she is dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, following him, and bending his tall square frame
+      over him, for Davies had fallen against the wall, &ldquo;yes, it is true&mdash;she
+      is dead&mdash;and beyond your reach for ever. Pray to God that you may not
+      one day be called her murderers, all of you&mdash;you shameless cowards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies gave one shrill cry and sank in a huddled heap upon the
+      ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no God,&rdquo; he moaned; &ldquo;God promised her to me, to be my own&mdash;you
+      have killed her; you&mdash;you seduced her first and then you killed her.
+      I believe you killed her. Oh, I shall go mad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mad or sane,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;say those words once more and I will stamp
+      the life out of you where you are. You say that God promised her to you&mdash;promised
+      that woman to a hound like you. Ah, be careful!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Owen Davies made no answer. Crouched there upon the ground he rocked
+      himself to and fro, and moaned in the madness of his baulked desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This man,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, turning towards and pointing to Elizabeth, who
+      was glaring at him like a wild cat from the corner of the room, &ldquo;said that
+      there is no God. I say that there is a God, and that one day, soon or
+      late, vengeance will find you out&mdash;you murderess, you writer of
+      anonymous letters; you who, to advance your own wicked ends whatever they
+      may be, were not ashamed to try to drag your innocent sister&rsquo;s name into
+      the dirt. I never believed in a hell till now, but there must be a hell
+      for such as you, Elizabeth Granger. Go your ways; live out your time; but
+      live every hour of it in terror of the vengeance that shall come so surely
+      as you shall die.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now for you, sir,&rdquo; he went on, addressing the trembling father. &ldquo;I do not
+      blame you so much, because I believe that this viper poisoned your mind.
+      You might have thought that the tale was true. It is not true; it was a
+      lie. Beatrice, who now is dead, came into my room in her sleep, and was
+      carried from it as she came. And you, her father, allowed this villain and
+      your daughter to use her distress against her; you allowed him to make a
+      lever of it, with which to force her into a marriage that she loathed.
+      Yes, cover up your face&mdash;you may well do so. Do your worst, one and
+      all of you, but remember that this time you have to deal with a man who
+      can and will strike back, not a poor friendless girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before Heaven, it was not my fault, Mr. Bingham,&rdquo; gasped the old man. &ldquo;I
+      am innocent of it. That Judas-woman Elizabeth betrayed her sister because
+      she wanted to marry him herself,&rdquo; and he pointed to the Heap upon the
+      floor. &ldquo;She thought that it would prejudice him against Beatrice, and he&mdash;he
+      believed that she was attached to you, and tried to work upon her
+      attachment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, &ldquo;now we have it all. And you, sir, stood by and saw
+      this done. You stood by thinking that you would make a profit of her
+      agony. Now I will tell you what I meant to hide from you. I did love her.
+      I do love her&mdash;as she loved me. I believe that between you, you drove
+      her to her grave. Her blood be on your heads for ever and for ever!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, take me home,&rdquo; groaned the Heap upon the floor&mdash;&ldquo;take me home,
+      Elizabeth! I daren&rsquo;t go alone. Beatrice will haunt me. My brain goes round
+      and round. Take me away, Elizabeth, and stop with me. You are not afraid
+      of her, you are afraid of nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth sidled up to him, keeping her fierce eyes on Geoffrey all the
+      time. She was utterly cowed and terrified, but she could still look
+      fierce. She took the Heap by the hand and drew him thence still moaning
+      and quite crazed. She led him away to his castle and his wealth. Six
+      months afterwards she came forth with him to marry him, half-witted as he
+      was. A year and eight months afterwards she came out again to bury him,
+      and found herself the richest widow in Wales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went forth, leaving Geoffrey and Mr. Granger alone. The old man
+      rested his head upon the table and wept bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be merciful,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;do not say such words to me. I loved her, indeed
+      I did, but Elizabeth was too much for me, and I am so poor. Oh, if you
+      loved her also, be merciful! I do not reproach you because you loved her,
+      although you had no right to love her. If you had not loved her, and made
+      her love you, all this would never have happened. Why do you say such
+      dreadful things to me, Mr. Bingham?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I loved her, sir,&rdquo; answered Geoffrey, humbly enough now that his fury had
+      passed, &ldquo;because being what she was all who looked on her must love her.
+      There is no woman left like her in the world. But who am I that I should
+      blame you? God forgive us all! I only live henceforth in the hope that I
+      may one day rejoin her where she has gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Granger,&rdquo; said Geoffrey presently, &ldquo;never trouble yourself about
+      money. You were her father; anything you want and what I have is yours.
+      Let us shake hands and say good-bye, and let us never meet again. As I
+      said, God forgive us all!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you&mdash;thank you,&rdquo; said the old man, looking up through the
+      white hair that fell about his eyes. &ldquo;It is a strange world and we are all
+      miserable sinners. I hope there is a better somewhere. I&rsquo;m well-nigh tired
+      of this, especially now that Beatrice has gone. Poor girl, she was a good
+      daughter and a fine woman. Good-bye. Good-bye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Geoffrey went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE DUCHESS&rsquo;S BALL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey reached Town a little before eleven o&rsquo;clock that night&mdash;a
+      haunted man&mdash;haunted for life by a vision of that face still lovely
+      in death, floating alone upon the deep, and companioned only by the
+      screaming mews&mdash;or perchance now sinking or sunk to an unfathomable
+      grave. Well might such a vision haunt a man, the man whom alone of all men
+      those cold lips had kissed, and for whose dear sake this dreadful thing
+      was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took a cab directing the driver to go to Bolton Street and to stop at
+      his club as he passed. There might be letters for him there, he thought&mdash;something
+      which would distract his mind a little. As it chanced there was a letter,
+      marked &ldquo;private,&rdquo; and a telegram; both had been delivered that evening,
+      the porter said, the former about an hour ago by hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Idly he opened the telegram&mdash;it was from his lawyers: &ldquo;Your cousin,
+      the child George Bingham, is, as we have just heard, dead. Please call on
+      us early to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He started a little, for this meant a good deal to Geoffrey. It meant a
+      baronetcy and eight thousand a year, more or less. How delighted Honoria
+      would be, he thought with a sad smile; the loss of that large income had
+      always been a bitter pill to her, and one which she had made him swallow
+      again and again. Well, there it was. Poor boy, he had always been ailing&mdash;an
+      old man&rsquo;s child!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put the telegram in his pocket and got into the hansom again. There was
+      a lamp in it and by its light he read the letter. It was from the Prime
+      Minister and ran thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Bingham,&mdash;I have not seen you since Monday to thank you for
+      the magnificent speech you made on that night. Allow me to add my
+      congratulations to those of everybody else. As you know, the Under
+      Secretaryship of the Home Office is vacant. On behalf of my colleagues and
+      myself I write to ask if you will consent to fill it for a time, for we do
+      not in any way consider that the post is one commensurate with your
+      abilities. It will, however, serve to give you practical experience of
+      administration, and us the advantage of your great talents to an even
+      larger extent than we now enjoy. For the future, it must of course take
+      care of itself; but, as you know, Sir &mdash;&mdash;&lsquo;s health is not all
+      that could be desired, and the other day he told me that it was doubtful
+      if he would be able to carry on the duties of the Attorney-Generalship for
+      very much longer. In view of this contingency I venture to suggest that
+      you would do well to apply for silk as soon as possible. I have spoken to
+      the Lord Chancellor about it, and he says that there will be no
+      difficulty, as although you have only been in active practice for so short
+      a while, you have a good many years&rsquo; standing as a barrister. Or if this
+      prospect does not please doubtless some other opening to the Cabinet can
+      be found in time. The fact is, that we cannot in our own interest overlook
+      you for long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey smiled again as he finished this letter. Who could have believed
+      a year ago that he would have been to-day in a position to receive such an
+      epistle from the Prime Minister of England? Ah, here was the luck of the
+      Drowned One&rsquo;s shoe with a vengeance. And what was it all worth to him now?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put the letter in his pocket with the telegram and looked out. They
+      were turning into Bolton Street. How was little Effie, he wondered? The
+      child seemed all that was left him to care for. If anything happened to
+      her&mdash;bah, he would not think of it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was there now. &ldquo;How is Miss Effie?&rdquo; he asked of the servant who opened
+      the door. At that moment his attention was attracted by the dim forms of
+      two people, a man and a woman, who were standing not far from the area
+      gate, the man with his arm round the woman&rsquo;s waist. Suddenly the woman
+      appeared to catch sight of the cab and retired swiftly down the area. It
+      crossed his mind that her figure was very like that of Anne, the French
+      nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Effie is doing nicely, sir, I&rsquo;m told,&rdquo; answered the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Geoffrey breathed more freely. &ldquo;Where is her ladyship?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;In
+      Effie&rsquo;s room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; answered the man, &ldquo;her ladyship has gone to a ball. She left
+      this note for you in case you should come in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the note from the hall table and opened it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Geoffrey,&rdquo; it ran, &ldquo;Effie is so much better that I have made up my
+      mind to go to the duchess&rsquo;s ball after all. She would be so disappointed
+      if I did not come, and my dress is quite <i>lovely</i>. Had your
+      mysterious business anything to do with <i>Bryngelly</i>?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours, Honoria.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She would go on to a ball from her mother&rsquo;s funeral,&rdquo; said Geoffrey to
+      himself, as he walked up to Effie&rsquo;s room; &ldquo;well, it is her nature and
+      there&rsquo;s an end of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He knocked at the door of Effie&rsquo;s room. There was no answer, so he walked
+      in. The room was lit but empty&mdash;no, not quite! On the floor, clothed
+      only in her white night-shirt, lay his little daughter, to all appearance
+      dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With something like an oath he sprang to her and lifted her. The face was
+      pale and the small hands were cold, but the breast was still hot and
+      fevered, and the heart beat. A glance showed him what had happened. The
+      child being left alone, and feeling thirsty, had got out of bed and gone
+      to the water bottle&mdash;there was the tumbler on the floor. Then
+      weakness had overcome her and she had fainted&mdash;fainted upon the cold
+      floor with the inflammation still on her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment Anne entered the room sweetly murmuring, &ldquo;Ça va bien,
+      chérie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me to put the child into bed,&rdquo; said Geoffrey sternly. &ldquo;Now ring the
+      bell&mdash;ring it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now, woman&mdash;go. Leave this house at once, this very night. Do
+      you hear me? No, don&rsquo;t stop to argue. Look here! If that child dies I will
+      prosecute you for manslaughter; yes, I saw you in the street,&rdquo; and he took
+      a step towards her. Then Anne fled, and her face was seen no more in
+      Bolton Street or indeed in this country.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James,&rdquo; said Geoffrey to the servant, &ldquo;send the cook up here&mdash;she is
+      a sensible woman; and do you take a hansom and drive to the doctor, and
+      tell him to come here at once, and if you cannot find him go for another
+      doctor. Then go to the Nurses&rsquo; Home, near St. James&rsquo; Station, and get a
+      trained nurse&mdash;tell them one must be had from somewhere instantly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. And shall I call for her ladyship at the duchess&rsquo;s, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, frowning heavily, &ldquo;do not disturb her ladyship. Go
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That settles it,&rdquo; said Geoffrey, as the man went. &ldquo;Whatever happens,
+      Honoria and I must part. I have done with her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had indeed, though not in the way he meant. It would have been well for
+      Honoria if her husband&rsquo;s contempt had not prevented him from summoning her
+      from her pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook came up, and between them they brought the child back to life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She opened her eyes and smiled. &ldquo;Is that you, daddy,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;or
+      do I dreams?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear, it is I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where has you been, daddy&mdash;to see Auntie Beatrice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, love,&rdquo; he said, with a gasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, daddy, my head do feel funny; but I don&rsquo;t mind now you is come back.
+      You won&rsquo;t go away no more, will you, daddy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, dear, no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that she began to wander a little, and finally dropped into a
+      troubled sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Within half an hour both the doctor and the nurse arrived. The former
+      listened to Geoffrey&rsquo;s tale and examined the child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She may pull through it,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;she has got a capital constitution;
+      but I&rsquo;ll tell you what it is&mdash;if she had lain another five minutes in
+      that draught there would have been an end of her. You came in the nick of
+      time. And now if I were you I should go to bed. You can do no good here,
+      and you look dreadfully ill yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Geoffrey shook his head. He said he would go downstairs and smoke a
+      pipe. He did not want to go to bed at present; he was too tired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the ball went merrily. Lady Honoria never enjoyed herself more
+      in her life. She revelled in the luxurious gaiety around her like a
+      butterfly in the sunshine. How good it all was&mdash;the flash of
+      diamonds, the odour of costly flowers, the homage of well-bred men, the
+      envy of other women. Oh! it was a delightful world after all&mdash;that is
+      when one did not have to exist in a flat near the Edgware Road. But Heaven
+      be praised! thanks to Geoffrey&rsquo;s talents, there was an end of flats and
+      misery. After all, he was not a bad sort of husband, though in many ways a
+      perfect mystery to her. As for his little weakness for the Welsh girl,
+      really, provided that there was no scandal, she did not care twopence
+      about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am so glad you admire it. I think it is rather a nice dress, but
+      then I always say that nobody in London can make a dress like Madame
+      Jules. Oh, no, Geoffrey did not choose it; he thinks of other things.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m sure you ought to be proud of him, Lady Honoria,&rdquo; said the
+      handsome Guardsman to whom she was talking; &ldquo;they say at mess that he is
+      one of the cleverest men in England. I only wish I had a fiftieth part of
+      his brains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, please do not become clever, Lord Atleigh; please don&rsquo;t, or I shall
+      really give you up. Cleverness is all very well, but it isn&rsquo;t everything,
+      you know. Yes, I will dance if you like, but you must go slowly; to be
+      quite honest, I am afraid of tearing my lace in this crush. Why, I declare
+      there is Garsington, my brother, you know,&rdquo; and she pointed to a small
+      red-haired man who was elbowing his way towards them. &ldquo;I wonder what he
+      wants; it is not at all in his line to come to balls. You know him, don&rsquo;t
+      you? he is always racing horses, like you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the Guardsman had vanished. For reasons of his own he did not wish to
+      meet Garsington. Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there you are, Honoria,&rdquo; said her brother, &ldquo;I thought that I should
+      be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash. Look here, I have
+      something to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good news or bad?&rdquo; said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. &ldquo;If it is
+      bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don&rsquo;t want my
+      evening spoilt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it&rsquo;s jolly good, about as
+      good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think?
+      that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or some
+      one, you know, is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not dead, not dead?&rdquo; said Honoria in deep agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead as ditch-water,&rdquo; replied his lordship. &ldquo;I heard it at the club.
+      There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they got
+      talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, &lsquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s Sir Geoffrey
+      Bingham now. Old Sir Robert&rsquo;s heir is dead. I saw the telegram myself.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, this is almost too good to be true,&rdquo; said Honoria. &ldquo;Why, it means
+      eight thousand a year to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you it was pretty good,&rdquo; said her brother. &ldquo;You ought to stand me
+      a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let&rsquo;s go and drink to the news.
+      Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must screw myself
+      up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung stair
+      they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Lady Honoria,&rdquo; said the great Person, &ldquo;I have something to say that
+      will please you, I think,&rdquo; and he bent towards her, and spoke very low,
+      then, with a little bow, passed on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the old boy talking about?&rdquo; asked her brother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, what do you think? We are in luck&rsquo;s way to-night. He says that they
+      are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home Office.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be a bigger prig than ever now,&rdquo; growled Lord Garsington. &ldquo;Yes, it
+      is luck though; let us hope it won&rsquo;t turn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been dining,
+      helped himself pretty freely to champagne. Before them was a silver
+      candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little painted paper
+      shade. One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to reach over Lord
+      Garsington&rsquo;s head to put it straight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do it,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no; let the man,&rdquo; said Lady Honoria. &ldquo;Look! it is going to catch
+      fire!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; he answered, rising solemnly and reaching his arm towards the
+      shade. As he touched it, it caught fire; indeed, by touching it he caused
+      it to catch fire. He seized hold of it, and made an effort to put it out,
+      but it burnt his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse the thing!&rdquo; he said aloud, and threw it from him. It fell flaming
+      in his sister&rsquo;s dress among the thickest of the filmy laces; they caught,
+      and instantly two wreathing snakes of fire shot up her. She sprang from
+      her seat and rushed screaming down the room, an awful mass of flame!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In ten more minutes Lady Honoria had left this world and its pleasures to
+      those who still lived to taste them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour passed. Geoffrey still sat brooding heavily over his pipe in the
+      study in Bolton Street and waiting for Honoria, when a knock came to his
+      door. The servants had all gone to bed, all except the sick nurse. He rose
+      and opened it himself. A little red-haired, pale-faced man staggered in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Garsington, is it you? What do you want at this hour?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Screw yourself up, Bingham, I&rsquo;ve something to tell you,&rdquo; he answered in a
+      thick voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it? another disaster, I suppose. Is somebody else dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; somebody is. Honoria&rsquo;s dead. Burnt to death at the ball.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Great God! Honoria burnt to death. I had better go&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I advise you not, Bingham. I wouldn&rsquo;t go to the hospital if I were you.
+      Screw yourself up, and if you can, give me something to drink&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+      about done&mdash;I must screw myself up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And here we may leave this most fortunate and gifted man. Farewell to
+      Geoffrey Bingham.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ENVOL
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, then, did these human atoms work out their destinies, these little
+      grains of animated dust, blown hither and thither by a breath which came
+      they knew not whence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If there be any malicious Principle among the Powers around us that deigns
+      to find amusement in the futile vagaries of man, well might it laugh, and
+      laugh again, at the great results of all this scheming, of all these
+      desires, loves and hates; and if there be any pitiful Principle, well
+      might it sigh over the infinite pathos of human helplessness. Owen Davies
+      lost in his own passion; Geoffrey crowned with prosperity and haunted by
+      undying sorrow; Honoria perishing wretchedly in her hour of satisfied
+      ambition; Beatrice sacrificing herself in love and blindness, and thereby
+      casting out her joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, if she had been content to humbly trust in the Providence above her;
+      if she had but left that deed undared for one short week!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Geoffrey still lived, and the child recovered, after hanging for a
+      while between life and death, and was left to comfort him. May she survive
+      to be a happy wife and mother, living under conditions more favourable to
+      her well-being than those which trampled out the life of that mistaken
+      woman, the ill-starred, great-souled Beatrice, and broke her father&rsquo;s
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Say&mdash;what are we? We are but arrows winged with fears and shot from
+      darkness into darkness; we are blind leaders of the blind, aimless beaters
+      of this wintry air; lost travellers by many stony paths ending in one end.
+      Tell us, you, who have outworn the common tragedy and passed the narrow
+      way, what lies beyond its gate? You are dumb, or we cannot hear you speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Beatrice knows to-day!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/3096.txt b/old/3096.txt
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Beatrice
+
+Author: H. Rider Haggard
+
+Release Date: April 5, 2006 [EBook #3096]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
+
+
+
+
+
+BEATRICE
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+First Published in 1893.
+
+
+
+                                       TO
+
+                                    BEATRICE
+
+
+
+             "Oh, kind is Death that Life's long trouble closes,
+              Yet at Death's coming Life shrinks back affright;
+              It sees the dark hand,--not that it encloses
+                  A cup of light.
+
+              So oft the Spirit seeing Love draw nigh
+              As 'neath the shadow of destruction, quakes,
+              For Self, dark tyrant of the Soul, must die,
+                  When Love awakes.
+
+              Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,--
+              Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!"
+
+              Rueckert. Translated by F. W. B.
+
+
+
+
+BEATRICE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A MIST WRAITH
+
+The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy
+weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost
+in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It
+seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide.
+The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon
+the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown
+weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took
+their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay like
+a woman's hair upon the green depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was growing
+dense and soft upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from the west,
+it simply grew like the twilight, making the silence yet more silent and
+blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the
+seaweed and watched the gathering of these fleecy hosts.
+
+"What a curious evening," she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low
+full voice. "I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that
+is seven years ago. I've grown since then, grown every way," and she
+laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet
+water.
+
+She could not have looked at anything more charming, for it would have
+been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as on this
+her twenty-second birthday, she stood and gazed into that misty sea.
+
+Of rather more than middle height, and modelled like a statue, strength
+and health seemed to radiate from her form. But it was her face with the
+stamp of intellect and power shadowing its woman's loveliness that must
+have made her remarkable among women even more beautiful than herself.
+There are many girls who have rich brown hair, like some autumn leaf
+here and there just yellowing into gold, girls whose deep grey eyes can
+grow tender as a dove's, or flash like the stirred waters of a northern
+sea, and whose bloom can bear comparison with the wilding rose. But few
+can show a face like that which upon this day first dawned on Geoffrey
+Bingham to his sorrow and his hope. It was strong and pure and sweet as
+the keen sea breath, and looking on it one must know that beneath this
+fair cloak lay a wit as fair. And yet it was all womanly; here was not
+the hard sexless stamp of the "cultured" female. She who owned it was
+capable of many things. She could love and she could suffer, and if need
+be, she could dare or die. It was to be read upon that lovely brow and
+face, and in the depths of those grey eyes--that is, by those to whom
+the book of character is open, and who wish to study it.
+
+But Beatrice was not thinking of her loveliness as she gazed into the
+water. She knew that she was beautiful of course; her beauty was too
+obvious to be overlooked, and besides it had been brought home to her in
+several more or less disagreeable ways.
+
+"Seven years," she was thinking, "since the night of the 'death fog;'
+that was what old Edward called it, and so it was. I was only so high
+then," and following her thoughts she touched herself upon the breast.
+"And I was happy too in my own way. Why can't one always be fifteen,
+and believe everything one is told?" and she sighed. "Seven years and
+nothing done yet. Work, work, and nothing coming out of the work, and
+everything fading away. I think that life is very dreary when one has
+lost everything, and found nothing, and loves nobody. I wonder what it
+will be like in another seven years."
+
+She covered her eyes with her hands, and then taking them away, once
+more looked at the water. Such light as struggled through the fog
+was behind her, and the mist was thickening. At first she had some
+difficulty in tracing her own likeness upon the glassy surface, but
+gradually she marked its outline. It stretched away from her, and its
+appearance was as though she herself were lying on her back in the water
+wrapped about with the fleecy mist. "How curious it seems," she thought;
+"what is it that reflection reminds me of with the white all round it?"
+
+Next instant she gave a little cry and turned sharply away. She knew
+now. It recalled her mother as she had last seen her seven years ago.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+AT THE BELL ROCK
+
+A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and
+further up the coast-line, a second group of rocks, known from their
+colour as the Red Rocks, or sometimes, for another reason, as the Bell
+Rocks, juts out between half and three-quarters of a mile into the
+waters of the Welsh Bay that lies behind Rumball Point. At low tide
+these rocks are bare, so that a man may walk or wade to their extremity,
+but when the flood is full only one or two of the very largest can from
+time to time be seen projecting their weed-wreathed heads through the
+wash of the shore-bound waves. In certain sets of the wind and tide this
+is a terrible and most dangerous spot in rough weather, as more than
+one vessel have learnt to their cost. So long ago as 1780 a three-decker
+man-of-war went ashore there in a furious winter gale, and, with one
+exception, every living soul on board of her, to the number of seven
+hundred, was drowned. The one exception was a man in irons, who came
+safely and serenely ashore seated upon a piece of wreckage. Nobody ever
+knew how the shipwreck happened, least of all the survivor in irons, but
+the tradition of the terror of the scene yet lives in the district, and
+the spot where the bones of the drowned men still peep grimly through
+the sand is not unnaturally supposed to be haunted. Ever since this
+catastrophe a large bell (it was originally the bell of the ill-fated
+vessel itself, and still bears her name, "H.M.S. Thunder," stamped upon
+its metal) has been fixed upon the highest rock, and in times of storm
+and at high tide sends its solemn note of warning booming across the
+deep.
+
+But the bell was quiet now, and just beneath it, in the shadow of the
+rock whereon it was placed, a man half hidden in seaweed, with which he
+appeared to have purposely covered himself, was seated upon a piece of
+wreck. In appearance he was a very fine man, big-shouldered and broad
+limbed, and his age might have been thirty-five or a little more. Of his
+frame, however, what between the mist and the unpleasantly damp seaweed
+with which he was wreathed, not much was to be seen. But such light as
+there was fell upon his face as he peered eagerly over and round the
+rock, and glinted down the barrels of the double ten-bore gun which he
+held across his knee. It was a striking countenance, with its brownish
+eyes, dark peaked beard and strong features, very powerful and very
+able. And yet there was a certain softness in the face, which hovered
+round the region of the mouth like light at the edge of a dark cloud,
+hinting at gentle sunshine. But little of this was visible now. Geoffrey
+Bingham, barrister-at-law of the Inner Temple, M.A., was engaged with
+a very serious occupation. He was trying to shoot curlew as they passed
+over his hiding-place on their way to the mud banks where they feed
+further along the coast.
+
+Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of
+man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may
+wait for an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an
+oyster-catcher. Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call
+of curlew on the wing. He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but
+nothing can he see. At last, seventy yards or more to the right, he
+catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and, like a flash, they
+are gone. Again a call--the curlew are flighting. He looks and looks, in
+his excitement struggling to his feet and raising his head incautiously
+far above the sheltering rock. There they come, a great flock of
+thirty or more, bearing straight down on him, a hundred yards
+off--eighty--sixty--now. Up goes the gun, but alas and alas! they catch
+a glimpse of the light glinting on the barrels, and perhaps of the head
+behind them, and in another second they have broken and scattered this
+way and that way, twisting off like a wisp of gigantic snipe, to vanish
+with melancholy cries into the depth of mist.
+
+This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and waits,
+listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue is
+rewarded. First of all two wild duck come over, cleaving the air like
+arrows. The mallard is missed, but the left barrel reaches the duck,
+and down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have the
+cartridges been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once more
+heard--quite close this time. There they are, looming large against the
+fog. Bang! down goes the first and lies flapping among the rocks. Like
+a flash the second is away to the left. Bang! after him, and caught
+him too! Hark to the splash as he falls into the deep water fifty yards
+away. And then the mist closes in so densely that shooting is done with
+for the day. Well, that right and left has been worth three hours' wait
+in the wet seaweed and the violent cold that may follow--that is, to any
+man who has a soul for true sport.
+
+Just such an experience as this had befallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had
+bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew--that is, he had bagged one
+of them, for the other was floating in the sea--when a sudden increase
+in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations. He shook
+the wet seaweed off his rough clothes, and, having lit a short briar
+pipe, set to work to hunt for the duck and the first curfew. He found
+them easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of the rocks, up the
+sides of which the tide was gradually creeping, peered into the mist to
+see if he could find the other. Presently the fog lifted a little, and
+he discovered the bird floating on the oily water about fifty yards
+away. A little to the left the rocks ran out in a peak, and he knew
+from experience that the tide setting towards the shore would carry the
+curlew past this peak. So he went to its extremity, sat down upon a
+big stone and waited. All this while the tide was rising fast, though,
+intent as he was upon bringing the curlew to bag, he did not pay much
+heed to it, forgetting that it was cutting him off from the land. At
+last, after more than half-an-hour of waiting, he caught sight of the
+curlew again, but, as bad luck would have it, it was still twenty yards
+or more from him and in deep water. He was determined, however, to get
+the bird if he could, for Geoffrey hated leaving his game, so he pulled
+up his trousers and set to work to wade towards it. For the first few
+steps all went well, but the fourth or fifth landed him in a hole that
+wet his right leg nearly up to the thigh and gave his ankle a severe
+twist. Reflecting that it would be very awkward if he sprained his ankle
+in such a lonely place, he beat a retreat, and bethought him, unless
+the curlew was to become food for the dog-fish, that he had better
+strip bodily and swim for it. This--for Geoffrey was a man of determined
+mind--he decided to do, and had already taken off his coat and waistcoat
+to that end, when suddenly some sort of a boat--he judged it to be a
+canoe from the slightness of its shape--loomed up in the mist before
+him. An idea struck him: the canoe or its occupant, if anybody could be
+insane enough to come out canoeing in such water, might fetch the curlew
+and save him a swim.
+
+"Hi!" he shouted in stentorian tones. "Hullo there!"
+
+"Yes," answered a woman's gentle voice across the waters.
+
+"Oh," he replied, struggling to get into his waistcoat again, for the
+voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, "I'm sure
+I beg your pardon, but would you do me a favour? There is a dead curlew
+floating about, not ten yards from your boat. If you wouldn't mind----"
+
+A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on towards the bird.
+Presently the hand plunged downwards into the misty waters and the
+curlew was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with his
+waistcoat, the canoe sped towards him like a dream boat, and in another
+moment it was beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was looking up into
+his own.
+
+
+
+Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be peculiar
+to the recorder of things done), and see how it came about that Beatrice
+Granger was present to retrieve Geoffrey Bingham's dead curlew.
+
+Immediately after the unpleasant idea recorded in the last, or, to be
+more accurate, in the first chapter of this comedy, had impressed itself
+upon Beatrice's mind, she came to the conclusion that she had seen
+enough of the Dog Rocks for one afternoon. Thereon, like a sensible
+person, she set herself to quit them in the same way that she had
+reached them, namely by means of a canoe. She got into her canoe safely
+enough, and paddled a little way out to sea, with a view of returning
+to the place whence she came. But the further she went out, and it was
+necessary that she should go some way on account of the rocks and the
+currents, the denser grew the fog. Sounds came through it indeed, but
+she could not clearly distinguish whence they came, till at last, well
+as she knew the coast, she grew confused as to whither she was heading.
+In this dilemma, while she rested on her paddle staring into the dense
+surrounding mist and keeping her grey eyes as wide open as nature would
+allow, and that was very wide, she heard the report of a gun behind her
+to the right. Arguing to herself that some wild-fowler on the water
+must have fired it who would be able to direct her, she turned the
+canoe round and paddled swiftly in the direction whence the sound came.
+Presently she heard the gun again; both barrels were fired, in there to
+the right, but some way off. She paddled on vigorously, but now no more
+shots came to guide her, therefore for a while her search was fruitless.
+At last, however, she saw something looming through the mist ahead; it
+was the Red Rocks, though she did not know it, and she drew near with
+caution till Geoffrey's shout broke upon her ears.
+
+She picked up the dead bird and paddled towards the dim figure who was
+evidently wrestling with something, she could not see what.
+
+"Here is the curlew, sir," she said.
+
+"Oh, thank you," answered the figure on the rock. "I am infinitely
+obliged to you. I was just going to swim for it, I can't bear losing my
+game. It seems so cruel to shoot birds for nothing."
+
+"I dare say that you will not make much use of it now that you have
+got it," said the gentle voice in the canoe. "Curlew are not very good
+eating."
+
+"That is scarcely the point," replied the Crusoe on the rock. "The point
+is to bring them home. _Apres cela----_"
+
+"The birdstuffer?" said the voice.
+
+"No," answered Crusoe, "the cook----"
+
+A laugh came back from the canoe--and then a question.
+
+"Pray, Mr. Bingham, can you tell me where I am? I have quite lost my
+reckoning in the mist."
+
+He started. How did this mysterious young lady in a boat know his name?
+
+"You are at the Red Rocks; there is the bell, that grey thing,
+Miss--Miss----"
+
+"Beatrice Granger," she put in hastily. "My father is the clergyman of
+Bryngelly. I saw you when you and Lady Honoria Bingham looked into the
+school yesterday. I teach in the school." She did not tell him, however,
+that his face had interested her so much that she had asked his name.
+
+Again he started. He had heard of this young lady. Somebody had told him
+that she was the prettiest girl in Wales, and the cleverest, but that
+her father was not a gentleman.
+
+"Oh," he said, taking off his hat in the direction of the canoe. "Isn't
+it a little risky, Miss Granger, for you to be canoeing alone in this
+mist?"
+
+"Yes," she answered frankly, "but I am used to it; I go out canoeing in
+all possible weathers. It is my amusement, and after all the risk does
+not matter much," she added, more to herself than to him.
+
+While he was wondering what she meant by that dark saying, she went on
+quickly:
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Bingham, I think that you are in more danger than I
+am. It must be getting near seven o'clock, and the tide is high at a
+quarter to eight. Unless I am mistaken there is by now nearly half a
+mile of deep water between you and the shore."
+
+"My word!" he said. "I forgot all about the tide. What between the
+shooting and looking for that curlew, and the mist, it never occurred to
+me that it was getting late. I suppose I must swim for it, that is all."
+
+"No, no," she answered earnestly, "it is very dangerous swimming here;
+the place is full of sharp rocks, and there is a tremendous current."
+
+"Well, then, what is to be done? Will your canoe carry two? If so,
+perhaps you would kindly put me ashore?"
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is a double canoe. But I dare not take you ashore
+here; there are too many rocks, and it is impossible to see the ripple
+on them in this mist. We should sink the canoe. No, you must get in and
+I must paddle you home to Bryngelly, that's all. Now that I know where I
+am I think that I can find the way."
+
+"Really," he said, "you are very good."
+
+"Not at all," she answered, "you see I must go myself anyhow, so I shall
+be glad of your help. It is nearly five miles by water, you know, and
+not a pleasant night."
+
+There was truth in this. Geoffrey was perfectly prepared to risk a swim
+to the shore on his own account, but he did not at all like the idea of
+leaving this young lady to find her own way back to Bryngelly through
+the mist and gathering darkness, and in that frail canoe. He would not
+have liked it if she had been a man, for he knew that there was great
+risk in such a voyage. So after making one more fruitless suggestion
+that they should try and reach the shore, taking the chance of rocks,
+sunken or otherwise, and then walk home, to which Beatrice would not
+consent, he accepted her offer.
+
+"At the least you will allow me to paddle," he said, as she skilfully
+brought the canoe right under his rock, which the tide was now high
+enough to allow her to do.
+
+"If you like," she answered doubtfully. "My hands are a little sore,
+and, of course," with a glance at his broad shoulders, "you are much
+stronger. But if you are not used to it I dare say that I should get on
+as well as you."
+
+"Nonsense," he said sharply. "I will not allow you to paddle me for five
+miles."
+
+She yielded without another word, and very gingerly shifted her seat so
+that her back was towards the bow of the canoe, leaving him to occupy
+the paddling place opposite to her.
+
+Then he handed her his gun, which, together with the dead birds, she
+carefully stowed in the bottom of the frail craft. Next, with great
+caution, he slid down the rock till his feet rested in the canoe.
+
+"Be careful or you will upset us," she said, leaning forward and
+stretching out her hand for him to support himself by.
+
+Then it was, as he took it, that he for the first time really saw her
+face, with the mist drops hanging to the bent eyelashes, and knew how
+beautiful it was.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+A CONFESSION OF FAITH
+
+"Are you ready?" he said, recovering himself from the pleasing shock of
+this serge-draped vision of the mist.
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice. "You must head straight out to sea for a
+little--not too far, for if we get beyond the shelter of Rumball Point
+we might founder in the rollers--there are always rollers there--then
+steer to the left. I will tell you when. And, Mr. Bingham, please be
+careful of the paddle; it has been spliced, and won't bear rough usage."
+
+"All right," he answered, and they started gaily enough, the light canoe
+gliding swiftly forward beneath his sturdy strokes.
+
+Beatrice was leaning back with her head bent a little forward, so that
+he could only see her chin and the sweet curve of the lips above it. But
+she could see all his face as it swayed towards her with each motion of
+the paddle, and she watched it with interest. It was a new type of face
+to her, so strong and manly, and yet so gentle about the mouth--almost
+too gentle she thought. What made him marry Lady Honoria? Beatrice
+wondered; she did not look particularly gentle, though she was such a
+graceful woman.
+
+And thus they went on for some time, each wondering about the other and
+at heart admiring the other, which was not strange, for they were a very
+proper pair, but saying no word till at last, after about a quarter of
+an hour's hard paddling, Geoffrey paused to rest.
+
+"Do you do much of this kind of thing, Miss Granger?" he said with a
+gasp, "because it is rather hard work."
+
+She laughed. "Ah," she said, "I thought you would scarcely go on
+paddling at that rate. Yes, I canoe a great deal in the summer time. It
+is my way of taking exercise, and I can swim well, so I am not afraid
+of an upset. At least it has been my way for the last two years since a
+lady who was staying here gave me the canoe when she went away. Before
+that I used to row in a boat--that is, before I went to college."
+
+"College? What college? Girton?"
+
+"Oh, no, nothing half so grand. It was a college where you get
+certificates that you are qualified to be a mistress in a Board school.
+I wish it had been Girton."
+
+"Do you?"--you are too good for that, he was going to add, but changed
+it to--"I think you were as well away. I don't care about the Girton
+stamp; those of them whom I have known are so hard."
+
+"So much the better for them," she answered. "I should like to be hard
+as a stone; a stone cannot feel. Don't you think that women ought to
+learn, then?"
+
+"Do you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, certainly."
+
+"Have you learnt anything?"
+
+"I have taught myself a little and picked up something at the college.
+But I have no real knowledge, only a smattering of things."
+
+"What do you know--French and German?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Latin?"
+
+"Yes, I know something of it."
+
+"Greek?"
+
+"I can read it fairly, but I am not a Greek scholar."
+
+"Mathematics?"
+
+"No, I gave them up. There is no human nature about mathematics. They
+work everything to a fixed conclusion that must result. Life is not like
+that; what ought to be a square comes out a right angle, and _x_ always
+equals an unknown quantity, which is never ascertained till you are
+dead."
+
+"Good gracious!" thought Geoffrey to himself between the strokes of the
+paddle, "what an extraordinary girl. A flesh-and-blood blue-stocking,
+and a lovely one into the bargain. At any rate I will bowl her out this
+time."
+
+"Perhaps you have read law too?" he said with suppressed sarcasm.
+
+"I have read some," she answered calmly. "I like law, especially Equity
+law; it is so subtle, and there is such a mass of it built upon such
+a small foundation. It is like an overgrown mushroom, and the top will
+fall off one day, however hard the lawyers try to prop it up. Perhaps
+you can tell me----"
+
+"No, I'm sure I cannot," he answered. "I'm not a Chancery man. I am
+Common law, and _I_ don't take all knowledge for _my_ province. You
+positively alarm me, Miss Granger. I wonder that the canoe does not sink
+beneath so much learning."
+
+"Do I?" she answered sweetly. "I am glad that I have lived to frighten
+somebody. I meant that I like Equity to study; but if I were a
+barrister, I would be Common law, because there is so much more life
+and struggle about it. Existence is not worth having unless one is
+struggling with something and trying to overcome it."
+
+"Dear me, what a reposeful prospect," said Geoffrey, aghast. He had
+certainly never met such a woman as this before.
+
+"Repose is only good when it is earned," went on the fair philosopher,
+"and in order to fit one to earn some more, otherwise it becomes
+idleness, and that is misery. Fancy being idle when one has such a
+little time to live. The only thing to do is to work and stifle thought.
+I suppose that you have a large practice, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"You should not ask a barrister that question," he answered, laughing;
+"it is like looking at the pictures which an artist has turned to the
+wall. No, to be frank, I have not. I have only taken to practising in
+earnest during the last two years. Before I was a barrister in name, and
+that is all."
+
+"Then why did you suddenly begin to work?"
+
+"Because I lost my prospects, Miss Granger--from necessity, in short."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said, with a blush, which of course he
+could not see. "I did not mean to be rude. But it is very lucky for you,
+is it not?"
+
+"Indeed! Some people don't think so. Why is it lucky?"
+
+"Because you will now rise and become a great man, and that is more than
+being a rich man."
+
+"And why do you think that I shall become a great man?" he asked,
+stopping paddling in his astonishment and looking at the dim form before
+him.
+
+"Oh! because it is written on your face," she answered simply.
+
+Her words rang true; there was no flattery or artifice in them. Geoffrey
+felt that the girl was saying just what she thought.
+
+"So you study physiognomy as well," he said. "Well, Miss Granger, it is
+rather odd, considering all things, but I will say to you what I have
+never said to any one before. I believe that you are right. I shall
+rise. If I live I feel that I have it in me."
+
+At this point it possibly occurred to Beatrice that, considering
+the exceeding brevity of their acquaintance, they were drifting into
+somewhat confidential conversation. At any rate, she quickly changed the
+topic.
+
+"I am afraid you are growing tired," she said; "but we must be getting
+on. It will soon be quite dark and we have still a long way to go. Look
+there," and she pointed seaward.
+
+He looked. The whole bank of mist was breaking up and bearing down on
+them in enormous billows of vapour. Presently, these were rolling over
+them, so darkening the heavy air that, though the pair were within four
+feet of each other, they could scarcely see one another's faces. As yet
+they felt no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen, impelling
+air.
+
+"I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm," said
+Beatrice, a little anxiously.
+
+Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away from
+them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of it was
+left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their faces. Far
+in the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the foam. A great
+red ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the awakened waters, like a
+path of fire. The ominous light fell full upon the little boat and full
+upon Beatrice's lips. Then it passed on and lost itself in the deep
+mists which still swathed the coast.
+
+"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she cried, raising herself and pointing to
+the glory of the dying sun.
+
+"It is beautiful indeed!" he answered, but he looked, not at the sunset,
+but at the woman's face before him, glowing like a saint's in its golden
+aureole. For this also was most beautiful--so beautiful that it stirred
+him strangely.
+
+"It is like----" she began, and broke off suddenly.
+
+"What is it like?" he asked.
+
+"It is like finding truth at last," she answered, speaking as much to
+herself as to him. "Why, one might make an allegory out of it. We wander
+in mist and darkness shaping a vague course for home. And then suddenly
+the mists are blown away, glory fills the air, and there is no more
+doubt, only before us is a splendour making all things clear and
+lighting us over a deathless sea. It sounds rather too grand," she
+added, with a charming little laugh; "but there is something in it
+somewhere, if only I could express myself. Oh, look!"
+
+As she spoke a heavy storm-cloud rolled over the vanishing rim of the
+sun. For a moment the light struggled with the eclipsing cloud, turning
+its dull edge to the hue of copper, but the cloud was too strong and the
+light vanished, leaving the sea in darkness.
+
+"Well," he said, "your allegory would have a dismal end if you worked it
+out. It is getting as dark as pitch, and there's a good deal in _that_,
+if only _I_ could express myself."
+
+Beatrice dropped poetry, and came down to facts in a way that was very
+commendable.
+
+"There is a squall coming up, Mr. Bingham," she said; "you must paddle
+as hard as you can. I do not think we are more than two miles from
+Bryngelly, and if we are lucky we may get there before the weather
+breaks."
+
+"Yes, _if_ we are lucky," he said grimly, as he bent himself to the
+work. "But the question is where to paddle to--it's so dark. Had not we
+better run for the shore?"
+
+"We are in the middle of the bay now," she answered, "and almost as far
+from the nearest land as we are from Bryngelly, besides it is all rocks.
+No, you must go straight on. You will see the Poise light beyond Coed
+presently. You know Coed is four miles on the other side of Bryngelly,
+so when you see it head to the left."
+
+He obeyed her, and they neither of them spoke any more for some time.
+Indeed the rising wind made conversation difficult, and so far as
+Geoffrey was concerned he had little breath left to spare for words. He
+was a strong man, but the unaccustomed labour was beginning to tell on
+him, and his hands were blistering. For ten minutes or so he paddled on
+through a darkness which was now almost total, wondering where on earth
+he was wending, for it was quite impossible to see. For all he knew
+to the contrary, he might be circling round and round. He had only one
+thing to direct him, the sweep of the continually rising wind and the
+wash of the gathering waves. So long as these struck the canoe, which
+now began to roll ominously, on the starboard side, he must, he thought,
+be keeping a right course. But in the turmoil of the rising gale and the
+confusion of the night, this was no very satisfactory guide. At length,
+however, a broad and brilliant flash sprung out across the sea, almost
+straight ahead of him. It was the Poise light.
+
+He altered his course a little and paddled steadily on. And now the
+squall was breaking. Fortunately, it was not a very heavy one, or their
+frail craft must have sunk and they with it. But it was quite serious
+enough to put them in great danger. The canoe rose to the waves like a
+feather, but she was broadside on, and rise as she would they began to
+ship a little water. And they had not seen the worst of it. The weather
+was still thickening.
+
+Still he held on, though his heart sank within him, while Beatrice said
+nothing. Presently a big wave came; he could just see its white crest
+gleaming through the gloom, then it was on them. The canoe rose to it
+gallantly; it seemed to curl right over her, making the craft roll
+till Geoffrey thought that the end had come. But she rode it out, not,
+however, without shipping more than a bucket of water. Without saying
+a word, Beatrice took the cloth cap from her head and, leaning forward,
+began to bale as best she could, and that was not very well.
+
+"This will not do," he called. "I must keep her head to the sea or we
+shall be swamped."
+
+"Yes," she answered, "keep her head up. We are in great danger."
+
+He glanced to his right; another white sea was heaving down on him;
+he could just see its glittering crest. With all his force he dug the
+paddle into the water; the canoe answered to it; she came round just in
+time to ride out the wave with safety, but the paddle _snapped_. It was
+already sprung, and the weight he put upon it was more than it could
+bear. Right in two it broke, some nine inches above that blade which at
+the moment was buried in the water. He felt it go, and despair took hold
+of him.
+
+"Great heavens!" he cried, "the paddle is broken."
+
+Beatrice gasped.
+
+"You must use the other blade," she said; "paddle first one side and
+then on the other, and keep her head on."
+
+"Till we sink," he answered.
+
+"No, till we are saved--never talk of sinking."
+
+The girl's courage shamed him, and he obeyed her instructions as best he
+could. By dint of continually shifting what remained of the paddle from
+one side of the canoe to the other, he did manage to keep her head on to
+the waves that were now rolling in apace. But in their hearts they both
+wondered how long this would last.
+
+"Have you got any cartridges?" she asked presently.
+
+"Yes, in my coat pocket," he answered.
+
+"Give me two, if you can manage it," she said.
+
+In an interval between the coming of two seas he contrived to slip his
+hand into a pocket and transfer the cartridges. Apparently she knew
+something of the working of a gun, for presently there was a flash and a
+report, quickly followed by another.
+
+"Give me some more cartridges," she cried. He did so, but nothing
+followed.
+
+"It is no use," she said at length, "the cartridges are wet. I cannot
+get the empty cases out. But perhaps they may have seen or heard them.
+Old Edward is sure to be watching for me. You had better throw the rest
+into the sea if you can manage it," she added by way of an afterthought;
+"we may have to swim presently."
+
+To Geoffrey this seemed very probable, and whenever he got a chance he
+acted on the hint till at length he was rid of all his cartridges.
+Just then it began to rain in torrents. Though it was not warm the
+perspiration was streaming from him at every pore, and the rain beating
+on his face refreshed him somewhat; also with the rain the wind dropped
+a little.
+
+But he was becoming tired out and he knew it. Soon he would no longer be
+able to keep the canoe straight, and then they must be swamped, and in
+all human probability drowned. So this was to be the end of his life
+and its ambitions. Before another hour had run its course, he would be
+rolling to and fro in the arms of that angry sea. What would his wife
+Honoria say when she heard the news, he wondered? Perhaps it would shock
+her into some show of feeling. And Effie, his dear little six-year-old
+daughter? Well, thank God, she was too young to feel his loss for long.
+By the time that she was a woman she would almost have forgotten that
+she ever had a father. But how would she get on without him to guide
+her? Her mother did not love children, and a growing girl would
+continually remind her of her growing years. He could not tell; he could
+only hope for the best.
+
+And for himself! What would become of him after the short sharp struggle
+for life? Should he find endless sleep, or what? He was a Christian, and
+his life had not been worse than that of other men. Indeed, though he
+would have been the last to think it, he had some redeeming virtues. But
+now at the end the spiritual horizon was as dark as it had been at the
+beginning. There before him were the Gates of Death, but not yet would
+they roll aside and show the traveller what lay beyond their frowning
+face. How could he tell? Perhaps they would not open at all. Perhaps he
+now bade his last farewell to consciousness, to earth and sky and sea
+and love and all lovely things. Well, that might be better than some
+prospects. At that moment Geoffrey Bingham, in the last agony of doubt,
+would gladly have exchanged his hopes of life beyond for a certainty of
+eternal sleep. That faith which enables some of us to tread this awful
+way with an utter confidence is not a wide prerogative, and, as yet,
+at any rate, it was not his, though the time might come when he would
+attain it. There are not very many, even among those without reproach,
+who can lay them down in the arms of Death, knowing most certainly that
+when the veil is rent away the countenance that they shall see will
+be that of the blessed Guardian of Mankind. Alas! he could not be
+altogether sure, and where doubt exists, hope is but a pin-pricked
+bladder. He sighed heavily, murmured a little formula of prayer that had
+been on his lips most nights during thirty years--he had learnt it as
+a child at his mother's knee--and then, while the tempest roared around
+him, gathered up his strength to meet the end which seemed inevitable.
+At any rate he would die like a man.
+
+Then came a reaction. His vital forces rose again. He no longer felt
+fearful, he only wondered with a strange impersonal wonder, as a man
+wonders about the vital affairs of another. Then from wondering about
+himself he began to wonder about the girl who sat opposite to him. With
+the rain came a little lightning, and by the first flash he saw her
+clearly. Her beautiful face was set, and as she bent forward searching
+the darkness with her wide eyes, it wore, he thought, an almost defiant
+air.
+
+The canoe twisted round somewhat. He dug his broken paddle into the
+water and once more brought her head on to the sea. Then he spoke.
+
+"Are you afraid?" he asked of Beatrice.
+
+"No," she answered, "I am not afraid."
+
+"Do you know that we shall probably be drowned?"
+
+"Yes, I know it. They say the death is easy. I brought you here. Forgive
+me that. I should have tried to row you ashore as you said."
+
+"Never mind me; a man must meet his fate some day. Do not think of
+me. But I can't keep her head on much longer. You had better say your
+prayers."
+
+Beatrice bent forward till her head was quite near his own. The wind had
+blown some of her hair loose, and though he did not seem to notice it at
+the time, he remembered afterwards that a lock of it struck him on the
+face.
+
+"I cannot pray," she said; "I have nothing to pray to. I am not a
+Christian."
+
+The words struck him like a blow. It seemed so awful to think of
+this proud and brilliant woman, now balanced on the verge of what she
+believed to be utter annihilation. Even the courage that induced her at
+such a moment to confess her hopeless state seemed awful.
+
+"Try," he said with a gasp.
+
+"No," she answered, "I do not fear to die. Death cannot be worse than
+life is for most of us. I have not prayed for years, not since--well,
+never mind. I am not a coward. It would be cowardly to pray now because
+I may be wrong. If there is a God who knows all, He will understand
+that."
+
+Geoffrey said no more, but laboured at the broken paddle gallantly and
+with an ever-failing strength. The lightning had passed away and the
+darkness was very great, for the hurrying clouds hid the starlight.
+Presently a sound arose above the turmoil of the storm, a crashing
+thunderous sound towards which the send of the sea gradually bore them.
+The sound came from the waves that beat upon the Bryngelly reef.
+
+"Where are we drifting to?" he cried.
+
+"Into the breakers, where we shall be lost," she answered calmly. "Give
+up paddling, it is of no use, and try to take off your coat. I have
+loosened my skirt. Perhaps we can swim ashore."
+
+He thought to himself that in the dark and breakers such an event was
+not probable, but he said nothing, and addressed himself to the task
+of getting rid of his coat and waistcoat--no easy one in that confined
+space. Meanwhile the canoe was whirling round and round like a walnut
+shell upon a flooded gutter. For some distance before the waves broke
+upon the reef and rocks they swept in towards them with a steady
+foamless swell. On reaching the shallows, however, they pushed their
+white shoulders high into the air, curved up and fell in thunder on the
+reef.
+
+The canoe rode towards the breakers, sucked upon its course by a
+swelling sea.
+
+"Good-bye," called Geoffrey to Beatrice, as stretching out his wet hand
+he found her own and took it, for companionship makes death a little
+easier.
+
+"Good-bye," she cried, clinging to his hand. "Oh, why did I bring you
+into this?"
+
+For in their last extremity this woman thought rather of her companion
+in peril than of herself.
+
+One more turn, then suddenly the canoe beneath them was lifted like a
+straw and tossed high into the air. A mighty mass of water boiled up
+beneath it and around it. Then the foam rushed in, and vaguely Geoffrey
+knew that they were wrapped in the curve of a billow.
+
+A swift and mighty rush of water. Crash!--and his senses left him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE WATCHER AT THE DOOR
+
+This was what had happened. Just about the centre of the reef is a large
+flat-topped rock--it may be twenty feet in the square--known to the
+Bryngelly fishermen as Table Rock. In ordinary weather, even at high
+tide, the waters scarcely cover this rock, but when there is any sea
+they wash over it with great violence. On to this rock Geoffrey and
+Beatrice had been hurled by the breaker. Fortunately for them it was
+thickly overgrown with seaweed, which to some slight extent broke the
+violence of their fall. As it chanced, Geoffrey was knocked senseless by
+the shock; but Beatrice, whose hand he still held, fell on to him and,
+with the exception of a few bruises and a shake, escaped unhurt.
+
+She struggled to her knees, gasping. The water had run off the rock, and
+her companion lay quiet at her side. She put down her face and called
+into his ear, but no answer came, and then she knew that he was either
+dead or senseless.
+
+At this second Beatrice caught a glimpse of something white gleaming in
+the darkness. Instinctively she flung herself upon her face, gripping
+the long tough seaweed with one hand. The other she passed round the
+body of the helpless man beside her, straining him with all her strength
+against her side.
+
+Then came a wild long rush of foam. The water lifted her from the rock,
+but the seaweed held, and when at length the sea had gone boiling by,
+Beatrice found herself and the senseless form of Geoffrey once more
+lying side by side. She was half choked. Desperately she struggled up
+and round, looking shoreward through the darkness. Heavens! there, not
+a hundred yards away, a light shone upon the waters. It was a boat's
+light, for it moved up and down. She filled her lungs with air and sent
+one long cry for help ringing across the sea. A moment passed and she
+thought that she heard an answer, but because of the wind and the roar
+of the breakers she could not be sure. Then she turned and glanced
+seaward. Again the foaming terror was rushing down upon them; again she
+flung herself upon the rock and grasping the slippery seaweed twined her
+left arm about the helpless Geoffrey.
+
+It was on them.
+
+Oh, horror! Even in the turmoil of the boiling waters Beatrice felt the
+seaweed give. Now they were being swept along with the rushing wave, and
+Death drew very near. But still she clung to Geoffrey. Once more the air
+touched her face. She had risen to the surface and was floating on the
+stormy water. The wave had passed. Loosing her hold of Geoffrey she
+slipped her hand upwards, and as he began to sink clutched him by the
+hair. Then treading water with her feet, for happily for them both she
+was as good a swimmer as could be found upon that coast, she managed to
+open her eyes. There, not sixty yards away, was the boat's light. Oh, if
+only she could reach it. She spat the salt water from her mouth and once
+more cried aloud. The light seemed to move on.
+
+Then another wave rolled forward and once more she was pushed down into
+the cruel depths, for with that dead weight hanging to her she could
+not keep above them. It flashed into her mind that if she let him go she
+might even now save herself, but even in that last terror this Beatrice
+would not do. If he went, she would go with him.
+
+It would have been better if she had let him go.
+
+Down she went--down, down! "I will hold him," Beatrice said in her
+heart; "I will hold him till I die." Then came waves of light and a
+sound as of wind whispering through the trees, and--all grew dark.
+
+* * * * *
+
+"I tell yer it ain't no good, Eddard," shouted a man in the boat to
+an old sailor who was leaning forward in the bows peering into the
+darkness. "We shall be right on to the Table Rocks in a minute and all
+drown together. Put about, mate--put about."
+
+"Damn yer," screamed the old man, turning so that the light from the
+lantern fell on his furrowed, fiercely anxious face and long white hair
+streaming in the wind. "Damn yer, ye cowards. I tells yer I heard her
+voice--I heard it twice screaming for help. If you put the boat about,
+by Goad when I get ashore I'll kill yer, ye lubbers--old man as I am
+I'll kill yer, if I swing for it!"
+
+This determined sentiment produced a marked effect upon the boat's crew;
+there were eight of them altogether. They did not put the boat about,
+they only lay upon their oars and kept her head to the seas.
+
+The old man in the bow peered out into the gloom. He was shaking, not
+with cold but with agitation.
+
+Presently he turned his head with a yell.
+
+"Give way--give way! there's something on the wave."
+
+The men obeyed with a will.
+
+"Back," he roared again--"back water!"
+
+They backed, and the boat answered, but nothing was to be seen.
+
+"She's gone! Oh, Goad, she's gone!" groaned the old man. "You may put
+about now, lads, and the Lord's will be done."
+
+The light from the lantern fell in a little ring upon the seething
+water. Suddenly something white appeared in the centre of this
+illuminated ring. Edward stared at it. It was floating upwards. It
+vanished--it appeared again. It was a woman's face. With a yell he
+plunged his arms into the sea.
+
+"I have her--lend an hand, lads."
+
+Another man scrambled forward and together they clutched the object in
+the water.
+
+"Look out, don't pull so hard, you fool. Blow me if there ain't another
+and she's got him by the hair. So, _steady, steady!_"
+
+A long heave from strong arms and the senseless form of Beatrice was on
+the gunwale. Then they pulled up Geoffrey beside her, for they could not
+loose her desperate grip of his dark hair, and together rolled them into
+the boat.
+
+"They're dead, I doubt," said the second man.
+
+"Help turn 'em on their faces over the seat, so--let the water drain
+from their innards. It's the only chance. Now give me that sail to cover
+them--so. You'll live yet, Miss Beatrice, you ain't dead, I swear. Old
+Eddard has saved you, Old Eddard and the good Goad together!"
+
+Meanwhile the boat had been got round, and the men were rowing for
+Bryngelly as warm-hearted sailors will when life is at stake. They all
+knew Beatrice and loved her, and they remembered it as they rowed. The
+gloom was little hindrance to them for they could almost have navigated
+the coast blindfold. Besides here they were sheltered by the reef and
+shore.
+
+In five minutes they were round a little headland, and the lights of
+Bryngelly were close before them. On the beach people were moving about
+with lanterns.
+
+Presently they were there, hanging on their oars for a favourable wave
+to beach with. At last it came, and they gave way together, running the
+large boat half out of the surf. A dozen men plunged into the water and
+dragged her on. They were safe ashore.
+
+"Have you got Miss Beatrice?" shouted a voice.
+
+"Ay, we've got her and another too, but I doubt they're gone. Where's
+doctor?"
+
+"Here, here!" answered a voice. "Bring the stretchers."
+
+A stout thick-set man, who had been listening, wrapped up in a dark
+cloak, turned his face away and uttered a groan. Then he followed the
+others as they went to work, not offering to help, but merely following.
+
+The stretchers were brought and the two bodies laid upon them, face
+downwards and covered over.
+
+"Where to?" said the bearers as they seized the poles.
+
+"The Vicarage," answered the doctor. "I told them to get things ready
+there in case they should find her. Run forward one of you and say that
+we are coming."
+
+The men started at a trot and the crowd ran after them.
+
+"Who is the other?" somebody asked.
+
+"Mr. Bingham--the tall lawyer who came down from London the other day.
+Tell policeman--run to his wife. She's at Mrs. Jones's, and thinks he
+has lost his way in the fog coming home from Bell Rock."
+
+The policeman departed on his melancholy errand and the procession moved
+swiftly across the sandy beach and up the stone-paved way by which boats
+were dragged down the cliff to the sea. The village of Bryngelly lay to
+the right. It had grown away from the church, which stood dangerously
+near the edge of the cliff. On the further side of the church, and a
+little behind it, partly sheltered from the sea gales by a group of
+stunted firs, was the Vicarage, a low single-storied stone-roofed
+building, tenanted for twenty-five years past and more by Beatrice's
+father, the Rev. Joseph Granger. The best approach to it from the
+Bryngelly side was by the churchyard, through which the men with the
+stretchers were now winding, followed by the crowd of sightseers.
+
+"Might as well leave them here at once," said one of the bearers to the
+other in Welsh. "I doubt they are both dead enough."
+
+The person addressed assented, and the thick-set man wrapped in a dark
+cloak, who was striding along by Beatrice's stretcher, groaned again.
+Clearly, he understood the Welsh tongue. A few seconds more and they
+were passing through the stunted firs up to the Vicarage door. In the
+doorway stood a group of people. The light from a lamp in the hall
+struck upon them, throwing them into strong relief. Foremost, holding
+a lantern in his hand, was a man of about sixty, with snow-white hair
+which fell in confusion over his rugged forehead. He was of middle
+height and carried himself with something of a stoop. The eyes were
+small and shifting, and the mouth hard. He wore short whiskers which,
+together with the eyebrows, were still tinged with yellow. The face was
+ruddy and healthy looking, indeed, had it not been for the dirty white
+tie and shabby black coat, one would have taken him to be what he was in
+heart, a farmer of the harder sort, somewhat weather-beaten and anxious
+about the times--a man who would take advantage of every drop in the
+rate of wages. In fact he was Beatrice's father, and a clergyman.
+
+By his side, and leaning over him, was Elizabeth, her elder sister.
+There was five years between them. She was a poor copy of Beatrice, or,
+to be more accurate, Beatrice was a grand development of Elizabeth. They
+both had brown hair, but Elizabeth's was straighter and faint-coloured,
+not rich and ruddying into gold. Elizabeth's eyes were also grey, but
+it was a cold washed-out grey like that of a February sky. And so with
+feature after feature, and with the expression also. Beatrice's was
+noble and open, if at times defiant. Looking at her you knew that she
+might be a mistaken woman, or a headstrong woman, or both, but she
+could never be a mean woman. Whichever of the ten commandments she might
+choose to break, it would not be that which forbids us to bear false
+witness against our neighbour. Anybody might read it in her eyes. But in
+her sister's, he might discern her father's shifty hardness watered by
+woman's weaker will into something like cunning. For the rest Elizabeth
+had a very fair figure, but lacked her sister's rounded loveliness,
+though the two were so curiously alike that at a distance you might well
+mistake the one for the other. One might almost fancy that nature had
+experimented upon Elizabeth before she made up her mind to produce
+Beatrice, just to get the lines and distances. The elder sister was
+to the other what the pale unfinished model of clay is to the polished
+statue in ivory and gold.
+
+"Oh, my God! my God!" groaned the old man; "look, they have got them
+on the stretchers. They are both dead. Oh, Beatrice! Beatrice! and only
+this morning I spoke harshly to her."
+
+"Don't be so foolish, father," said Elizabeth sharply. "They may only be
+insensible."
+
+"Ah, ah," he answered; "it does not matter to you, _you_ don't care
+about your sister. You are jealous of her. But I love her, though we do
+not understand each other. Here they come. Don't stand staring there. Go
+and see that the blankets and things are hot. Stop, doctor, tell me, is
+she dead?"
+
+"How can I tell till I have seen her?" the doctor answered, roughly
+shaking him off, and passing through the door.
+
+Bryngelly Vicarage was a very simply constructed house. On entering the
+visitor found himself in a passage with doors to the right and left.
+That to the right led to the sitting-room, that to the left to the
+dining-room, both of them long, low and narrow chambers. Following the
+passage down for some seven paces, it terminated in another which ran
+at right angles to it for the entire length of the house. On the further
+side of this passage were several bedroom doors and a room at each end.
+That at the end to the right was occupied by Beatrice and her sister,
+the next was empty, the third was Mr. Granger's, and the fourth the
+spare room. This, with the exception of the kitchens and servants'
+sleeping place, which were beyond the dining-room, made up the house.
+
+Fires had been lit in both of the principal rooms. Geoffrey was taken
+into the dining-room and attended by the doctor's assistant, and
+Beatrice into the sitting-room, and attended by the doctor himself. In
+a few seconds the place had been cleared of all except the helpers, and
+the work began. The doctor looked at Beatrice's cold shrunken form, and
+at the foam upon her lips. He lifted the eyelid, and held a light before
+the contracted pupil. Then he shook his head and set to work with a
+will. We need not follow him through the course of his dreadful labours,
+with which most people will have some acquaintance. Hopeless as they
+seemed, he continued them for hour after hour.
+
+Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service
+for Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man,
+occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how
+things were getting on. Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water the
+longer, his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed he
+was already insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard
+to drown. It is your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is
+soonest made an end of in deep waters. Therefore it came to pass that
+when the scrubbing with hot cloths and the artificial respiration had
+gone on for somewhere about twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked
+a finger. The doctor's assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the
+hospitals, gave a yell of exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away with
+ever-increasing energy. Presently the subject coughed, and a minute
+later, as the agony of returning life made itself felt, he swore most
+heartily.
+
+"He's all right now!" called the assistant to his employer. "He's
+swearing beautifully."
+
+Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the
+other room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the
+treatment, which he did with much vigour.
+
+Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments. The
+first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was standing
+over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half horrified air.
+Vaguely he wondered who it might be. The tall form and cold handsome
+face were so familiar to him, and yet he could not recall the name.
+It was not till she spoke that his numbed brain realized that he was
+looking on his own wife.
+
+"Well, dear," she said, "I am so glad that you are better. You
+frightened me out of my wits. I thought you were drowned."
+
+"Thank you, Honoria," he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh
+attack of tingling pain shook him through and through.
+
+"I hope nobody said anything to Effie," Geoffrey said presently.
+
+"Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and when
+the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were drowned,
+and she has been almost in a fit ever since. They had to hold her to
+prevent her from running here."
+
+Geoffrey's white face assumed an air of the deepest distress. "How could
+you frighten the child so?" he murmured. "Please go and tell her that I
+am all right."
+
+"It was not my fault," said Lady Honoria with a shrug of her shapely
+shoulders. "Besides, I can do nothing with Effie. She goes on like a
+wild thing about you."
+
+"Please go and tell her, Honoria," said her husband.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'll go," she answered. "Really I shall not be sorry to get
+out of this; I begin to feel as though I had been drowned myself;" and
+she looked at the steaming cloths and shuddered. "Good-bye, Geoffrey. It
+is an immense relief to find you all right. The policeman made me feel
+quite queer. I can't get down to give you a kiss or I would. Well,
+good-bye for the present, my dear."
+
+"Good-bye, Honoria," said her husband with a faint smile.
+
+The medical assistant looked a little surprised. He had never, it is
+true, happened to be present at a meeting between husband and wife, when
+one of the pair had just been rescued by a hair's-breadth from a violent
+and sudden death, and therefore wanted experience to go on. But it
+struck him that there was something missing. The lady did not seem to
+him quite to fill the part of the Heaven-thanking spouse. It puzzled
+him very much. Perhaps he showed this in his face. At any rate, Lady
+Honoria, who was quick enough, read something there.
+
+"He is safe now, is he not?" she asked. "It will not matter if I go
+away."
+
+"No, my lady," answered the assistant, "he is out of danger, I think; it
+will not matter at all."
+
+Lady Honoria hesitated a little; she was standing in the passage.
+Then she glanced through the door into the opposite room, and caught a
+glimpse of Beatrice's rigid form and of the doctor bending over it. Her
+head was thrown back and the beautiful brown hair, which was now almost
+dry again, streamed in masses to the ground, while on her face was
+stamped the terrifying seal of Death.
+
+Lady Honoria shuddered. She could not bear such sights. "Will it be
+necessary for me to come back to-night?" she said.
+
+"I do not think so," he answered, "unless you care to hear whether Miss
+Granger recovers?"
+
+"I shall hear that in the morning," she said. "Poor thing, I cannot help
+her."
+
+"No, Lady Honoria, you cannot help her. She saved your husband's life,
+they say."
+
+"She must be a brave girl. Will she recover?"
+
+The assistant shook his head. "She may, possibly. It is not likely now."
+
+"Poor thing, and so young and beautiful! What a lovely face, and what
+an arm! It is very awful for her," and Lady Honoria shuddered again and
+went.
+
+Outside the door a small knot of sympathisers was still gathered,
+notwithstanding the late hour and the badness of the weather.
+
+"That's his wife," said one, and they opened to let her pass.
+
+"Then why don't she stop with him?" asked a woman audibly. "If it had
+been my husband I'd have sat and hugged him for an hour."
+
+"Ay, you'd have killed him with your hugging, you would," somebody
+answered.
+
+Lady Honoria passed on. Suddenly a thick-set man emerged from the shadow
+of the pines. She could not see his face, but he was wrapped in a large
+cloak.
+
+"Forgive me," he said in the hoarse voice of one struggling with
+emotions which he was unable to conceal, "but you can tell me. Does she
+still live?"
+
+"Do you mean Miss Granger?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, of course. Beatrice--Miss Granger?"
+
+"They do not know, but they think----"
+
+"Yes, yes--they think----"
+
+"That she is dead."
+
+The man said never a word. He dropped his head upon his breast and,
+turning, vanished again into the shadow of the pines.
+
+"How very odd," thought Lady Honoria as she walked rapidly along the
+cliff towards her lodging. "I suppose that man must be in love with her.
+Well, I do not wonder at it. I never saw such a face and arm. What a
+picture that scene in the room would make! She saved Geoffrey and now
+she's dead. If he had saved her I should not have wondered. It is like a
+scene in a novel."
+
+From all of which it will be seen that Lady Honoria was not wanting in
+certain romantic and artistical perceptions.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ELIZABETH IS THANKFUL
+
+Geoffrey, lying before the fire, newly hatched from death, had caught
+some of the conversation between his wife and the assistant who had
+recovered him to life. So she was gone, that brave, beautiful atheist
+girl--gone to test the truth. And she had saved his life!
+
+For some minutes the assistant did not enter. He was helping in another
+room. At last he came.
+
+"What did you say to Lady Honoria?" Geoffrey asked feebly. "Did you say
+that Miss Granger had saved me?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham; at least they tell me so. At any rate, when they
+pulled her out of the water they pulled you after her. She had hold of
+your hair."
+
+"Great heavens!" he groaned, "and my weight must have dragged her down.
+Is she dead, then?"
+
+"We cannot quite say yet, not for certain. We think that she is."
+
+"Pray God she is not dead," he said more to himself than to the other.
+Then aloud--"Leave me; I am all right. Go and help with her. But stop,
+come and tell me sometimes how it goes with her."
+
+"Very well. I will send a woman to watch you," and he went.
+
+Meanwhile in the other room the treatment of the drowned went slowly on.
+Two hours had passed, and as yet Beatrice showed no signs of recovery.
+The heart did not beat, no pulse stirred; but, as the doctor knew, life
+might still linger in the tissues. Slowly, very slowly, the body was
+turned to and fro, the head swaying, and the long hair falling now this
+way and now that, but still no sign. Every resource known to medical
+skill, such as hot air, rubbing, artificial respiration, electricity,
+was applied and applied in vain, but still no sign!
+
+Elizabeth, pale and pinched, stood by handing what might be required.
+She did not greatly love her sister, they were antagonistic and their
+interests clashed, or she thought they did, but this sudden death was
+awful. In a corner, pitiful to see, offering groans and ejaculated
+prayers to heaven, sat the old clergymen, their father, his white hair
+about his eyes. He was a weak, coarse-grained man, but in his own way
+his clever and beautiful girl was dear to him, and this sight wrung his
+soul as it had not been wrung for years.
+
+"She's gone," he said continually, "she's gone; the Lord's will be done.
+There must be another mistress at the school now. Seventy pounds a year
+she will cost--seventy pounds a year!"
+
+"Do be quiet, father," said Elizabeth sharply.
+
+"Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet. You are quiet
+because you don't care. You never loved your sister. But I have loved
+her since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor
+mother. 'Beatrice' was the last word she spoke."
+
+"Be quiet, father!" said Elizabeth, still more sharply. The old man,
+making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and
+fro upon his chair.
+
+Meanwhile without intermission the work went on.
+
+"It is no use," said the assistant at last, as he straightened his weary
+frame and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "She must be dead; we
+have been at it nearly three hours now."
+
+"Patience," said the doctor. "If necessary I shall go on for four--or
+till I drop," he added.
+
+Ten minutes more passed. Everybody knew that the task was hopeless, but
+still they hoped.
+
+"Great Heavens!" said the assistant presently, starting back from the
+body and pointing at its face. "Did you see that?"
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger sprang to their feet, crying, "What, what?"
+
+"Sit still, sir," said the doctor, waving them back. Then addressing his
+helper, and speaking in a constrained voice: "I thought I saw the right
+eyelid quiver, Williams. Pass the battery."
+
+"So did I," answered Williams as he obeyed.
+
+"Full power," said the doctor again. "It is kill or cure now."
+
+The shock was applied for some seconds without result. Then suddenly a
+long shudder ran up the limbs, and a hand stirred. Next moment the eyes
+were opened, and with pain and agony Beatrice drew a first breath of
+returning life. Ten minutes more and she had passed through the gates of
+Death back to this warm and living world.
+
+"Let me die," she gasped faintly. "I cannot bear it. Oh, let me die!"
+
+"Hush," said the doctor; "you will be better presently."
+
+Ten minutes more passed, when the doctor saw by her eyes that Beatrice
+wished to say something. He bent his head till it nearly touched her
+lips.
+
+"Dr. Chambers," she whispered, "was he drowned?"
+
+"No, he is safe; he has been brought round."
+
+She sighed--a long-drawn sigh, half of pain, half of relief. Then she
+spoke again.
+
+"Was he washed ashore?"
+
+"No, no. You saved his life. You had hold of him when they pulled you
+out. Now drink this and go to sleep."
+
+Beatrice smiled sweetly, but said nothing. Then she drank as much of the
+draught as she could, and shortly afterwards obeyed the last injunction
+also, and went to sleep.
+
+Meanwhile a rumour of this wonderful recovery had escaped to without the
+house--passing from one watcher to the other till at length it reached
+the ears of the solitary man crouched in the shadow of the pines. He
+heard, and starting as though he had been shot, strode to the door of
+the Vicarage. Here his courage seemed to desert him, for he hesitated.
+
+"Knock, squire, knock, and ask if it is true," said a woman, the same
+who had declared that she would have hugged her husband back to life.
+
+This remark seemed to encourage the man, at any rate he did knock.
+Presently the door was opened by Elizabeth.
+
+"Go away," she said in her sharp voice; "the house must be kept quiet."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," said the visitor, in a tone of deep
+humiliation. "I only wanted to know if it was true that Miss Beatrice
+lives."
+
+"Why," said Elizabeth with a start, "is it you, Mr. Davies? I am sure I
+had no idea. Step into the passage and I will shut the door. There! How
+long have you been outside?"
+
+"Oh, since they brought them up. But is it true?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is true. She will recover now. And you have stood all this
+time in the wet night. I am sure that Beatrice ought to be flattered."
+
+"Not at all. It seemed so awful, and--I--I take such an interest----"
+and he broke off.
+
+"Such an interest in Beatrice," said Elizabeth drily, supplying the
+hiatus. "Yes, so it seems," and suddenly, as though by chance, she moved
+the candle which she held, in such fashion that the light fell full
+upon Owen Davies' face. It was a slow heavy countenance, but not without
+comeliness. The skin was fresh as a child's, the eyes were large, blue,
+and mild, and the brown hair grew in waves that many a woman might have
+envied. Indeed had it not been for a short but strongly growing beard,
+it would have been easy to believe that the countenance was that of a
+boy of nineteen rather than of a man over thirty. Neither time nor care
+had drawn a single line upon it; it told of perfect and robust health
+and yet bore the bloom of childhood. It was the face of a man who might
+live to a hundred and still look young, nor did the form belie it.
+
+Mr. Davies blushed up to his eyes, blushed like a girl beneath
+Elizabeth's scrutiny. "Naturally I take an interest in a neighbour's
+fate," he said, in his slow deliberate way. "She is quite safe, then?"
+
+"I believe so," answered Elizabeth.
+
+"Thank God!" he said, or rather it seemed to break from him in a sigh of
+relief. "How did the gentleman, Mr. Bingham, come to be found with her?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered with a shrug. "Beatrice saved his life
+somehow, clung fast to him even after she was insensible."
+
+"It is very wonderful. I never heard of such a thing. What is he like?"
+
+"He is one of the finest-looking men I ever saw," answered Elizabeth,
+always watching him.
+
+"Ah. But he is married, I think, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he is married to the daughter of a peer, very much
+married--and very little, I should say."
+
+"I do not quite understand, Miss Granger."
+
+"Don't you, Mr. Davies? then use your eyes when you see them together."
+
+"I should not see anything. I am not quick like you," he added.
+
+"How do you mean to get back to the Castle to-night, Mr. Davies? You
+cannot row back in this wind, and the seas will be breaking over the
+causeway."
+
+"Oh, I shall manage. I am wet already. An extra ducking won't hurt me,
+and I have had a chain put up to prevent anybody from being washed away.
+And now I must be going. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Davies."
+
+He hesitated a moment and then added: "Would you--would you mind telling
+your sister--of course I mean when she is stronger--that I came to
+inquire after her?"
+
+"I think that you can do that for yourself, Mr. Davies," Elizabeth said
+almost roughly. "I mean it will be more appreciated," and she turned
+upon her heel.
+
+Owen Davies ventured no further remarks. He felt that Elizabeth's manner
+was a little crushing, and he was afraid of her as well. "I suppose that
+she does not think I am good enough to pay attention to her sister," he
+thought to himself as he plunged into the night and rain. "Well, she is
+quite right--I am not fit to black her boots. Oh, God, I thank Thee
+that Thou hast saved her life. I thank Thee--I thank Thee!" he went on,
+speaking aloud to the wild winds as he made his way along the cliff. "If
+she had been dead, I think that I must have died too. Oh, God, I thank
+Thee--I thank Thee!"
+
+The idea that Owen Davies, Esq., J.P., D.L., of Bryngelly Castle,
+absolute owner of that rising little watering-place, and of one of
+the largest and most prosperous slate quarries in Wales, worth in all
+somewhere between seven and ten thousand a year, was unfit to black
+her beautiful sister's boots, was not an idea that had struck Elizabeth
+Granger. Had it struck her, indeed, it would have moved her to laughter,
+for Elizabeth had a practical mind.
+
+What did strike her, as she turned and watched the rich squire's sturdy
+form vanish through the doorway into the dark beyond, was a certain
+sense of wonder. Supposing she had never seen that shiver of returning
+life run up those white limbs, supposing that they had grown colder
+and colder, till at length it was evident that death was so firmly
+citadelled within the silent heart, that no human skill could beat his
+empire back? What then? Owen Davies loved her sister; this she knew and
+had known for years. But would he not have got over it in time? Would
+he not in time have been overpowered by the sense of his own utter
+loneliness and given his hand, if not his heart, to some other woman?
+And could not she who held his hand learn to reach his heart? And to
+whom would that hand have been given, the hand and all that went
+with it? What woman would this shy Welsh hermit, without friends or
+relations, have ever been thrown in with except herself--Elizabeth--who
+loved him as much as she could love anybody, which, perhaps, was not
+very much; who, at any rate, desired sorely to be his wife. Would not
+all this have come about if she had never seen that eyelid tremble,
+and that slight quiver run up her sister's limbs? It would--she knew it
+would.
+
+Elizabeth thought of it as for a moment she stood in the passage, and a
+cold hungry light came into her neutral tinted eyes and shone upon her
+pale face. But she choked back the thought; she was scarcely wicked
+enough to wish that her sister had not been brought back to life. She
+only speculated on what might have happened if this had come about, just
+as one works out a game of chess from a given hypothetical situation of
+the pieces.
+
+Perhaps, too, the same end might be gained in some other way. Perhaps
+Mr. Davies might still be weaned from his infatuation. The wall was
+difficult, but it would have to be very difficult if she could not find
+a way to climb it. It never occurred to Elizabeth that there might be
+an open gate. She could not conceive it possible that a woman might
+positively reject Owen Davies and his seven or ten thousand a year, and
+that woman a person in an unsatisfactory and uncongenial, almost in
+a menial position. Reject Bryngelly Castle with all its luxury and
+opportunities of wealth and leisure? No, the sun would set in the east
+before such a thing happened. The plan was to prevent the occasion from
+arising. The hungry light died on Elizabeth's face, and she turned to
+enter the sick room when suddenly she met her father coming out.
+
+"Who was that at the front?" he asked, carefully closing the door.
+
+"Mr. Davies of Bryngelly Castle, father."
+
+"And what did Mr. Davies want at this time of night? To know about
+Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes," she answered slowly, "he came to ask after Beatrice, or to be
+more correct he has been waiting outside for three hours in the rain to
+learn if she recovered."
+
+"Waiting outside for three hours in the rain," said the clergyman
+astonished--"Squire Davies standing outside the house! What for?"
+
+"Because he was so anxious about Beatrice and did not like to come in, I
+suppose."
+
+"So anxious about Beatrice--ah, so anxious about Beatrice! Do you
+think, Elizabeth--um--you know there is no doubt Beatrice is very well
+favoured--very handsome they say----"
+
+"I do not think anything about it, father," she answered, "and as for
+Beatrice's looks they are a matter of opinion. I have mine. And now
+don't you think we had better go to bed? The doctors and Betty are going
+to stop up all night with Mr. Bingham and Beatrice."
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, I suppose that we had better go. I am sure we have much
+to be thankful for to-night. What a merciful deliverance! And if poor
+Beatrice had gone the parish must have found another schoolmistress, and
+it would have meant that we lost the salary. We have a great deal to be
+thankful for, Elizabeth."
+
+"Yes," said Elizabeth, very deliberately, "we have."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+OWEN DAVIES AT HOME
+
+Owen Davies tramped along the cliff with a light heart. The wild lashing
+of the rain and the roaring of the wind did not disturb him in the
+least. They were disagreeable, but he accepted them as he accepted
+existence and all its vanities, without remark or mental comment. There
+is a class of mind of which this is the prevailing attitude. Very
+early in their span of life, those endowed with such a mind come to the
+conclusion that the world is too much for them. They cannot understand
+it, so they abandon the attempt, and, as a consequence, in their own
+torpid way they are among the happiest and most contented of men.
+Problems, on which persons of keener intelligence and more aspiring soul
+fret and foam their lives away as rushing water round a rock, do not
+even break the placid surface of their days. Such men slip past them.
+They look out upon the stars and read of the mystery of the universe
+speeding on for ever through the limitless wastes of space, and are not
+astonished. In their childhood they were taught that God made the sun
+and the stars to give light on the earth; that is enough for them. And
+so it is with everything. Poverty and suffering; war, pestilence, and
+the inequalities of fate; madness, life and death, and the spiritual
+wonders that hedge in our being, are things not to be inquired into but
+accepted. So they accept them as they do their dinner or a tradesman's
+circular.
+
+In some cases this mental state has its root in deep and simple
+religious convictions, and in some it springs from a preponderance
+of healthful animal instincts over the higher but more troublesome
+spiritual parts. The ox chewing the cud in the fresh meadow does not
+muse upon the past and future, and the gull blown like a foam-flake out
+against the sunset, does not know the splendour of the sky and sea.
+Even the savage is not much troubled about the scheme of things. In the
+beginning he was "torn out of the reeds," and in the end he melts into
+the Unknown, and for the rest, there are beef and wives, and foes to
+conquer. But then oxen and gulls are not, so far as we know, troubled
+with any spiritual parts at all, and in the noble savage such things are
+not cultivated. They come with civilization.
+
+But perhaps in the majority this condition, so necessary to the more
+placid forms of happiness, is born of a conjunction of physical and
+religious developments. So it was, at least, with the rich and fortunate
+man whom we have seen trudging along the wind-swept cliff. By nature and
+education he was of a strongly and simply religious mind, as he was in
+body powerful, placid, and healthy to an exasperating degree. It may be
+said that it is easy to be religious and placid on ten thousand a year,
+but Owen Davies had not always enjoyed ten thousand a year and one of
+the most romantic and beautiful seats in Wales. From the time he was
+seventeen, when his mother's death left him an orphan, till he reached
+the age of thirty, some six years from the date of the opening of this
+history, he led about as hard a life as fate could find for any man.
+Some people may have heard of sugar drogers, or sailing brigs, which
+trade between this country and the West Indies, carrying coal outwards
+and sugar home.
+
+On board one of these, Owen Davies worked in various capacities for
+thirteen long years. He did his drudgery well; but he made no friends,
+and always remained the same shy, silent, and pious man. Then suddenly
+a relation died without a will, and he found himself heir-in-law to
+Bryngelly Castle and all its revenues. Owen expressed no surprise, and
+to all appearance felt none. He had never seen his relation, and never
+dreamed of this romantic devolution of great estates upon himself.
+But he accepted the good fortune as he had accepted the ill, and said
+nothing. The only people who knew him were his shipmates, and they could
+scarcely be held to know him. They were acquainted with his appearance
+and the sound of his voice, and his method of doing his duty. Also, they
+were aware, although he never spoke of religion, that he read a chapter
+of the Bible every evening, and went to church whenever they touched at
+a port. But of his internal self they were in total ignorance. This
+did not, however, prevent them from prophesying that Davies was a "deep
+one," who, now that he had got the cash, would "blue it" in a way which
+would astonish them.
+
+But Davies did not "excel in azure feats." The news of his good
+fortune reached him just as the brig, on which he was going to sail as
+first-mate, was taking in her cargo for the West Indies. He had signed
+his contract for the voyage, and, to the utter astonishment of the
+lawyer who managed the estates, he announced that he should carry it
+out. In vain did the man of affairs point out to his client that with
+the help of a cheque of L100 he could arrange the matter for him in
+ten minutes. Mr. Davies merely replied that the property could wait,
+he should go the voyage and retire afterwards. The lawyer held up his
+hands, and then suddenly remembered that there are women in the West
+Indies as in other parts of the world. Doubtless his queer client had an
+object in this voyage. As a matter of fact, he was totally wrong. Owen
+Davies had never interchanged a tender word with a woman in his life; he
+was a creature of routine, and it was part of his routine to carry out
+his agreements to the letter. That was all.
+
+As a last resource, the lawyer suggested that Mr. Davies should make a
+will.
+
+"I do not think it necessary," was the slow and measured answer. "The
+property has come to me by chance. If I die, it may as well go to
+somebody else in the same way."
+
+The lawyer stared. "Very well," he said; "it is against my advice, but
+you must please yourself. Do you want any money?"
+
+Owen thought for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I think I should like
+to have ten pounds. They are building a theatre there, and I want to
+subscribe to it."
+
+The lawyer gave him the ten pounds without a word; he was struck
+speechless, and in this condition he remained for some minutes after
+the door had closed behind his client. Then he sprung up with a single
+ejaculation, "Mad, mad! like his great uncle!"
+
+But Owen Davies was not in the least mad, at any rate not then; he was
+only a creature of habit. In due course, his agreement fulfilled, he
+sailed his brig home from the West Indies (for the captain was drowned
+in a gale). Then he took a second-class ticket to Bryngelly, where he
+had never been in his life before, and asked his way to the Castle. He
+was told to go to the beach, and he would see it. He did so, leaving his
+sea-chest behind him, and there, about two hundred paces from the land,
+and built upon a solitary mountain of rock, measuring half a mile or
+so round the base, he perceived a vast mediaeval pile of fortified
+buildings, with turrets towering three hundred feet into the air, and
+edged with fire by the setting sun. He gazed on it with perplexity.
+Could it be that this enormous island fortress belonged to him, and, if
+so, how on earth did one get to it? For some little time he walked
+up and down, wondering, too shy to go to the village for information.
+Meanwhile, though he did not notice her, a well-grown girl of about
+fifteen, remarkable for her great grey eyes and the promise of her
+beauty, was watching his evident perplexity from a seat beneath a rock,
+not without amusement. At last she rose, and, with the confidence of
+bold fifteen, walked straight up to him.
+
+"Do you want to get the Castle, sir?" she asked in a low sweet voice,
+the echoes of which Owen Davies never forgot.
+
+"Yes--oh, I beg your pardon," for now for the first time he saw that he
+was talking to a young lady.
+
+"Then I am afraid that you are too late--Mrs. Thomas will not show
+people over after four o'clock. She is the housekeeper, you know."
+
+"Ah, well, the fact is I did not come to see over the place. I came to
+live there. I am Owen Davies, and the place was left to me."
+
+Beatrice, for of course it was she, stared at him in amazement. So this
+was the mysterious sailor about whom there had been so much talk in
+Bryngelly.
+
+"Oh!" she said, with embarrassing frankness. "What an odd way to come
+home. Well, it is high tide, and you will have to take a boat. I will
+show you where you can get one. Old Edward will row you across for
+sixpence," and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where old
+Edward sat, from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his biggest
+boat, seeking those whom he might row.
+
+"Edward," said the young lady, "here is the new squire, Mr. Owen Davies,
+who wants to be rowed across to the Castle." Edward, a gnarled and
+twisted specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face that
+reminded the observer of one of those quaint countenances on the handle
+of a walking stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then cast a look
+of suspicion on the visitor.
+
+"Have he got papers of identification about him, miss?" he asked in a
+stage whisper.
+
+"I don't know," she answered laughing. "He says that he is Mr. Owen
+Davies."
+
+"Well, praps he is and praps he ain't; anyway, it isn't my affair, and
+sixpence is sixpence."
+
+All of this the unfortunate Mr. Davies overheard, and it did not add to
+his equanimity.
+
+"Now, sir, if you please," said Edward sternly, as he pulled the little
+boat up to the edge of the breakwater. A vision of Mrs. Thomas shot into
+Owen's mind. If the boatman did not believe in him, what chance had he
+with the housekeeper? He wished he had brought the lawyer down with him,
+and then he wished that he was back in the sugar brig.
+
+"Now, sir," said Edward still more sternly, putting down his hesitation
+to an impostor's consciousness of guilt.
+
+"Um!" said Owen to the young lady, "I beg your pardon. I don't even know
+your name, and I am sure I have no right to ask it, but would you mind
+rowing across with me? It would be so kind of you; you might introduce
+me to the housekeeper."
+
+Again Beatrice laughed the merry laugh of girlhood; she was too young to
+be conscious of any impropriety in the situation, and indeed there was
+none. But her sense of humour told her that it was funny, and she became
+possessed with a not unnatural curiosity to see the thing out.
+
+"Oh, very well," she said, "I will come."
+
+The boat was pushed off and very soon they reached the stone quay that
+bordered the harbour of the Castle, about which a little village of
+retainers had grown up. Seeing the boat arrive, some of these people
+sauntered out of the cottages, and then, thinking that a visitor had
+come, under the guidance of Miss Beatrice, to look at the antiquities
+of the Castle, which was the show place of the neighbourhood, sauntered
+back again. Then the pair began the zigzag ascent of the rock mountain,
+till at last they stood beneath the mighty mass of building, which,
+although it was hoary with antiquity, was by no means lacking in the
+comforts of modern civilization, the water, for instance, being brought
+in pipes laid beneath the sea from a mountain top two miles away on the
+mainland.
+
+"Isn't there a view here?" said Beatrice, pointing to the vast stretch
+of land and sea. "I think, Mr. Davies, that you have the most beautiful
+house in the whole world. Your great-uncle, who died a year ago, spent
+more than fifty thousand pounds on repairing and refurbishing it, they
+say. He built the big drawing-room there, where the stone is a little
+lighter; it is fifty-five feet long. Just think, fifty thousand pounds!"
+
+"It is a large sum," said Owen, in an unimaginative sort of way, while
+in his heart he wondered what on earth he should do with this white
+elephant of a mediaeval castle, and its drawing room fifty-five feet
+long.
+
+"He does not seem much impressed," thought Beatrice to herself, as she
+tugged away at the postern bell; "I think he must be stupid. He looks
+stupid."
+
+Presently the door was opened by an active-looking little old woman with
+a high voice.
+
+"Mrs. Thomas," thought Owen to himself; "she is even worse than I
+expected."
+
+"Now you must please to go away," began the formidable housekeeper in
+her shrillest key; "it is too late to show visitors over. Why, bless us,
+it's you, Miss Beatrice, with a strange man! What do you want?"
+
+Beatrice looked at her companion as a hint that he should explain
+himself, but he said nothing.
+
+"This is your new squire," she said, not without a certain pride. "I
+found him wandering about the beach. He did not know how to get here, so
+I brought him over."
+
+"Lord, Miss Beatrice, and how do you know it's him?" said Mrs. Thomas.
+"How do you know it ain't a housebreaker?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure he cannot be," answered Beatrice aside, "because he isn't
+clever enough."
+
+Then followed a long discussion. Mrs. Thomas stoutly refused to admit
+the stranger without evidence of identity, and Beatrice, embracing his
+cause, as stoutly pressed his claims. As for the lawful owner, he made
+occasional feeble attempts to prove that he was himself, but Mrs. Thomas
+was not to be imposed upon in this way. At last they came to a dead
+lock.
+
+"Y'd better go back to the inn, sir," said Mrs. Thomas with scathing
+sarcasm, "and come up to-morrow with proofs and your luggage."
+
+"Haven't you got any letters with you?" suggested Beatrice as a last
+resource.
+
+As it happened Owen had a letter, one from the lawyer to himself about
+the property, and mentioning Mrs. Thomas's name as being in charge
+of the Castle. He had forgotten all about it, but at this interesting
+juncture it was produced and read aloud by Beatrice. Mrs. Thomas took
+it, and having examined it carefully through her horn-rimmed spectacles,
+was constrained to admit its authenticity.
+
+"I'm sure I apologise, sir," she said with a half-doubtful courtesy
+and much tact, "but one can't be too careful with all these trampseses
+about; I never should have thought from the look of you, sir, how as you
+was the new squire."
+
+This might be candid, but it was not flattering, and it caused Beatrice
+to snigger behind her handkerchief in true school-girl fashion. However,
+they entered, and were led by Mrs. Thomas with solemn pomp through
+the great and little halls, the stone parlour and the oak parlour, the
+library and the huge drawing-room, in which the white heads of marble
+statues protruded from the bags of brown holland wherewith they were
+wrapped about in a manner ghastly to behold. At length they reached a
+small octagon-shaped room that, facing south, commanded a most glorious
+view of sea and land. It was called the Lady's Boudoir, and joined
+another of about the same size, which in its former owner's time had
+been used as a smoking-room.
+
+"If you don't mind, madam," said the lord of all this magnificence, "I
+should like to stop here, I am getting tired of walking." And there he
+stopped for many years. The rest of the Castle was shut up; he scarcely
+ever visited it except occasionally to see that the rooms were properly
+aired, for he was a methodical man.
+
+As for Beatrice, she went home, still chuckling, to receive a severe
+reproof from Elizabeth for her "forwardness." But Owen Davies never
+forgot the debt of gratitude he owed her. In his heart he felt convinced
+that had it not been for her, he would have fled before Mrs. Thomas and
+her horn-rimmed eyeglasses, to return no more. The truth of the matter
+was, however, that young as was Beatrice, he fell in love with her then
+and there, only to fall deeper and deeper into that drear abyss as years
+went on. He never said anything about it, he scarcely even gave a hint
+of his hopeless condition, though of course Beatrice divined something
+of it as soon as she came to years of discretion. But there grew up in
+Owen's silent, lonely breast a great and overmastering desire to make
+this grey-eyed girl his wife. He measured time by the intervals that
+elapsed between his visions of her. No period in his life was so
+wretched and utterly purposeless as those two years which passed while
+she was at her Training College. He was a very passive lover, as yet his
+gathering passion did not urge him to extremes, and he could never make
+up his mind to declare it. The box was in his hand, but he feared to
+throw the dice.
+
+But he drew as near to her as he dared. Once he gave Beatrice a flower,
+it was when she was seventeen, and awkwardly expressed a hope that she
+would wear it for his sake. The words were not much and the flower was
+not much, but there was a look about the man's eyes, and a suppressed
+passion and energy in his voice, which told their tale to the
+keen-witted girl. After this he found that she avoided him, and bitterly
+regretted his boldness. For Beatrice did not like him in that way. To
+a girl of her curious stamp his wealth was nothing. She did not covet
+wealth, she coveted independence, and had the sense to know that
+marriage with such a man would not bring it. A cage is a cage, whether
+the bars are of iron or gold. He bored her, she despised him for his
+want of intelligence and enterprise. That a man with all this wealth and
+endless opportunity should waste his life in such fashion was to her a
+thing intolerable. She knew if she had half his chance, that she would
+make her name ring from one end of Europe to the other. In short,
+Beatrice held Owen as deeply in contempt as her sister Elizabeth,
+studying him from another point of view, held him in reverence. And
+putting aside any human predilections, Beatrice would never have married
+a man whom she despised. She respected herself too much.
+
+Owen Davies saw all this as through a glass darkly, and in his own slow
+way cast about for a means of drawing near. He discovered that Beatrice
+was passionately fond of learning, and also that she had no means to
+obtain the necessary books. So he threw open his library to her; it
+was one of the best in Wales. He did more; he gave orders to a London
+bookseller to forward him every new book of importance that appeared
+in certain classes of literature, and all of these he placed at her
+disposal, having first carefully cut the leaves with his own hand. This
+was a bait Beatrice could not resist. She might dread or even detest Mr.
+Davies, but she loved his books, and if she quarrelled with him her
+well of knowledge would simply run dry, for there were no circulating
+libraries at Bryngelly, and if there had been she could not have
+afforded to subscribe to them. So she remained on good terms with him,
+and even smiled at his futile attempts to keep pace with her studies.
+Poor man, reading did not come naturally to him; he was much better at
+cutting leaves. He studied the _Times_ and certain religious works, that
+was all. But he wrestled manfully with many a detested tome, in order to
+be able to say something to Beatrice about it, and the worst of it was
+that Beatrice always saw through it, and showed him that she did. It was
+not kind, perhaps, but youth is cruel.
+
+And so the years wore on, till at length Beatrice knew that a crisis
+was at hand. Even the tardiest and most retiring lover must come to the
+point at last, if he is in earnest, and Owen Davies was very much in
+earnest. Of late, to her dismay, he had so far come out of his shell
+as to allow himself to be nominated a member of the school council. Of
+course she knew that this was only to give him more opportunities of
+seeing her. As a member of the council, he could visit the school of
+which she was mistress as often as he chose, and indeed he soon learned
+to take a lively interest in village education. About twice a week he
+would come in just as the school was breaking up and offer to walk home
+with her, seeking for a favourable opportunity to propose. Hitherto she
+had always warded off this last event, but she knew that it must happen.
+Not that she was actually afraid of the man himself; he was too much
+afraid of her for that. What she did fear was the outburst of wrath
+from her father and sister when they learned that she had refused Owen
+Davies. It never occurred to her that Elizabeth might be playing a hand
+of her own in the matter.
+
+From all of which it will be clear, if indeed it has not become so
+already, that Beatrice Granger was a somewhat ill-regulated young woman,
+born to bring trouble on herself and all connected with her. Had she
+been otherwise, she would have taken her good fortune and married Owen
+Davies, in which case her history need never have been written.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+A MATRIMONIAL TALE
+
+Before Geoffrey Bingham dropped off into a troubled sleep on that
+eventful night of storm, he learned that the girl who had saved his life
+at the risk and almost at the cost of her own was out of danger, and in
+his own and more reticent way he thanked Providence as heartily as did
+Owen Davies. Then he went to sleep.
+
+When he woke, feeling very sick and so stiff and sore that he could
+scarcely move, the broad daylight was streaming through the blinds. The
+place was perfectly quiet, for the doctor's assistant who had brought
+him back to life, and who lay upon a couch at the further end of
+the room, slept the sleep of youth and complete exhaustion. Only an
+eight-day clock on the mantelpiece ticked in that solemn and aggressive
+way which clocks affect in the stillness. Geoffrey strained his eyes to
+make out the time, and finally discovered that it wanted a few minutes
+to six o'clock. Then he fell to wondering how Miss Granger was, and to
+repeating in his own mind every scene of their adventure, till the
+last, when they were whirled out of the canoe in the embrace of that
+white-crested billow.
+
+He remembered nothing after that, nothing but a rushing sound and a
+vision of foam. He shuddered a little as he thought of it, for his
+nerves were shaken; it is not pleasant to have been so very near the End
+and the Beginning; and then his heart went out with renewed gratitude
+towards the girl who had restored him to life and light and hope. Just
+at this moment he thought that he heard a sound of sobbing outside the
+window. He listened; the sound went on. He tried to rise, only to find
+that he was too stiff to manage it. So, as a last resource, he called
+the doctor.
+
+"What is the matter?" answered that young gentleman, jumping up with the
+alacrity of one accustomed to be suddenly awakened. "Do you feel queer?"
+
+"Yes, I do rather," answered Geoffrey, "but it isn't that. There is
+somebody crying outside here."
+
+The doctor put on his coat, and, going to the window, drew the blind.
+
+"Why, so there is," he said. "It's a little girl with yellow hair and
+without a hat."
+
+"A little girl," answered Geoffrey. "Why, it must be Effie, my daughter.
+Please let her in."
+
+"All right. Cover yourself up, and I can do that through the window; it
+isn't five feet from the ground." Accordingly he opened the window, and
+addressing the little girl, asked her what her name was.
+
+"Effie," she sobbed in answer, "Effie Bingham. I've come to look for
+daddie."
+
+"All right, my dear, don't cry so; your daddie is here. Come and let me
+lift you in."
+
+Another moment and there appeared through the open window the very
+sweetest little face and form that ever a girl of six was blessed with.
+For the face was pink and white, and in it were set two beautiful dark
+eyes, which, contrasting with the golden hair, made the child a sight
+to see. But alas! just now the cheeks were stained with tears, and round
+the large dark eyes were rings almost as dark. Nor was this all. The
+little dress was hooked awry, on one tiny foot all drenched with dew
+there was no boot, and on the yellow curls no hat.
+
+"Oh! daddie, daddie," cried the child, catching sight of him and
+struggling to reach her father's arms, "you isn't dead, is you, daddie?"
+
+"No, my love, no," answered her father, kissing her. "Why should you
+think that I was dead? Didn't your mother tell you that I was safe?"
+
+"Oh! daddie," she answered, "they came and said that you was drownded,
+and I cried and wished that I was drownded too. Then mother came home at
+last and said that you were better, and was cross with me because I went
+on crying and wanted to come to you. But I did go on crying. I cried
+nearly all night, and when it got light I did dress myself, all but one
+shoe and my hat, which I could not find, and I got out of the house to
+look for you."
+
+"And how did you find me, my poor little dear?"
+
+"Oh, I heard mother say you was at the Vicarage, so I waited till I saw
+a man, and asked him which way to go, and he did tell me to walk along
+the cliff till I saw a long white house, and then when he saw that I had
+no shoe he wanted to take me home, but I ran away till I got here. But
+the blinds were down, so I did think that you were dead, daddie dear,
+and I cried till that gentleman opened the window."
+
+After that Geoffrey began to scold her for running away, but she did not
+seem to mind it much, for she sat upon the edge of the couch, her little
+face resting against his own, a very pretty sight to see.
+
+"You must go back to Mrs. Jones, Effie, and tell your mother where you
+have been."
+
+"I can't, daddie, I've only got one shoe," she answered, pouting.
+
+"But you came with only one shoe."
+
+"Yes, daddie, but I wanted to come and I don't want to go back. Tell me
+how you was drownded."
+
+He laughed at her logic and gave way to her, for this little daughter
+was very near to his heart, nearer than anything else in the world. So
+he told her how he was "drownded" and how a lady had saved his life.
+
+Effie listened with wide set eyes, and then said that she wanted to see
+the lady, which she presently did. At that moment there came a knock at
+the door, and Mr. Granger entered, accompanied by Dr. Chambers.
+
+"How do you do, sir?" said the former. "I must introduce myself, seeing
+that you are not likely to remember me. When last I saw you, you looked
+as dead as a beached dog-fish. My name's Granger, the Reverend J.
+Granger, Vicar of Bryngelly, one of the very worst livings on this
+coast, and that's saying a great deal."
+
+"I am sure, Mr. Granger, I'm under a deep debt of gratitude to you for
+your hospitality, and under a still deeper one to your daughter, but I
+hope to thank her personally for that."
+
+"Never speak of it," said the clergyman. "Hot water and blankets don't
+cost much, and you will have to pay for the brandy and the doctor. How
+is he, doctor?"
+
+"He is getting on very well indeed, Mr. Granger. But I daresay you find
+yourself rather stiff, Mr. Bingham. I see your head is pretty badly
+bruised."
+
+"Yes," he answered, laughing, "and so is my body. Shall I be able to go
+home to-day?"
+
+"I think so," said the doctor, "but not before this evening. You had
+better keep quiet till then. You will be glad to hear that Miss Beatrice
+is getting on very well. Hers was a wonderful recovery, the most
+wonderful I ever saw. I had quite given her up, though I should have
+kept on the treatment for another hour. You ought to be grateful to Miss
+Beatrice, Mr. Bingham. But for her you would not have been here."
+
+"I am most grateful," he answered earnestly. "Shall I be able to see her
+to-day?"
+
+"Yes, I think so, some time this afternoon, say at three o'clock. Is
+that your little daughter? What a lovely child she is. Well, I will look
+in again about twelve. All that you require to do now is to keep quiet
+and rub in some arnica."
+
+About an hour afterwards the servant girl brought Geoffrey some
+breakfast of tea and toast. He felt quite hungry, but when it came to
+the pinch he could not eat much. Effie, who was starving, made up for
+this deficiency, however; she ate all the toast and a couple of slices
+of bread and butter after it. Scarcely had they finished, when her
+father observed a shade of anxiety come upon his little daughter's face.
+
+"What is it, Effie?" he asked.
+
+"I think," replied Effie in evident trepidation, "I think that I hear
+mother outside and Anne too."
+
+"Well, dear, they have come to see me."
+
+"Yes, and to scold me because I ran away," and the child drew nearer to
+her father in a fashion which would have made it clear to any observer
+that the relations between her and her mother were somewhat strained.
+
+Effie was right. Presently there was a knock at the door and Lady
+Honoria entered, calm and pale and elegant as ever. She was followed by
+a dark-eyed somewhat impertinent-looking French _bonne_, who held up her
+hands and ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" as she appeared.
+
+"I thought so," said Lady Honoria, speaking in French to the _bonne_.
+"There she is," and she pointed at the runaway Effie with her parasol.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" said the woman again. "Vous voila enfin, et moi, qui suis
+accablee de peur, et votre chere mere aussi; oh, mais que c'est mechant;
+et regardez donc, avec un soulier seulement. Mais c'est affreux!"
+
+"Hold your tongue," said Geoffrey sharply, "and leave Miss Effie alone.
+She came to see me."
+
+Anne ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" once more and collapsed.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey," said his wife, "the way you spoil that child is
+something shocking. She is wilful as can be, and you make her worse. It
+is very naughty of her to run away like that and give us such a hunt.
+How are we to get her home, I wonder, with only one shoe."
+
+Her husband bit his lip, and his forehead contracted itself above the
+dark eyes. It was not the first time that he and Lady Honoria had come
+to words about the child, with whom his wife was not in sympathy. Indeed
+she had never forgiven Effie for appearing in this world at all. Lady
+Honoria did not belong to that class of women who think maternity is a
+joy.
+
+"Anne," he said, "take Miss Effie and carry her till you can find a
+donkey. She can ride back to the lodgings." The nurse murmured something
+in French about the child being as heavy as lead.
+
+"Do as I bid you," he said sharply, in the same language. "Effie, my
+love, give me a kiss and go home. Thank you for coming to see me."
+
+The child obeyed and went. Lady Honoria stood and watched her go,
+tapping her little foot upon the floor, and with a look upon her cold,
+handsome face that was not altogether agreeable to see.
+
+
+
+It had sometimes happened that, in the course of his married life,
+Geoffrey returned home with a little of that added fondness which
+absence is fabled to beget. On these occasions he was commonly so
+unfortunate as to find that Lady Honoria belied the saying, that she
+greeted him with arrears of grievances and was, if possible, more frigid
+than ever.
+
+Was this to be repeated now that he had come back from what was so
+near to being the longest absence of all? It looked like it. He noted
+symptoms of the rising storm, symptoms with which he was but too well
+acquainted, and both for his own sake and for hers--for above all things
+Geoffrey dreaded these bitter matrimonial bickerings--tried to think of
+something kind to say. It must be owned that he did not show much tact
+in the subject he selected, though it was one which might have stirred
+the sympathies of some women. It is so difficult to remember that one is
+dealing with a Lady Honoria.
+
+"If ever we have another child----" he began gently.
+
+"Excuse me interrupting you," said the lady, with a suavity which did
+not however convey any idea of the speaker's inward peace, "but it is
+a kindness to prevent you from going on in that line. _One_ darling is
+ample for me."
+
+"Well," said the miserable Geoffrey, with an effort, "even if you don't
+care much about the child yourself, it is a little unreasonable to
+object because she cares for me and was sorry when she thought that I
+was dead. Really, Honoria, sometimes I wonder if you have any heart at
+all. Why should you be put out because Effie got up early to come and
+see me?--an example which I must admit you did not set her. And as to
+her shoe----" he added smiling.
+
+"You may laugh about her shoe, Geoffrey," she interrupted, "but you
+forget that even little things like that are no laughing matter now to
+us. The child's shoes keep me awake at night sometimes. Defoy has
+not been paid for I don't know how long. I have a mind to get her
+_sabots_--and as to heart----"
+
+"Well," broke in Geoffrey, reflecting that bad as was the emotional side
+of the question, it was better than the commercial--"as to 'heart?'"
+
+"You are scarcely the person to talk of it, that is all. I wonder how
+much of yours you gave _me_?"
+
+"Really, Honoria," he answered, not without eagerness, and his mind
+filled with wonder. Was it possible that his wife had experienced some
+kind of "call," and was about to concern herself with his heart one
+way or the other? If so it was strange, for she had never shown the
+slightest interest in it before.
+
+"Yes," she went on rapidly and with gathering vehemence, "you speak
+about your heart"--which he had not done--"and yet you know as well as I
+do that if I had been a girl of no position you would never have offered
+me the organ on which you pretend to set so high a value. Or did your
+heart run wildly away with you, and drag us into love and a cottage--a
+flat, I mean? If so, _I_ should prefer a little less heart and a little
+more common sense."
+
+Geoffrey winced, twice indeed, feeling that her ladyship had hit him as
+it were with both barrels. For, as a matter of fact, he had not begun
+with any passionate devotion, and again Lady Honoria and he were now
+just as poor as though they had really married for love.
+
+"It is hardly fair to go back on bygones and talk like this," he said,
+"even if your position had something to do with it; only at first of
+course, you must remember that when we married mine was not without
+attractions. Two thousand a year to start on and a baronetcy and eight
+thousand a year in the near future were not--but I hate talking about
+that kind of thing. Why do you force me to it? Nobody could know that my
+uncle, who was so anxious that I should marry you, would marry himself
+at his age, and have a son and heir. It was not my fault, Honoria.
+Perhaps you would not have married me if you could have foreseen it."
+
+"Very probably not," she answered calmly, "and it is not _my_ fault that
+I have not yet learned to live with peace of mind and comfort on seven
+hundred a year. It was hard enough to exist on two thousand till your
+uncle died, and now----"
+
+"Well, and now, Honoria, if you will only have patience and put up with
+things for a while, you shall be rich enough; I will make money for you,
+as much money as you want. I have many friends. I have not done so badly
+at the Bar this year."
+
+"Two hundred pounds, nineteen shillings and sevenpence, minus
+ninety-seven pounds rent of chambers and clerk," said Lady Honoria, with
+a disparaging accent on the sevenpence.
+
+"I shall double it next year, and double that again the next, and so on.
+I work from morning till night to get on, that you may have--what you
+live for," he said bitterly.
+
+"Ah, I shall be sixty before that happy day comes, and want nothing but
+scandal and a bath chair. I know the Bar and its moaning," she added,
+with acid wit. "You dream, you imagine what you would like to come true,
+but you are deceiving me and yourself. It will be like the story of Sir
+Robert Bingham's property once again. We shall be beggars all our days.
+I tell you, Geoffrey, that you had no right to marry me."
+
+Then at length he lost his temper. This was not the first of these
+scenes--they had grown frequent of late, and this bitter water was
+constantly dropping.
+
+"Right?" he said, "and may I ask what right you had to marry me when you
+don't even pretend you ever cared one straw for me, but just accepted me
+as you would have accepted any other man who was a tolerably good match?
+I grant that I first thought of proposing to you because my uncle wished
+it, but if I did not love you I meant to be a good husband to you, and I
+should have loved you if you would let me. But you are cold and selfish;
+you looked upon a husband merely as a stepping-stone to luxury; you have
+never loved anybody except yourself. If I had died last night I believe
+that you would have cared more about having to go into mourning than for
+the fact of my disappearance from your life. You showed no more
+feeling for me when you came in than you would have if I had been a
+stranger--not so much as some women might have for a stranger. I wonder
+sometimes if you have any feeling left in you at all. I should think
+that you treat me as you do because you do not care for me and do care
+for some other person did I not know you to be utterly incapable of
+caring for anybody. Do you want to make me hate you, Honoria?"
+
+Geoffrey's low concentrated voice and earnest manner told his wife, who
+was watching him with something like a smile upon her clear-cut lips,
+how deeply he was moved. He had lost his self-control, and exposed his
+heart to her--a thing he rarely did, and that in itself was a triumph
+which she did not wish to pursue at the moment. Geoffrey was not a man
+to push too far.
+
+"If you have quite finished, Geoffrey, there is something I should like
+to say----"
+
+"Oh, curse it all!" he broke in.
+
+"Yes?" she said calmly and interrogatively, and made a pause, but as
+he did not specially apply his remark to anybody or anything, she
+continued: "If these flowers of rhetoric are over, what I have to say
+is this: I do not intend to stay in this horrid place any longer. I am
+going to-morrow to my brother Garsington. They asked us both, you may
+remember, but for reasons best known to yourself, you would not go."
+
+"You know my reasons very well, Honoria."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I have not the slightest idea what they were," said
+Lady Honoria with conviction. "May I hear them?"
+
+"Well, if you wish to know, I will not go to the house of a man who
+has--well, left my club as Garsington left it, and who, had it not
+been for my efforts, would have left it in an even more unpleasant and
+conspicuous fashion. And his wife is worse than he is----"
+
+"I think you are mistaken," Lady Honoria said coldly, and with the air
+of a person who shuts the door of a room into which she does not wish to
+look. "And, any way, it all happened years ago and has blown over. But
+I do not see the necessity of discussing the subject further. I suppose
+that we shall meet at dinner to-night. I shall take the early train
+to-morrow."
+
+"Do what suits you, Honoria. Perhaps you would prefer not returning at
+all."
+
+"Thank you, no. I will not lay myself open to imputations. I shall join
+you in London, and will make the best of a bad business. Thank Heaven,
+I have learned how to bear my misfortunes," and with this Parthian shot
+she left the room.
+
+For a minute or two her husband felt as though he almost hated her. Then
+he thrust his face into the pillow and groaned.
+
+"She is right," he said to himself; "we must make the best of a bad
+business. But, somehow, I seem to have made a mess of my life. And yet I
+loved her once--for a month or two."
+
+This was not an agreeable scene, and it may be said that Lady Honoria
+was a vulgar person. But not even the advantage of having been brought
+up "on the knees of marchionesses" is a specific against vulgarity, if
+a lady happens, unfortunately, to set her heart, what there is of it,
+meanly on mean things.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+EXPLANATORY
+
+About two o'clock Geoffrey rose, and with some slight assistance from
+his reverend host, struggled into his clothes. Then he lunched, and
+while he did so Mr. Granger poured his troubles into his sympathetic
+ear.
+
+"My father was a Herefordshire farmer, Mr. Bingham," he said, "and I was
+bred up to that line of life myself. He did well, my father did, as
+in those days a careful man might. What is more, he made some money by
+cattle-dealing, and I think that turned his head a little; anyway, he
+was minded to make 'a gentleman of me,' as he called it. So when I was
+eighteen I was packed off to be made a parson of, whether I liked it or
+no. Well, I became a parson, and for four years I had a curacy at a
+town called Kingston, in Herefordshire, not a bad sort of little
+town--perhaps you happen to know it. While I was there, my father,
+who was getting beyond himself, took to speculating. He built a row of
+villas at Leominster, or at least he lent a lawyer the money to build
+them, and when they were built nobody would hire them. It broke my
+father; he was ruined over those villas. I have always hated the sight
+of a villa ever since, Mr. Bingham. And shortly afterwards he died, as
+near bankruptcy as a man's nose is to his mouth.
+
+"After that I was offered this living, L150 a year it was at the best,
+and like a fool I took it. The old parson who was here before me left
+an only daughter behind him. The living had ruined him, as it ruins me,
+and, as I say, he left his daughter, my wife that was, behind him, and
+a pretty good bill for dilapidations I had against the estate. But there
+wasn't any estate, so I made the best of a bad business and married
+the daughter, and a sweet pretty woman she was, poor dear, very like
+my Beatrice, only without the brains. I can't make out where Beatrice's
+brains come from indeed, for I am sure I don't set up for having any.
+She was well born, too, my wife was, of an old Cornish family, but she
+had nowhere to go to, and I think she married me because she didn't know
+what else to do, and was fond of the old place. She took me on with it,
+as it were. Well, it turned out pretty well, till some eleven years ago,
+when our boy was born, though I don't think we ever quite understood
+each other. She never got her health back after that, and seven years
+ago she died. I remember it was on a night wonderfully like last
+night--mist first, then storm. The boy died a few years afterwards. I
+thought it would have broken Beatrice's heart; she has never been the
+same girl since, but always full of queer ideas I don't pretend to
+follow.
+
+"And as for the life I've had of it here, Mr. Bingham, you wouldn't
+believe it if I was to tell you. The living is small enough, but the
+place is as full of dissent as a mackerel-boat of fish, and as for
+getting the tithes--well, I cannot, that's all. If it wasn't for a bit
+of farming that I do, not but what the prices are down to nothing, and
+for what the visitors give in the season, and for the help of Beatrice's
+salary as certificated mistress, I should have been in the poor-house
+long ago, and shall be yet, I often think. I have had to take in a
+border before now to make both ends meet, and shall again, I expect.
+
+"And now I must be off up to my bit of a farm; the old sow is due to
+litter, and I want to see how she is getting on. Please God she'll
+have thirteen again and do well. I'll order the fly to be here at five,
+though I shall be back before then--that is, I told Elizabeth to do so.
+She has gone out to do some visiting for me, and to see if she can't
+get in two pounds five of tithe that has been due for three months. If
+anybody can get it it's Elizabeth. Well, good-bye; if you are dull and
+want to talk to Beatrice, she is up and in there. I daresay you will
+suit one another. She's a very queer girl, Beatrice, quite beyond me
+with her ideas, and it was a funny thing her holding you so tight, but
+I suppose Providence arranged that. Good-bye for the present, Mr.
+Bingham," and this curious specimen of a clergyman vanished, leaving
+Geoffrey quite breathless.
+
+It was half-past two o'clock, and the doctor had told him that he could
+see Miss Granger at three. He wished that it was three, for he was tired
+of his own thoughts and company, and naturally anxious to renew his
+acquaintance with the strange girl who had begun by impressing him so
+deeply and ended by saving his life. There was complete quiet in the
+house; Betty, the maid-of-all-work, was employed in the kitchen, both
+the doctors had gone, and Elizabeth and her father were out. To-day
+there was no wind, it had blown itself away during the night, and the
+sight of the sunbeams streaming through the windows made Geoffrey long
+to be in the open air. He had no book at hand to read, and whenever he
+tried to think his mind flew back to that hateful matrimonial quarrel.
+
+It was hard on him, Geoffrey thought, that he should be called upon
+to endure such scenes. He could no longer disguise the truth from
+himself--he had buried his happiness on his wedding-day. Looking
+back across the years, he well remembered how different a life he had
+imagined for himself. In those days he was tired of knocking about
+and of youthful escapades; even that kind of social success which must
+attend a young man who was handsome, clever, a good fellow, and blessed
+with large expectations, had, at the age of six-and-twenty, entirely
+lost its attractiveness. Therefore he had turned no deaf ear to his
+uncle, Sir Robert Bingham, who was then going on for seventy, when he
+suggested that it might be well of Geoffrey settled down, and introduced
+him to Lady Honoria.
+
+Lady Honoria was eighteen then, and a beauty of the rather thin but
+statuesque type, which attracts men up to five or six and twenty and
+then frequently bores, if it does not repel them. Moreover, she was
+clever and well read, and pretended to be intellectually and poetically
+inclined, as ladies not specially favoured by Apollo sometimes
+do--before they marry. Cold she always was; nobody ever heard of Lady
+Honoria stretching the bounds of propriety; but Geoffrey put this down
+to a sweet and becoming modesty, which would vanish or be transmuted
+in its season. Also she affected a charming innocence of all vulgar
+business matters, which both deceived and enchanted him. Never but once
+did she allude to ways and means before marriage, and then it was to say
+that she was glad that they should be so poor till dear Sir Robert died
+(he had promised to allow them fifteen hundred a year, and they had
+seven more between them), as this would enable them to see so much more
+of each other.
+
+At last came the happy day, and this white virgin soul passed into
+Geoffrey's keeping. For a week or so things went fairly well, and then
+disenchantment began. He learned by slow but sure degrees that his wife
+was vain, selfish and extravagant, and, worst of all, that she cared
+very little about him. The first shock was when he accidentally
+discovered, four or five days after marriage, that Honoria was
+intimately acquainted with every detail of Sir Robert Bingham's
+property, and, young as she was, had already formed a scheme to make it
+more productive after the old man's death.
+
+They went to live in London, and there he found that Lady Honoria,
+although by far too cold and prudent a woman to do anything that could
+bring a breath of scandal upon her name, was as fond of admiration as
+she was heartless. It seemed to Geoffrey that he could never be free
+from the collection of young men who hung about her skirts. Some of them
+were very good fellows whom he liked exceedingly; still, on the whole he
+would have preferred to remain unmarried and associate with them at the
+club. Also the continual round of society and going out brought heavier
+expenses on him that he could well support. And thus, little by little,
+poor Geoffrey's dream of matrimonial bliss faded into thin air. But,
+fortunately for himself, he possessed a certain share of logic and
+sweet reasonableness. In time he learnt to see that the fault was not
+altogether with his wife, who was by no means a bad sort of woman in
+her degree. But her degree differed from his degree. She had married for
+freedom and wealth and to gain a larger scope wherein to exercise those
+tastes which inherited disposition and education had given to her, as
+she believed that he had married her because she was the daughter of a
+peer.
+
+Lady Honoria, like many another woman of her stamp, was the overbred, or
+sometimes the underbred, product of a too civilized age and class. Those
+primitive passions and virtues on which her husband had relied to make
+the happiness of their married life simply did not exist for her. The
+passions had been bred and educated out of her; for many generations
+they have been found inconvenient and disquieting attributes in woman.
+As for the old virtues, such as love of children and the ordinary round
+of domestic duty, they simply bored her. On the whole, though sharp of
+tongue, she rarely lost her temper, for her vices, like her virtues,
+were of a somewhat negative order; but the fury which seized her when
+she learned for certain that she was to become a mother was a thing that
+her unfortunate husband never forgot and never wished to see again. At
+length the child was born, a fact for which Geoffrey, at least, was very
+thankful.
+
+"Take it away. I do not want to see it!" said Lady Honoria to the
+scandalised nurse when the little creature was brought to her, wrapped
+in its long robes.
+
+"Give it to me, nurse--I do," said her husband.
+
+
+
+From that moment Geoffrey gave all the pent-up affection of his bruised
+soul to this little daughter, and as the years went on they grew very
+dear to each other. But an active-minded, strong-hearted, able-bodied
+man cannot take a babe as the sole companion of his existence. Probably
+Geoffrey would have found this out in time, and might have drifted into
+some mode of life more or less undesirable, had not an accident occurred
+to prevent it. In his dotage, Geoffrey's old uncle Sir Robert Bingham
+fell a victim to the wiles of an adventuress and married her. Then he
+promptly died, and eight months afterwards a posthumous son was born.
+
+To Geoffrey this meant ruin. His allowance stopped and his expectations
+vanished at one fell swoop. He pulled himself together, however, as
+a brave-hearted man does under such a shock, and going to his wife he
+explained to her that he must now work for his living, begging her to
+break down the barrier that was between them and give him her sympathy
+and help. She met him with tears and reproaches. The one thing that
+touched her keenly, the one thing which she feared and hated was
+poverty, and all that poverty means to women of her rank and nature. But
+there was no help for it; the charming house in Bolton Steet had to be
+given up, and purgatory must be faced, in a flat, near the Edgware Road.
+Lady Honoria was miserable, indeed had it not been that fortunately for
+herself she possessed plenty of relations more or less grand, whom she
+might continually visit for weeks and even for months at a stretch, she
+could scarcely have endured her altered life.
+
+But strangely enough Geoffrey soon found that he was happier than he had
+been since his marriage. To begin with, he set to work like a man, and
+work is a great source of happiness to all vigorous-minded folk. It is
+not, in truth, a particularly cheerful occupation to pass endless days
+in hanging about law-courts amongst a crowd of unbriefed Juniors, and
+many nights in reading up the law one has forgotten and threading the
+many intricacies of the Judicature Act. But it happened that his father,
+a younger brother of Sir Robert's, had been a solicitor, and though he
+was dead, and all direct interest with the firm was severed, yet another
+uncle remained in it, and the partners did not forget Geoffrey in his
+difficulties.
+
+They sent him what work they could without offending their standing
+counsel, and he did it well. Then by degrees he built up quite a large
+general practice of the kind known as deviling. Now there are few things
+more unsatisfactory than doing another man's work for nothing, but
+every case fought means knowledge gained, and what is more it is
+advertisement. So it came to pass that within less than two years from
+the date of his money misfortunes, Geoffrey Bingham's dark handsome face
+and square strong form became very well known in the Courts.
+
+"What is that man's name?" said one well-known Q.C. to another still
+more well known, as they sat waiting for their chops in the Bar Grill
+Room, and saw Geoffrey, his wig pushed back from his forehead, striding
+through the doorway on the last day of the sitting which preceded the
+commencement of this history.
+
+"Bingham," answered the other. "He's only begun to practise lately,
+but he'll be at the top of the tree before he has done. He married
+very well, you know, old Garsington's daughter, a charming woman, and
+handsome too."
+
+"He looks like it," grunted the first, and as a matter of fact such was
+the general opinion.
+
+For, as Beatrice had said, Geoffrey Bingham was a man who had success
+written on his forehead. It would have been almost impossible for him to
+fail in whatever he undertook.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED
+
+Geoffrey lay upon his back, watching the still patch of sunshine and
+listening to the ticking of the clock, as he passed all these and many
+other events in solemn review, till the series culminated in his vivid
+recollection of the scene of that very morning.
+
+"I am sick of it," he said at last aloud, "sick and tired. She makes my
+life wretched. If it wasn't for Effie upon my word I'd . . . By Jove, it
+is three o'clock; I will go and see Miss Granger. She's a woman, not a
+female ghost at any rate, though she is a freethinker--which," he added
+as he slowly struggled off the couch, "is a very foolish thing to be."
+
+Very shakily, for he was sadly knocked about, Geoffrey hobbled down the
+long narrow room and through the door, which was ajar. The opposite door
+was also set half open. He knocked softly, and getting no answer pushed
+it wide and looked in, thinking that he had, perhaps, made some mistake
+as to the room. On a sofa placed about two-thirds down its length, lay
+Beatrice asleep. She was wrapped in a kind of dressing-gown of some
+simple blue stuff, and all about her breast and shoulders streamed her
+lovely curling hair. Her sweet face was towards him, its pallor relieved
+only by the long shadow of the dark lashes and the bent bow of the lips.
+One white wrist and hand hung down almost to the floor, and beneath the
+spread curtain of the sunlit hair her bosom heaved softly in her sleep.
+She looked so wondrously beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost
+awed, and gazed, and gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and
+power were stilling his heart to silence. It is dangerous to look upon
+such quiet loveliness, and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the
+heart. A truly wise man feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds
+sown in such silences may live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed
+their fruit into the waters of desolation. But Geoffrey was not
+wise--who would have been? He still stood and gazed till the sight
+stamped itself so deeply on the tablets of his heart that through all
+the years to come no heats of passion, no frosts of doubt, and no sense
+of loss could ever dull its memory.
+
+The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the
+watcher gazed. And as he looked a great fear, a prescience of evil that
+should come, entered into Geoffrey and took possession of him. A cloud
+without crossed the ray of sunlight and turned it. It wavered, for a
+second it rested on his breast, flashed back to hers, then went out; and
+as it flashed and died, he seemed to know that henceforth, for life till
+death, ay! and beyond, his fate and that sleeping woman's were one
+fate. It was but a momentary knowledge; the fear shook him, and was gone
+almost before he understood its foolishness. But it had been with him,
+and in after days he remembered it.
+
+Just then Beatrice woke, opening her grey eyes. Their dreamy glance fell
+upon him, looking through him and beyond him, rather than at him. Then
+she raised herself a little and stretching out both her arms towards
+him, spoke aloud.
+
+"So have you have come back to me at last," she said. "I knew that you
+would come and I have waited."
+
+He made no answer, he did not know what to say; indeed he began to think
+that he also must be dreaming. For a little while Beatrice still looked
+at him in the same absent manner, then suddenly started up, the red
+blood streaming to her brow.
+
+"Why, Mr. Bingham," she said, "is it really you? What was it that I
+said? Oh, pray forgive me, whatever it was. I have been asleep dreaming
+such a curious dream, and talking in my sleep."
+
+"Do not alarm yourself, Miss Granger," he answered, recovering himself
+with a jerk; "you did not say anything dreadful, only that you were glad
+to see me. What were you dreaming about?"
+
+Beatrice looked at him doubtfully; perhaps his words did not ring quite
+true.
+
+"I think that I had better tell you as I have said so much," she
+answered. "Besides, it was a very curious dream, and if I believed in
+dreams it would rather frighten me, only fortunately I do not. Sit down
+and I will tell it to you before I forget it. It is not very long."
+
+He took the chair to which she pointed, and she began, speaking in the
+voice of one yet laden with the memories of sleep.
+
+"I dreamed that I stood in space. Far to my right was a great globe of
+light, and to my left was another globe, and I knew that the globes were
+named Life and Death. From the globe on the right to the globe on the
+left, and back again, a golden shuttle, in which two flaming eyes were
+set, was shot continually, and I knew also that this was the shuttle of
+Destiny, weaving the web of Fate. Presently the shuttle flew, leaving
+behind it a long silver thread, and the eyes in the shuttle were such as
+your eyes. Again the shuttle sped through space, and this time its eyes
+were like my eyes, and the thread it left behind it was twisted from a
+woman's hair. Half way between the globes of Life and Death my thread
+was broken, but the shuttle flew on and vanished. For a moment the
+thread hung in air, then a wind rose and blew it, so that it floated
+away like a spider's web, till it struck upon your silver thread of life
+and began to twist round and round it. As it twisted it grew larger and
+heavier, till at last it was thick as a great tress of hair, and the
+silver line bent beneath the weight so that I saw it soon must break.
+Then while I wondered what would happen, a white hand holding a knife
+slid slowly down the silver line, and with the knife severed the
+wrappings of woman's hair, which fell and floated slowly away, like a
+little cloud touched with sunlight, till they were lost in darkness. But
+the thread of silver that was your line of life, sprang up quivering and
+making a sound like sighs, till at last it sighed itself to silence.
+
+"Then I seemed to sleep, and when I woke I was floating upon such a
+misty sea as we saw last night. I had lost all sight of land, and I
+could not remember what the stars were like, nor how I had been taught
+to steer, nor understand where I must go. I called to the sea, and asked
+it of the stars, and the sea answered me thus:
+
+"'Hope has rent her raiment, and the stars are set.'
+
+"I called again, and asked of the land where I should go, and the land
+did not answer, but the sea answered me a second time:
+
+"'Child of the mist, wander in the mist, and in darkness seek for
+light.'
+
+"Then I wept because Hope had rent her starry garment and in darkness I
+must seek for light. And while I still wept, _you_ rose out of the sea
+and sat before me in the boat. I had never seen you before, and still
+I felt that I had known you always. You did not speak, and I did not
+speak, but you looked into my heart and saw its trouble. Then I looked
+into your heart, and read what was written. And this was written:
+
+"'Woman whom I knew before the Past began, and whom I shall know when
+the Future is ended, why do you weep?'
+
+"And my heart answered, 'I weep because I am lost upon the waters of
+the earth, because Hope has rent her starry robes, and in everlasting
+darkness I must seek for light that is not.' Then your heart said, '_I_
+will show you light,' and bending forward you touched me on the breast.
+
+"And suddenly an agony shook me like the agonies of birth and death,
+and the sky was full of great-winged angels who rolled up the mist as
+a cloth, and drew the veils from the eyes of Night, and there, her feet
+upon the globe, and her star-set head piercing the firmament of heaven,
+stood Hope breathing peace and beauty. She looked north and south and
+east and west, then she looked upwards through the arching vaults of
+heaven, and wherever she set her eyes, bright with holy tears, the
+darkness shrivelled and sorrow ceased, and from corruption arose the
+Incorruptible. I gazed and worshipped, and as I did so, again the sea
+spoke unquestioned:
+
+"'In darkness thou hast found light, in Death seek for wisdom.'
+
+"Then once more Hope rent her starry robes, and the angels drew down a
+veil over the eyes of Night, and the sea swallowed me, and I sank till I
+reached the deep foundations of mortal death. And there in the Halls of
+Death I sat for ages upon ages, till at last I saw you come, and on your
+lips was the word of wisdom that makes all things clear, but what it was
+I cannot remember. Then I stretched out my hand to greet you, and woke,
+and that is all my dream."
+
+
+
+Beatrice ceased, her grey eyes set wide, as though they still strove to
+trace their spiritual vision upon the air of earth, her breast heaving,
+and her lips apart.
+
+"Great heaven!" he said, "what an imagination you must have to dream
+such a dream as that."
+
+"Imagination," she answered, returning to her natural manner. "I have
+none, Mr. Bingham. I used to have, but I lost it when I lost--everything
+else. Can you interpret my dream? Of course you cannot; it is nothing
+but nonsense--such stuff as dreams are made of, that is all."
+
+"It may be nonsense, I daresay it is, but it is beautiful nonsense," he
+answered. "I wish ladies had more of such stuff to give the world."
+
+"Ah, well, dreams may be wiser than wakings, and nonsense than learned
+talk, for all we know. But there's an end of it. I do not know why I
+repeated it to you. I am sorry that I did repeat it, but it seemed so
+real it shook me out of myself. This is what comes of breaking in upon
+the routine of life by being three parts drowned. One finds queer things
+at the bottom of the sea, you know. By the way I hope that you are
+recovering. I do not think that you will care to go canoeing again with
+me, Mr. Bingham."
+
+There was an opening for a compliment here, but Geoffrey felt that it
+would be too much in earnest if spoken, so he resisted the temptation.
+
+"What, Miss Granger," he said, "should a man say to a lady who but last
+night saved his life, at the risk, indeed almost at the cost, of her
+own?"
+
+"It was nothing," she answered, colouring; "I clung to you, that was
+all, more by instinct than from any motive. I think I had a vague idea
+that you might float and support me."
+
+"Miss Granger, the occasion is too serious for polite fibs. I know how
+you saved my life. I do not know how to thank you for it."
+
+"Then don't thank me at all, Mr. Bingham. Why should you thank me? I
+only did what I was bound to do. I would far rather die than desert a
+companion in distress, of any sort; we all must die, but it would be
+dreadful to die ashamed. You know what they say, that if you save a
+person from drowning you will do them an injury afterwards. That is how
+they put it here; in some parts the saying is the other way about, but I
+am not likely ever to do you an injury, so it does not make me unhappy.
+It was an awful experience: you were senseless, so you cannot know how
+strange it felt lying upon the slippery rock, and seeing those great
+white waves rush upon us through the gloom, with nothing but the night
+above, and the sea around, and death between the two. I have been lonely
+for many years, but I do not think that I ever quite understood what
+loneliness really meant before. You see," she added by way of an
+afterthought, "I thought that you were dead, and there is not much
+company in a corpse."
+
+"Well," he said, "one thing is, it would have been lonelier if we had
+gone."
+
+"Do you think so?" she answered, looking at him inquiringly. "I don't
+quite see how you make that out. If you believe in what we have been
+taught, as I think you do, wherever it was you found yourself there
+would be plenty of company, and if, like me, you do not believe in
+anything, why, then, you would have slept, and sleep asks for nothing."
+
+"Did you believe in nothing when you lay upon the rock waiting to be
+drowned, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Nothing!" she answered; "only weak people find revelation in the
+extremities of fear. If revelation comes at all, surely it must be born
+in the heart and not in the senses. I believed in nothing, and I dreaded
+nothing, except the agony of death. Why should I be afraid? Supposing
+that I am mistaken, and there is something beyond, is it my fault that
+I cannot believe? What have I done that I should be afraid? I have never
+harmed anybody that I know of, and if I could believe I would. I wish
+I had died," she went on, passionately; "it would be all over now. I am
+tired of the world, tired of work and helplessness, and all the little
+worries which wear one out. I am not wanted here, I have nothing to live
+for, and I wish that I had died!"
+
+"Some day you will think differently, Miss Granger. There are many
+things that a woman like yourself can live for--at the least, there is
+your work."
+
+She laughed drearily. "My work! If you only knew what it is like you
+would not talk to me about it. Every day I roll my stone up the hill,
+and every night it seems to roll down again. But you have never taught
+in a village school. How can you know? I work all day, and in the
+evening perhaps I have to mend the tablecloths, or--what do you
+think?--write my father's sermons. It sounds curious, does it not, that
+I should write sermons? But I do. I wrote the one he is going to preach
+next Sunday. It makes very little difference to him what it is so long
+as he can read it, and, of course, I never say anything which can offend
+anybody, and I do not think that they listen much. Very few people go to
+church in Bryngelly."
+
+"Don't you ever get any time to yourself, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sometimes I do, and then I go out in my canoe, or read, and am
+almost happy. After all, Mr. Bingham, it is very wrong and ungrateful
+of me to speak like this. I have more advantages than nine-tenths of
+the world, and I ought to make the best of them. I don't know why I have
+been speaking as I have, and to you, whom I never saw till yesterday.
+I never did it before to any living soul, I assure you. It is just like
+the story of the man who came here last year with the divining rod.
+There is a cottage down on the cliff--it belongs to Mr. Davies, who
+lives in the Castle. Well, they have no drinking water near, and the new
+tenant made a great fuss about it. So Mr. Davies hired men, and they dug
+and dug and spent no end of money, but could not come to water. At last
+the tenant fetched an old man from some parish a long way off, who said
+that he could find springs with a divining rod. He was a curious old man
+with a crutch, and he came with his rod, and hobbled about till at last
+the rod twitched just at the tenant's back door--at least the diviner
+said it did. At any rate, they dug there, and in ten minutes struck a
+spring of water, which bubbled up so strongly that it rushed into the
+house and flooded it. And what do you think? After all, the water was
+brackish. You are the man with the divining rod, Mr. Bingham, and you
+have made me talk a great deal too much, and, after all, you see it is
+not nice talk. You must think me a very disagreeable and wicked young
+woman, and I daresay I am. But somehow it is a relief to open one's
+mind. I do hope, Mr. Bingham, that you will see--in short, that you will
+not misunderstand me."
+
+"Miss Granger," he answered, "there is between us that which will always
+entitle us to mutual respect and confidence--the link of life and
+death. Had it not been for you, I should not sit here to listen to your
+confidence to-day. You may tell me that a mere natural impulse prompted
+you to do what you did. I know better. It was your will that triumphed
+over your natural impulse towards self-preservation. Well, I will say no
+more about it, except this: If ever a man was bound to a woman by ties
+of gratitude and respect, I am bound to you. You need not fear that I
+shall take advantage of or misinterpret your confidence." Here he rose
+and stood before her, his dark handsome face bowed in proud humility.
+"Miss Granger, I look upon it as an honour done to me by one whom
+henceforth I must reverence among all women. The life you gave back to
+me, and the intelligence which directs it, are in duty bound to you, and
+I shall not forget the debt."
+
+Beatrice listened to his words, spoken in that deep and earnest voice,
+which in after years became so familiar to Her Majesty's judges and to
+Parliament--listened with a new sense of pleasure rising in her heart.
+She was this man's equal; what he could dare, she could dare; where he
+could climb, she could follow--ay, and if need be, show the path, and
+she felt that he acknowledged it. In his sight she was something more
+than a handsome girl to be admired and deferred to for her beauty's
+sake. He had placed her on another level--one, perhaps, that few women
+would have wished to occupy. But Beatrice was thankful to him. It was
+the first taste of supremacy that she had ever known.
+
+It is something to stir the proud heart of such a woman as Beatrice,
+in that moment when for the first time she feels herself a conqueror,
+victorious, not through the vulgar advantage of her sex, not by the
+submission of man's coarser sense, but rather by the overbalancing
+weight of mind.
+
+"Do you know," she said, suddenly looking up, "you make me very proud,"
+and she stretched out her hand to him.
+
+He took it, and, bending, touched it with his lips. There was no
+possibility of misinterpreting the action, and though she coloured
+a little--for, till then, no man had even kissed the tip of her
+finger--she did not misinterpret it. It was an act of homage, and that
+was all.
+
+And so they sealed the compact of their perfect friendship for ever and
+a day.
+
+Then came a moment's silence. It was Geoffrey who broke it.
+
+"Miss Granger," he said, "will you allow me to preach you a lecture, a
+very short one?"
+
+"Go on," she said.
+
+"Very well. Do not blame me if you don't like it, and do not set me down
+as a prig, though I am going to tell you your faults as I read them in
+your own words. You are proud and ambitious, and the cramped lines in
+which you are forced to live seem to strangle you. You have suffered,
+and have not learned the lesson of suffering--humility. You have set
+yourself up against Fate, and Fate sweeps you along like spray upon
+the gale, yet you go unwilling. In your impatience you have flown to
+learning for refuge, and it has completed your overthrow, for it has
+induced you to reject as non-existent all that you cannot understand.
+Because your finite mind cannot search infinity, because no answer has
+come to all your prayers, because you see misery and cannot read its
+purpose, because you suffer and have not found rest, you have said there
+is naught but chance, and become an atheist, as many have done before
+you. Is it not true?"
+
+"Go on," she answered, bowing her head to her breast so that the long
+rippling hair almost hid her face.
+
+"It seems a little odd," Geoffrey said with a short laugh, "that I,
+with all my imperfections heaped upon me, should presume to preach to
+you--but you will know best how near or how far I am from the truth. So
+I want to say something. I have lived for thirty-five years, and seen a
+good deal and tried to learn from it, and I know this. In the long run,
+unless we of our own act put away the opportunity, the world gives us
+our due, which generally is not much. So much for things temporal.
+If you are fit to rule, in time you will rule; if you do not, then
+be content and acknowledge your own incapacity. And as for things
+spiritual, I am sure of this--though of course one does not like to talk
+much of these matters--if you only seek for them long enough in some
+shape you will find them, though the shape may not be that which is
+generally recognised by any particular religion. But to build a wall
+deliberately between oneself and the unseen, and then complain that the
+way is barred, is simply childish."
+
+"And what if one's wall is built, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Most of us have done something in that line at different times," he
+answered, "and found a way round it."
+
+"And if it stretches from horizon to horizon, and is higher than the
+clouds, what then?"
+
+"Then you must find wings and fly over it."
+
+"And where can any earthly woman find those spiritual wings?" she
+asked, and then sank her head still deeper on her breast to cover her
+confusion. For she remembered that she had heard of wanderers in the
+dusky groves of human passion, yes, even Maenad wanderers, who had
+suddenly come face to face with their own soul; and that the cruel paths
+of earthly love may yet lead the feet which tread them to the ivory
+gates of heaven.
+
+And remembering these beautiful myths, though she had no experience of
+love, and knew little of its ways, Beatrice grew suddenly silent. Nor
+did Geoffrey give her an answer, though he need scarcely have feared to
+do so.
+
+For were they not discussing a purely abstract question?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+LADY HONORIA MAKES ARRANGEMENTS
+
+In another moment somebody entered the room; it was Elizabeth. She had
+returned from her tithe collecting expedition--with the tithe. The door
+of the sitting-room was still ajar, and Geoffrey had his back towards
+it. So it happened that nobody heard Elizabeth's rather cat-like step,
+and for some seconds she stood in the doorway without being perceived.
+She stood quite still, taking in the whole scene at a glance. She
+noticed that her sister held her head down, so that her hair shadowed
+her, and guessed that she did so for some reason--probably because she
+did not wish her face to be seen. Or was it to show off her lovely hair?
+She noticed also the half shy, half amused, and altogether interested
+expression upon Geoffrey's countenance--she could see that in the little
+gilt-edged looking-glass which hung over the fire-place, nor did she
+overlook the general air of embarrassment that pervaded them both.
+
+When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of
+what might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back
+into her sister's veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had thought
+of it all day; even in the excitement of extracting the back tithe from
+the recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer, with strong
+views on the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely forgotten. The
+farmer was a tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called her a "parson in
+petticoats, and wus," and went on, in delicate reference to her powers
+of extracting cash, to liken her to a "two-legged corkscrew only
+screwier," she perhaps not unnaturally reflected, that if ever--_pace_
+Beatrice--certain things should come about, she would remember that
+farmer. For Elizabeth was blessed with a very long memory, as some
+people had learnt to their cost, and generally, sooner or later, she
+paid her debts in full, not forgetting the overdue interest.
+
+And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
+something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea,
+which, like ideas in general, had many side issues. At any rate a look
+of quick intelligence shone for a moment in her light eyes, like a
+sickly sunbeam on a faint December mist; then she moved forward, and
+when she was close behind Geoffrey, spoke suddenly.
+
+"What are you both thinking about?" she said in her clear thin voice;
+"you seem to have exhausted your conversation."
+
+Geoffrey made an exclamation and fairly jumped from his chair, a feat
+which in his bruised condition really hurt him very much. Beatrice too
+started violently; she recovered herself almost instantly, however.
+
+"How quietly you move, Elizabeth," she said.
+
+"Not more quietly than you sit, Beatrice. I have been wondering when
+anybody was going to say anything, or if you were both asleep."
+
+For her part Beatrice speculated how long her sister had been in the
+room. Their conversation had been innocent enough, but it was not one
+that she would wish Elizabeth to have overheard. And somehow Elizabeth
+had a knack of overhearing things.
+
+"You see, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey coming to the rescue, "both our
+brains are still rather waterlogged, and that does not tend to a flow of
+ideas."
+
+"Quite so," said Elizabeth. "My dear Beatrice, why don't you tie up your
+hair? You look like a crazy Jane. Not but what you have very nice hair,"
+she added critically. "Do you admire good hair, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Of course I do," he answered gallantly, "but it is not common."
+
+Only Beatrice bit her lip with vexation. "I had almost forgotten about
+my hair," she said; "I must apologise for appearing in such a state. I
+would have done it up after dinner only I was too stiff, and while I was
+waiting for Betty, I went to sleep."
+
+"I think there is a bit of ribbon in that drawer. I saw you put it there
+yesterday," answered the precise Elizabeth. "Yes, here it is. If you
+like, and Mr. Bingham will excuse it, I can tie it back for you," and
+without waiting for an answer she passed behind Beatrice, and gathering
+up the dense masses of her sister's locks, tied them round in such
+fashion that they could not fall forward, though they still rolled down
+her back.
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his visit to the farm. He was in
+high good humour. The pig had even surpassed her former efforts, and
+increased in a surprising manner, to the number of fifteen indeed.
+Elizabeth thereon produced the two pounds odd shillings which she had
+"corkscrewed" out of the recalcitrant dissenting farmer, and the sight
+added to Mr. Granger's satisfaction.
+
+"Would you believe it, Mr. Bingham," he said, "in this miserably paid
+parish I have nearly a hundred pounds owing to me, a hundred pounds in
+tithe. There is old Jones who lives out towards the Bell Rock, he owes
+three years' tithe--thirty-four pounds eleven and fourpence. He can pay
+and he won't pay--says he's a Baptist and is not going to pay parson's
+dues--though for the matter of that he is nothing but an old beer tub of
+a heathen."
+
+"Why don't you proceed against him, then, Mr. Granger?"
+
+"Proceed, I have proceeded. I've got judgment, and I mean to issue
+execution in a few days. I won't stand it any longer," he went on,
+working himself up and shaking his head as he spoke till his thin white
+hair fell about his eyes. "I will have the law of him and the others
+too. You are a lawyer and you can help me. I tell you there's a spirit
+abroad which just comes to just--no man isn't to pay his lawful debts,
+except of course the parson and the squire. They must pay or go to the
+court. But there is law left, and I'll have it, before they play the
+Irish game on us here." And he brought down his fist with a bang upon
+the table.
+
+Geoffrey listened with some amusement. So this was the weak old man's
+sore point--money. He was clearly very strong about that--as strong as
+Lady Honoria indeed, but with more excuse. Elizabeth also listened with
+evident approval, but Beatrice looked pained.
+
+"Don't get angry, father," she said; "perhaps he will pay after all.
+It is bad to take the law if you can manage any other way--it breeds so
+much ill blood."
+
+"Nonsense, Beatrice," said her sister sharply. "Father is quite right.
+There's only one way to deal with them, and that is to seize their
+goods. I believe you are socialist about property, as you are about
+everything else. You want to pull everything down, from the Queen to the
+laws of marriage, all for the good of humanity, and I tell you that
+your ideas will be your ruin. Defy custom and it will crush you. You are
+running your head against a brick wall, and one day you will find which
+is the harder."
+
+Beatrice flushed, but answered her sister's attack, which was all the
+sharper because it had a certain spice of truth in it.
+
+"I never expressed any such views, Elizabeth, so I do not see why you
+should attribute them to me. I only said that legal proceedings breed
+bad blood in a parish, and that is true."
+
+"I did not say you expressed them," went on the vigorous Elizabeth;
+"you look them--they ooze out of your words like water from a peat bog.
+Everybody knows you are a radical and a freethinker and everything else
+that is bad and mad, and contrary to that state of life in which it has
+pleased God to call you. The end of it will be that you will lose the
+mistresship of the school--and I think it is very hard on father and me
+that you should bring disgrace on us with your strange ways and immoral
+views, and now you can make what you like of it."
+
+"I wish that all radicals were like Miss Beatrice," said Geoffrey, who
+was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, with a feeble attempt at polite
+jocosity. But nobody seemed to hear him. Elizabeth, who was now fairly
+in a rage, a faint flush upon her pale cheeks, her light eyes all
+ashine, and her thin fingers clasped, stood fronting her beautiful
+sister, and breathing spite at every pore. But it was easy for Geoffrey
+who was watching her to see that it was not her sister's views she was
+attacking; it was her sister. It was that soft strong loveliness and the
+glory of that face; it was the deep gentle mind, erring from its very
+greatness, and the bright intellect which lit it like a lamp; it was the
+learning and the power that, give them play, would set a world aflame,
+as easily as they did the heart of the slow-witted hermit squire, whom
+Elizabeth coveted--these were the things that Elizabeth hated, and
+bitterly assailed.
+
+Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced
+at the father. The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of
+Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene. He stood fidgeting his feet about, and
+trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his
+elder daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
+
+Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking
+at. Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath
+their dark lashes. She had risen, drawing herself to her full height,
+which her exquisite proportions seemed to increase, and was looking at
+her sister. Presently she said one word and one only, but it was enough.
+
+"_Elizabeth._"
+
+Her sister opened her lips to speak again, but hesitated, and changed
+her mind. There was something in Beatrice's manner that checked her.
+
+"Well," she said at length, "you should not irritate me so, Beatrice."
+
+Beatrice made no reply. She only turned towards Geoffrey, and with a
+graceful little bow, said:
+
+"Mr. Bingham, I am sure that you will forgive this scene. The fact is,
+we all slept badly last night, and it has not improved our tempers."
+
+There was a pause, of which Mr. Granger took a hurried and rather
+undignified advantage.
+
+"Um, ah," he said. "By the way, Beatrice, what was it I wanted to say?
+Ah, I know--have you written, I mean written out, that sermon for next
+Sunday? My daughter," he added, addressing Geoffrey in explanation--"um,
+copies my sermons for me. She writes a very good hand----"
+
+Remembering Beatrice's confidence as to her sermon manufacturing
+functions, Geoffrey felt amused at her father's _naive_ way of
+describing them, and Beatrice also smiled faintly as she answered that
+the sermon was ready. Just then the roll of wheels was heard without,
+and the only fly that Bryngelly could boast pulled up in front of the
+door.
+
+"Here is the fly come for you, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger--"and as
+I live, her ladyship with it. Elizabeth, see if there isn't some tea
+ready," and the old gentleman, who had all the traditional love of the
+lower middle-class Englishman for a title, trotted off to welcome "her
+ladyship."
+
+Presently Lady Honoria entered the room, a sweet, if rather a set smile
+upon her handsome face, and with a graceful mien, that became her tall
+figure exceedingly well. For to do Lady Honoria justice, she was one
+of the most ladylike women in the country, and so far as her personal
+appearance went, a very perfect type of the class to which she belonged.
+
+Geoffrey looked at her, saying to himself that she had clearly recovered
+her temper, and that he was thankful for it. This was not wonderful, for
+it is observable that the more aristocratic a lady's manners are, the
+more disagreeable she is apt to be when she is crossed.
+
+"Well, Geoffrey dear," she said, "you see I have come to fetch you. I
+was determined that you should not get yourself drowned a second time on
+your way home. How are you now?--but I need not ask, you look quite well
+again."
+
+"It is very kind of you, Honoria," said her husband simply, but it
+was doubtful if she heard him, for at the moment she was engaged in
+searching out the soul of Beatrice, with one of the most penetrating
+and comprehensive glances that young lady had ever enjoyed the honour of
+receiving. There was nothing rude about the look, it was too quick, but
+Beatrice felt that quick as it might be it embraced her altogether. Nor
+was she wrong.
+
+"There is no doubt about it," Lady Honoria thought to herself, "she is
+lovely--lovely everywhere. It was clever of her to leave her hair down;
+it shows the shape of her head so well, and she is tall enough to stand
+it. That blue wrapper suits her too. Very few women could show such a
+figure as hers--like a Greek statue. I don't like her; she is different
+from most of us; just the sort of girl men go wild about and women
+hate."
+
+All this passed through her mind in a flash. For a moment Lady Honoria's
+blue eyes met Beatrice's grey ones, and she knew that Beatrice liked her
+no better than she did Beatrice. Those eyes were a trifle too honest,
+and, like the deep clear water they resembled, apt to throw up shadows
+of the passing thoughts above.
+
+"False and cold and heartless," thought Beatrice. "I wonder how a man
+like that could marry her; and how much he loves her."
+
+Thus the two women took each other's measure at a glance, each finding
+the other wanting by her standard. Nor did they ever change that hastily
+formed judgment.
+
+It was all done in a few seconds--in that hesitating moment before the
+words we summon answer on our lips. The next, Lady Honoria was sweeping
+towards her with outstretched hand, and her most gracious smile.
+
+"Miss Granger," she said, "I owe you a debt I never can repay--my dear
+husband's life. I have heard all about how you saved him; it is the most
+wonderful thing--Grace Darling born again. I can't think how you could
+do it. I wish I were half as brave and strong."
+
+"Please don't, Lady Honoria," said Beatrice. "I am so tired of being
+thanked for doing nothing, except what it was my duty to do. If I had
+let Mr. Bingham go while I had the strength to hold on to him I should
+have felt like a murderess to-day. I beg you to say no more about it."
+
+"One does not often find such modesty united to so much courage, and,
+if you will allow me to say it, so much beauty," answered Lady Honoria
+graciously. "Well, I will do as you wish, but I warn you your fame will
+find you out. I hear they have an account of the whole adventure in
+to-day's papers, headed, 'A Welsh Heroine.'"
+
+"How did you hear that, Honoria?" asked her husband.
+
+"Oh, I had a telegram from Garsington, and he mentions it," she answered
+carelessly.
+
+"Telegram from Garsington! Hence these smiles," thought he. "I suppose
+that she is going to-morrow."
+
+"I have some other news for you, Miss Granger," went on Lady Honoria.
+"Your canoe has been washed ashore, very little injured. The old
+boatman--Edward, I think they call him--has found it; and your gun in
+it too, Geoffrey. It had stuck under the seat or somewhere. But I fancy
+that you must both have had enough canoeing for the present."
+
+"I don't know, Lady Honoria," answered Beatrice. "One does not often get
+such weather as last night's, and canoeing is very pleasant. Every sweet
+has its salt, you know; or, in other words, one may always be upset."
+
+At that moment, Betty, the awkward Welsh serving lass, with a fore-arm
+about as shapely as the hind leg of an elephant, and a most unpleasing
+habit of snorting audibly as she moved, shuffled in with the tea-tray.
+In her wake came the slim Elizabeth, to whom Lady Honoria was
+introduced.
+
+After this, conversation flagged for a while, till Lady Honoria, feeling
+that things were getting a little dull, set the ball rolling again.
+
+"What a pretty view you have of the sea from these windows," she said in
+her well-trained and monotonously modulated voice. "I am so glad to have
+seen it, for, you know, I am going away to-morrow."
+
+Beatrice looked up quickly.
+
+"My husband is not going," she went on, as though in answer to an
+unspoken question. "I am playing the part of the undutiful wife and
+running away from him, for exactly three weeks. It is very wicked of
+me, isn't it? but I have an engagement that I must keep. It is most
+tiresome."
+
+Geoffrey, sipping his tea, smiled grimly behind the shelter of his cup.
+"She does it uncommonly well," he thought to himself.
+
+"Does your little girl go with you, Lady Honoria?" asked Elizabeth.
+
+"Well, no, I think not. I can't bear parting with her--you know how hard
+it is when one has only one child. But I think she would be so bored
+where I am going to stay, for there are no other children there; and
+besides, she positively adores the sea. So I shall have to leave her to
+her father's tender mercies, poor dear."
+
+"I hope Effie will survive it, I am sure," said Geoffrey laughing.
+
+"I suppose that your husband is going to stay on at Mrs. Jones's," said
+the clergyman.
+
+"Really, I don't know. What _are_ you going to do, Geoffrey? Mrs.
+Jones's rooms are rather expensive for people in our impoverished
+condition. Besides, I am sure that she cannot look after Effie. Just
+think, she has eight children of her own, poor old dear. And I must take
+Anne with me; she is Effie's French nurse, you know, a perfect treasure.
+I am going to stay in a big house, and my experience of those big houses
+is, that one never gets waited on at all unless one takes a maid. You
+see, what is everybody's business is nobody's business. I'm sure I don't
+know how you will get on with the child, Geoffrey; she takes such a lot
+of looking after."
+
+"Oh, don't trouble about that, Honoria," he answered. "I daresay that
+Effie and I will manage somehow."
+
+Here one of those peculiar gleams of intelligence which marked the
+advent of a new idea passed across Elizabeth's face. She was sitting
+next her father, and bending, whispered to him. Beatrice saw it and made
+a motion as though to interpose, but before she could do so Mr. Granger
+spoke.
+
+"Look here, Mr. Bingham," he said, "if you want to move, would you like
+a room here? Terms strictly moderate, but can't afford to put you up for
+nothing you know, and living rough and ready. You'd have to take us as
+you find us; but there is a dressing-room next to my room, where your
+little girl could sleep, and my daughters would look after her between
+them, and be glad of the job."
+
+Again Beatrice opened her lips as though to speak, but closed them
+without speaking. Thus do our opportunities pass before we realise that
+they are at hand.
+
+Instinctively Geoffrey had glanced towards Beatrice. He did not know if
+this idea was agreeable to her. He knew that her work was hard, and
+he did not wish to put extra trouble upon her, for he guessed that the
+burden of looking after Effie would ultimately fall upon her shoulders.
+But her face told him nothing: it was quite passive and apparently
+indifferent.
+
+"You are very kind, Mr. Granger," he said, hesitating. "I don't want to
+go away from Bryngelly just at present, and it would be a good plan in
+some ways, that is if the trouble to your daughters would not be too
+much."
+
+"I am sure that it is an excellent plan," broke in Lady Honoria, who
+feared lest difficulties should arise as to her appropriation of Anne's
+services; "how lucky that I happened to mention it. There will be no
+trouble about our giving up the rooms at Mrs. Jones's, because I know
+she has another application for them."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, not liking to raise objections to a scheme
+thus publicly advocated, although he would have preferred to take time
+to consider. Something warned him that Bryngelly Vicarage would prove a
+fateful abode for him. Then Elizabeth rose and asked Lady Honoria if she
+would like to see the rooms her husband and Effie would occupy.
+
+She said she should be delighted and went off, followed by Mr. Granger
+fussing in the rear.
+
+"Don't you think that you will be a little dull here, Mr. Bingham?" said
+Beatrice.
+
+"On the contrary," he answered. "Why should I be dull? I cannot be so
+dull as I should be by myself."
+
+Beatrice hesitated, and then spoke again. "We are a curious family, Mr.
+Bingham; you may have seen as much this afternoon. Had you not better
+think it over?"
+
+"If you mean that you do not want me to come, I won't," he said rather
+bluntly, and next second felt that he had made a mistake.
+
+"I!" Beatrice answered, opening her eyes. "I have no wishes in the
+matter. The fact is that we are poor, and let lodgings--that is what it
+comes to. If you think they will suit you, you are quite right to take
+them."
+
+Geoffrey coloured. He was a man who could not bear to lay himself open
+to the smallest rebuff from a woman, and he had brought this on himself.
+Beatrice saw it and relented.
+
+"Of course, Mr. Bingham, so far as I am concerned, I shall be the
+gainer if you do come. I do not meet so many people with whom I care
+to associate, and from whom I can learn, that I wish to throw a chance
+away."
+
+"I think you misunderstand me a little," he said; "I only meant that
+perhaps you would not wish to be bothered with Effie, Miss Granger."
+
+She laughed. "Why, I love children. It will be a great pleasure to me to
+look after her so far as I have time."
+
+Just then the others returned, and their conversation came to an end.
+
+"It's quite delightful, Geoffrey--such funny old-fashioned rooms. I
+really envy you." (If there was one thing in the world that Lady Honoria
+hated, it was an old-fashioned room.) "Well, and now we must be going.
+Oh! you poor creature, I forgot that you were so knocked about. I am
+sure Mr. Granger will give you his arm."
+
+Mr. Granger ambled forward, and Geoffrey having made his adieus, and
+borrowed a clerical hat (Mr. Granger's concession to custom, for in most
+other respects he dressed like an ordinary farmer), was safely conveyed
+to the fly.
+
+And so ended Geoffrey's first day at Bryngelly Vicarage.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+BEATRICE MAKES AN APPOINTMENT
+
+Lady Honoria leaned back in the cab, and sighed a sigh of satisfaction.
+
+"That is a capital idea," she said. "I was wondering what arrangements
+you could make for the next three weeks. It is ridiculous to pay three
+guineas a week for rooms just for you and Effie. The old gentleman only
+wants that for board and lodging together, for I asked him."
+
+"I daresay it will do," said Geoffrey. "When are we to shift?"
+
+"To-morrow, in time for dinner, or rather supper: these barbarians eat
+supper, you know. I go by the morning train, you see, so as to reach
+Garsington by tea-time. I daresay you will find it rather dull, but you
+like being dull. The old clergyman is a low stamp of man, and a bore,
+and as for the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, she's too awful--she reminds
+me of a rat. But Beatrice is handsome enough, though I think her horrid
+too. You'll have to console yourself with her, and I daresay you will
+suit each other."
+
+"Why do you think her horrid, Honoria?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know; she is clever and odd, and I hate odd women. Why
+can't they be like other people? Think of her being strong enough
+to save your life like that too. She must have the muscle of an
+Amazon--it's downright unwomanly. But there is no doubt about her
+beauty. She is as nearly perfect as any girl I ever saw, though too
+independent looking. If only one had a daughter like that, how one might
+marry her. I would not look at anything under twenty thousand a year.
+She is too good for that lumbering Welsh squire she's engaged too--the
+man who lives in the Castle--though they say that he is fairly rich."
+
+"Engaged," said Geoffrey, "how do you know that she is engaged?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know it at all, but I suppose she is. If she isn't, she
+soon will be, for a girl in that position is not likely to throw such
+a chance away. At any rate, he's head over ears in love with her. I saw
+that last night. He was hanging about for hours in the rain, outside
+the door, with a face like a ghost, till he knew whether she was dead or
+alive, and he has been there twice to inquire this morning. Mr. Granger
+told me. But she is too good for him from a business point of view. She
+might marry anybody, if only she were put in the way of it."
+
+Somehow, Geoffrey's lively interest in Beatrice sensibly declined on the
+receipt of this intelligence. Of course it was nothing to him; indeed
+he was glad to hear that she was in the way of such a comfortable
+settlement, but it is unfortunately a fact that one cannot be quite as
+much interested in a young and lovely lady who is the potential property
+of a "lumbering Welsh squire," as in one who belongs to herself.
+
+The old Adam still survives in most men, however right-thinking they may
+be, and this is one of its methods of self-assertion.
+
+"Well," he said, "I am glad to hear she is in such a good way; she
+deserves it. I think the Welsh squire is in luck; Miss Granger is a
+remarkable woman."
+
+"Too remarkable by half," said Lady Honoria drily. "Here we are, and
+there is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual. I think that
+child is demented."
+
+On the following morning--it was Friday--Lady Honoria, accompanied by
+Anne, departed in the very best of tempers. For the next three weeks,
+at any rate, she would be free from the galling associations of
+straightened means--free to enjoy the luxury and refined comfort to
+which she had been accustomed, and for which her soul yearned with a
+fierce longing that would be incomprehensible to folk of a simpler mind.
+Everybody has his or her ideal Heaven, if only one could fathom it. Some
+would choose a sublimated intellectual leisure, made happy by the best
+literature of all the planets; some a model state (with themselves as
+presidents), in which (through their beneficent efforts) the latest
+radical notions could actually be persuaded to work to everybody's
+satisfaction; others a happy hunting ground, where the game enjoyed the
+fun as much as they did; and so on, _ad infinitum_.
+
+Lady Honoria was even more modest. Give her a well appointed town and
+country house, a few powdered footmen, plenty of carriages, and other
+needful things, including of course the _entree_ to the upper celestial
+ten, and she would ask no more from age to age. Let us hope that she
+will get it one day. It would hurt nobody, and she is sure to find
+plenty of people of her own way of thinking--that is, if this world
+supplies the raw material.
+
+She embraced Effie with enthusiasm, and her husband with a chastened
+warmth, and went, a pious prayer on her lips that she might never again
+set eyes upon Bryngelly.
+
+It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels.
+That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up.
+Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the
+things into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which would
+not go in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle looked like
+an old clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for them inside,
+they walked down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance of about
+three-quarters of a mile, stopping on their way to admire the beautiful
+castle, in one corner of which Owen Davies lived and moved.
+
+"Oh, daddy," said the child, "I wish you would buy a house like that for
+you and me to live in. Why don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Haven't got the money, dear," he answered.
+
+"Will you ever have the money, daddy?"
+
+"I don't know, dear, perhaps one day--when I am too old to enjoy it," he
+added to himself.
+
+"It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn't
+it, daddy?" said Effie sagely.
+
+"Yes, dear, more than you could count," he answered, and the
+conversation dropped.
+
+Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and
+close to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged
+in mending a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the
+identical canoe out of which he had so nearly been drowned.
+
+"Look, Effie," said he, "that is the boat out of which I was upset."
+Effie opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft.
+
+"It is a horrid boat," she said; "I don't want to look at it."
+
+"You're quite right, little miss," said old Edward, touching his cap.
+"It ain't safe, and somebody will be drowned out of it one of these
+days. I wish it had gone to the bottom, I do; but Miss Beatrice, she is
+that foolhardy there ain't no doing nothing with her."
+
+"I fancy that she has learnt a lesson," said Geoffrey.
+
+"May be, may be," grumbled the old man, "but women folk are hard to
+teach; they never learn nothing till it's too late, they don't, and
+then when they've been and done it they're sorry, but what's the good o'
+that?"
+
+Meanwhile another conversation was in progress not more than a quarter
+of a mile away. On the brow of the cliff stood the village of Bryngelly,
+and at the back of the village was a school, a plain white-washed
+building, roofed with stone, which, though amply sufficient and suitable
+to the wants of the place, was little short of an abomination in the
+eyes of Her Majesty's school inspectors, who from time to time descended
+upon Bryngelly for purposes of examination and fault-finding. They
+yearned to see a stately red-brick edifice, with all the latest
+improvements, erected at the expense of the rate-payers, but as yet they
+yearned in vain. The school was supported by voluntary contributions,
+and thanks to Beatrice's energy and good teaching, the dreaded Board,
+with its fads and extravagance, had not yet clutched it.
+
+Beatrice had returned to her duties that afternoon, for a night's rest
+brought back its vigour to her strong young frame. She had been greeted
+with enthusiasm by the children, who loved her, as well they might, for
+she was very gentle and sweet with them, though few dared to disobey
+her. Besides, her beauty impressed them, though they did not know it.
+Beauty of a certain sort has perhaps more effect on children than on any
+other class, heedless and selfish as they often seem to be. They feel
+its power; it is an outward expression of the thoughts and dreams that
+bud in their unknowing hearts, and is somehow mixed up with their ideas
+of God and Heaven. Thus there was in Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a
+very clever and highly excitable child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of
+parents of strict Calvinistic views. As it chanced, some months
+before the opening of this story, a tub thumper, of high renown and
+considerable rude oratorical force, visited the place, and treated his
+hearers to a lively discourse on the horrors of Hell.
+
+In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little
+child between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much
+satisfaction, and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of
+curiosity.
+
+Presently the preacher, having dealt sufficiently in terrifying
+generalities, went on to practical illustrations, for, after the manner
+of his class, he was delivering an extemporary oration. "Look at that
+child," he said, pointing to the little girl; "she looks innocent, does
+she not? but if she does not find salvation, my brethren, I tell you
+that she is damned. If she dies to-night, not having found salvation,
+she will go to _Hell_. Her delicate little body will be tormented for
+ever and ever----"
+
+Here the unfortunate child fell forward with a shriek.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir," said Beatrice aloud.
+
+She had been listening to all this ill-judged rant with growing
+indignation, and now, in her excitement, entirely forgot that she was in
+a place of worship. Then she ran forward to the child, who had swooned.
+Poor little unfortunate, she never recovered the shock. When she came to
+herself, it was found that her finely strung mind had given way, and she
+lapsed into a condition of imbecility. But her imbecility was not always
+passive. Occasionally fits of passionate terror would seize upon her.
+She would cry out that the fiends were coming to drag her down to
+torment, and dash herself against the wall, in fear hideous to behold.
+Then it was found that there was but one way to calm her: it was to send
+for Beatrice. Beatrice would come and take the poor thin hands in hers
+and gaze with her calm deep eyes upon the wasted horror-stricken face
+till the child grew quiet again and, shivering, sobbed herself to sleep
+upon her breast.
+
+And so it was with all the children; her power over them was almost
+absolute. They loved her, and she loved them all.
+
+And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice's
+custom to make the children sing some simple song before they broke
+up. She stood in front of them and gave the time while they sung, and a
+pretty sight it was to see her do it. On this particular afternoon, just
+as the first verse was finished, the door of the room opened, and Owen
+Davies entered, bearing some books under his arm. Beatrice glanced round
+and saw him, then, with a quick stamp of her foot, went on giving the
+time.
+
+The children sung lustily, and in front of them stood Beatrice, dressed
+in simple white, her graceful form swaying as she marked the music's
+time. Nearer and nearer drew Owen Davies, till at length he stood quite
+close, his lips slightly apart, his eyes fixed upon her like the eyes
+of one who dreams, and his slow heavy face faintly lit with the glow of
+strong emotion.
+
+The song ended, the children at a word from their mistress filed past
+her, headed by the pupil teachers, and then with a shout, seizing their
+caps, ran forth this way and that, welcoming the free air. When they
+were all gone, and not till then, Beatrice turned suddenly round.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" she said.
+
+He started visibly. "I did not know that you had seen me," he answered.
+
+"Oh, yes, I saw you, Mr. Davies, only I could not stop the song to say
+how do you do. By the way, I have to thank you for coming to inquire
+after me."
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all; it was a most dreadful accident.
+I cannot tell you how thankful I am--I can't, indeed."
+
+"It is very good of you to take so much interest in me," said Beatrice.
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all. Who--who could help taking
+interest in you? I have brought you some books--the Life of Darwin--it
+is in two volumes. I think that I have heard you say that Darwin
+interests you?"
+
+"Yes, thank you very much. Have you read it?"
+
+"No, but I have cut it. Darwin doesn't interest me, you know. I think
+that he was a rather misguided person. May I carry the books home for
+you?"
+
+"Thank you, but I am not going straight home; I am going to old Edward's
+shed to see my canoe."
+
+As a matter of fact this was true, but the idea was only that moment
+born in her mind. Beatrice had been going home, as she wanted to see
+that all things were duly prepared for Geoffrey and his little daughter.
+But to reach the Vicarage she must pass along the cliff, where there
+were few people, and this she did not wish to do. To be frank, she
+feared lest Mr. Davies should take the opportunity to make that offer of
+his hand and heart which hung over her like a nightmare. Now the way to
+Edward's shed lay through the village and down the cliff, and she knew
+that he would never propose in the village.
+
+It was very foolish of her, no doubt, thus to seek to postpone the evil
+day, but the strongest-minded women have their weak points, and this was
+one of Beatrice's. She hated the idea of this scene. She knew that when
+it did come there would be a scene. Not that her resolution to refuse
+the man had ever faltered. But it would be painful, and in the end it
+must reach the ears of her father and Elizabeth that she had actually
+rejected Mr. Owen Davies, and then what would her life be worth? She had
+never suspected it, it had never entered into her mind to suspect, that,
+though her father might be vexed enough, nothing on this earth would
+more delight the heart of Elizabeth.
+
+Presently, having fetched her hat, Beatrice, accompanied by her admirer,
+bearing the Life of Darwin under his arm, started to walk down to the
+beach. They went in silence, Beatrice just a little ahead. She ventured
+some remark about the weather, but Owen Davies made no reply; he was
+thinking, he wanted to say something, but he did not know how to say
+it. They were at the head of the cliff now, and if he wished to speak he
+must do so quickly.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said in a somewhat constrained voice.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Davies--oh, look at that seagull; it nearly knocked my hat
+off."
+
+But he was not to be put off with the seagull. "Miss Beatrice," he said
+again, "are you going out walking next Sunday afternoon?"
+
+"How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain."
+
+"But if it does not rain--please tell me. You generally do walk on the
+beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you will
+allow me, I do indeed."
+
+Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was
+unendurable; it would be better to get it over. Turning round so
+suddenly that Owen started, she said:
+
+"If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the Amphitheatre
+opposite the Red Rocks, at four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, but I had
+much rather that you did not come. I can say no more."
+
+"I shall come," he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to
+the boat-shed.
+
+"Oh, look, daddy," said Effie, "here comes the lady who was drownded
+with you and a gentleman," and to Beatrice's great relief the child ran
+forward and met them.
+
+"Ah!" thought Geoffrey to himself, "that is the man Honoria said she was
+engaged to. Well, I don't think very much of her taste."
+
+In another minute they had arrived. Geoffrey shook hands with Beatrice,
+and was introduced to Owen Davies, who murmured something in reply, and
+promptly took his departure.
+
+They examined the canoe together, and then walked slowly up to the
+Vicarage, Beatrice holding Effie by the hand. Opposite the reef they
+halted for a minute.
+
+"There is the Table Rock on which we were thrown, Mr. Bingham," said
+Beatrice, "and here is where they carried us ashore. The sea does not
+look as though it would drown any one to-night, does it? See!"--and she
+threw a stone into it--"the ripples run as evenly as they do on a pond."
+
+She spoke idly and Geoffrey answered her idly, for they were not
+thinking of their words. Rather were they thinking of the strange chance
+that had brought them together in an hour of deadly peril and now left
+them together in an hour of peace. Perhaps, too, they were wondering to
+what end this had come about. For, agnostics, atheists or believers, are
+we not, most of us, fatalists at heart?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE WRITING ON THE SAND
+
+Geoffrey found himself very comfortable at the Vicarage, and as for
+Effie, she positively revelled in it. Beatrice looked after her,
+taking her to bed at night and helping her to dress in the morning, and
+Beatrice was a great improvement upon Anne. When Geoffrey became aware
+of this he remonstrated, saying that he had never expected her to act as
+nurse to the child, but she replied that it was a pleasure to her to do
+so, which was the truth. In other ways, too, the place was all that he
+desired. He did not like Elizabeth, but then he did not see very much
+of her, and the old farmer clergyman was amusing in his way, with his
+endless talk of tithes and crops, and the iniquities of the rebellious
+Jones, on whom he was going to distrain.
+
+For the first day or two Geoffrey had no more conversations with
+Beatrice. Most of the time she was away at the school, and on the
+Saturday afternoon, when she was free, he went out to the Red Rocks
+curlew shooting. At first he thought of asking her to come too, but then
+it occurred to him that she might wish to go out with Mr. Davies, to
+whom he still supposed she was engaged. It was no affair of his, yet he
+was glad when he came back to find that she had been out with Effie, and
+not with Mr. Davies.
+
+On Sunday morning they all went to church, including Beatrice. It was
+a bare little church, and the congregation was small. Mr. Granger went
+through the service with about as much liveliness as a horse driving a
+machine. He ground it out, prayers, psalms, litany, lessons, all in the
+same depressing way, till Geoffrey felt inclined to go to sleep, and
+then took to watching Beatrice's sweet face instead. He wondered what
+made her look so sad. Hers was always a sad face when in repose, that he
+knew, but to-day it was particularly so, and what was more, she looked
+worried as well as sad. Once or twice he saw her glance at Mr. Davies,
+who was sitting opposite, the solitary occupant of an enormous pew, and
+he thought that there was apprehension in her look. But Mr. Davies
+did not return the glance. To judge from his appearance nothing was
+troubling his mind.
+
+Indeed, Geoffrey studying him in the same way that he instinctively
+studied everybody whom he met, thought that he had never before seen a
+man who looked quite so ox-like and absolutely comfortable. And yet
+he never was more completely at fault. The man seemed stolid and cold
+indeed, but it was the coldness of a volcano. His heart was a-fire.
+All the human forces in him, all the energies of his sturdy life, had
+concentrated themselves in a single passion for the woman who was so
+near and yet so far from him. He had never drawn upon the store, had
+never frittered his heart away. This woman, strange and unusual as
+it may seem, was absolutely the first whose glance or voice had ever
+stirred his blood. His passion for her had grown slowly; for years
+it had been growing, ever since the grey-eyed girl on the brink of
+womanhood had conducted him to his castle home. It was no fancy, no
+light desire to pass with the year which brought it. Owen had little
+imagination, that soil from which loves spring with the rank swiftness
+of a tropic bloom to fade at the first chill breath of change. His
+passion was an unalterable fact. It was rooted like an oak on our stiff
+English soil, its fibres wrapped his heart and shot his being through,
+and if so strong a gale should rise that it must fall, then he too would
+be overthrown.
+
+For years now he had thought of little else than Beatrice. To win her he
+would have given all his wealth, ay, thrice over, if that were possible.
+To win her, to know her his by right and his alone, ah, that would be
+heaven! His blood quivered and his mind grew dim when he thought of it.
+What would it be to see her standing by him as she stood now, and know
+that she was his wife! There is no form of passion more terrible than
+this. Its very earthiness makes it awful.
+
+The service went on. At last Mr. Granger mounted the pulpit and began
+to read his sermon, of which the text was, "But the greatest of these is
+charity." Geoffrey noticed that he bungled over some of the words,
+then suddenly remembered Beatrice had told him that she had written the
+sermon, and was all attention. He was not disappointed. Notwithstanding
+Mr. Granger's infamous reading, and his habit of dropping his voice at
+the end of a sentence, instead of raising it, the beauty of the thoughts
+and diction was very evident. It was indeed a discourse that might
+equally well have been delivered in a Mahomedan or a Buddhist place of
+worship; there was nothing distinctively Christian about it, it merely
+appealed to the good in human nature. But of this neither the preacher
+nor his audience seemed to be aware, indeed, few of the latter were
+listening at all. The sermon was short and ended with a passage of real
+power and beauty--or rather it did not end, for, closing the MS. sheets,
+Mr. Granger followed on with a few impromptu remarks of his own.
+
+"And now, brethren," he said, "I have been preaching to you about
+charity, but I wish to add one remark, Charity begins at home. There
+is about a hundred pounds of tithe owing to me, and some of it has been
+owing for two years and more. If that tithe is not paid I shall have to
+put distraint on some of you, and I thought that I had better take this
+opportunity to tell you so."
+
+Then he gave the Benediction.
+
+The contrast between this business-like speech, and the beautiful
+periods which had gone before, was so ridiculous that Geoffrey very
+nearly burst out laughing, and Beatrice smiled. So did the rest of the
+congregation, excepting one or two who owed tithe, and Owen Davies, who
+was thinking of other things.
+
+As they went through the churchyard, Geoffrey noticed something.
+Beatrice was a few paces ahead holding Effie's hand. Presently Mr.
+Davies passed him, apparently without seeing him, and greeted Beatrice,
+who bowed slightly in acknowledgment. He walked a little way without
+speaking, then Geoffrey, just as they reached the church gate, heard him
+say, "At four this afternoon, then." Again she bowed her head, and he
+turned and went. As for Geoffrey, he wondered what it all meant: was she
+engaged to him, or was she not?
+
+Dinner was a somewhat silent meal. Mr. Granger was thinking about his
+tithe, also about a sick cow. Elizabeth's thoughts pursued some dark and
+devious course of their own, not an altogether agreeable one to judge
+from her face. Beatrice looked pale and worried; even Effie's sallies
+did not do more than make her smile. As for Geoffrey himself, he was
+engaged in wondering in an idle sort of way what was going to happen at
+four o'clock.
+
+"You is all very dull," said Effie at last, with a charming disregard of
+grammar.
+
+"People ought to be dull on Sunday, Effie," answered Beatrice, with an
+effort. "At least, I suppose so," she added.
+
+Elizabeth, who was aggressively religious, frowned at this remark. She
+knew her sister did not mean it.
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon, Beatrice?" she asked suddenly.
+She had seen Owen Davies go up and speak to her sister, and though she
+had not been near enough to catch the words, scented an assignation from
+afar.
+
+Beatrice coloured slightly, a fact that escaped neither her sister nor
+Geoffrey.
+
+"I am going to see Jane Llewellyn," she answered. Jane Llewellyn was the
+crazy little girl whose tale has been told. Up to that moment Beatrice
+had no idea of going to see her, but she knew that Elizabeth would not
+follow her there, because the child could not endure Elizabeth.
+
+"Oh, I thought that perhaps you were going out walking."
+
+"I may walk afterwards," answered Beatrice shortly.
+
+"So there is an assignation," thought Elizabeth, and a cold gleam of
+intelligence passed across her face.
+
+Shortly after dinner, Beatrice put on her bonnet and went out. Ten
+minutes passed, and Elizabeth did the same. Then Mr. Granger announced
+that he was going up to the farm (there was no service till six) to see
+about the sick cow, and asked Geoffrey if he would like to accompany
+him. He said that he might as well, if Effie could come, and, having lit
+his pipe, they started.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice went to see the crazy child. She was not violent
+to-day, and scarcely knew her. Before she had been in the house ten
+minutes, the situation developed itself.
+
+The cottage stood about two-thirds of the way down a straggling street,
+which was quite empty, for Bryngelly slept after dinner on Sunday.
+At the top of this street appeared Elizabeth, a Bible in her hand, as
+though on district visiting intent. She looked down the street, and
+seeing nobody, went for a little walk, then, returning, once more looked
+down the street. This time she was rewarded. The door of the Llewellyns'
+cottage opened, and Beatrice appeared. Instantly Elizabeth withdrew to
+such a position that she could see without being seen, and, standing
+as though irresolute, awaited events. Beatrice turned and took the road
+that led to the beach.
+
+Then Elizabeth's irresolution disappeared. She also turned and took the
+road to the cliff, walking very fast. Passing behind the Vicarage, she
+gained a point where the beach narrowed to a width of not more than
+fifty yards, and sat down. Presently she saw a man coming along the
+sand beneath her, walking quickly. It was Owen Davies. She waited and
+watched. Seven or eight minutes passed, and a woman in a white dress
+passed. It was Beatrice, walking slowly.
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, setting her teeth, "as I thought." Rising, she
+pursued her path along the cliff, keeping three or four hundred yards
+ahead, which she could easily do by taking short cuts. It was a long
+walk, and Elizabeth, who was not fond of walking, got very tired of it.
+But she was a woman with a purpose, and as such, hard to beat. So she
+kept on steadily for nearly an hour, till, at length, she came to the
+spot known as the Amphitheatre. This Amphitheatre, situated almost
+opposite the Red Rocks, was a half-ring of cliff, the sides of which ran
+in a semicircle almost down to the water's edge, that is, at high tide.
+In the centre of the segment thus formed was a large flat stone, so
+placed that anybody in certain positions on the cliff above could
+command a view of it, though it was screened by the projecting walls of
+rock from observation from the beach. Elizabeth clambered a little way
+down the sloping side of the cliff and looked; on the stone, his back
+towards her, sat Owen Davies. Slipping from stratum to stratum of the
+broken cliff, Elizabeth drew slowly nearer, till at length she was
+within fifty paces of the seated man. Here, ensconcing herself behind a
+cleft rock, she also sat down; it was not safe to go closer; but in case
+she should by any chance be observed from above, she opened the Bible on
+her knee, as though she had sought this quiet spot to study its pages.
+
+Three or four minutes passed, and Beatrice appeared round the projecting
+angle of the Amphitheatre, and walked slowly across the level sand. Owen
+Davies rose and stretched out his hand to welcome her, but she did not
+take it, she only bowed, and then seated herself upon the large flat
+stone. Owen also seated himself on it, but some three or four feet away.
+Elizabeth thrust her white face forward till it was almost level with
+the lips of the cleft rock and strained her ears to listen. Alas! she
+could not hear a single word.
+
+"You asked me to come here, Mr. Davies," said Beatrice, breaking the
+painful silence. "I have come."
+
+"Yes," he answered; "I asked you to come because I wanted to speak to
+you."
+
+"Yes?" said Beatrice, looking up from her occupation of digging little
+holes in the sand with the point of her parasol. Her face was calm
+enough, but her heart beat fast beneath her breast.
+
+"I want to ask you," he said, speaking slowly and thickly, "if you will
+be my wife?"
+
+Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only paused
+because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again, and went
+on digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole case, as a
+lawyer would say.
+
+"I want to ask you," he repeated, "to be my wife. I have wished to do so
+for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it. It is
+a great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not answer me
+yet," he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke. "Listen to what
+I have to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my life. At sea I was
+lonely, and since I have come into this fortune I have been lonelier
+still. I never loved anybody or anything till I began to love you.
+And then I loved you more and more and more; till now I have only one
+thought in all my life, and that thought is of you. While I am awake
+I think of you, and when I am asleep I dream of you. Listen, Beatrice,
+listen!--I have never loved any other woman, I have scarcely spoken to
+one--only you, Beatrice. I can give you a great deal; and everything
+I have shall be yours, only I should be jealous of you--yes, very
+jealous!"
+
+Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as death,
+and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by contrast
+looked almost unholy.
+
+"I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies," Beatrice answered. "I
+am very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am
+not your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and
+I think it best to tell you so plainly, once and for all," and
+unconsciously she went on digging the holes.
+
+"Oh, do not say that," he answered, almost in a moan. "For God's sake
+don't say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go mad.
+Marry me and you will learn to love me."
+
+Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart. She
+did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that she
+was doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man loved
+her and was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women are
+willing enough to give under circumstances so favourable to their
+well-being--herself. But she never liked him, he had always repelled
+her, and she was not a woman to marry a man whom she did not like.
+Also, during the last week this dislike and repulsion had hardened and
+strengthened. Vaguely, as he pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why,
+and as she did so her eye fell upon the pattern she was automatically
+pricking in the sand. It had taken the form of letters, and the letters
+were G E O F F R E--Great heaven! Could that be the answer? She flushed
+crimson with shame at the thought, and passed her foot across the
+tell-tale letters, as she believed, obliterating them.
+
+Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and misinterpreted
+them. Thinking that she was relenting, by instinct, rather than from any
+teaching of experience, he attempted to take her hand. With a turn of
+the arm, so quick that even Elizabeth watching with all her eyes saw
+nothing of the movement, Beatrice twisted herself free.
+
+"Don't touch me," she said sharply, "you have no right to touch me. I
+have answered you, Mr. Davies."
+
+Owen withdrew his hand abashed, and for a moment sat still, his chin
+resting on his breast, a very picture of despair. Nothing indeed could
+break the stolid calm of his features, but the violence of his emotion
+was evident in the quick shivering of his limbs and his short deep
+breaths.
+
+"Can you give me no hope?" he said at last in a slow heavy voice. "For
+God's sake think before you answer--you don't know what it means to me.
+It is nothing to you--you cannot feel. I feel, and your words cut like
+a knife. I know that I am heavy and stupid, but I feel as though you had
+killed me. You are heartless, quite heartless."
+
+Again Beatrice softened a little. She was touched and flattered. Where
+is the woman who would not have been?
+
+"What can I say to you, Mr. Davies?" she answered in a kinder voice. "I
+cannot marry you. How I can I marry you when I do not love you?"
+
+"Plenty of women marry men whom they do not love."
+
+"Then they are bad women," answered Beatrice with energy.
+
+"The world does not think so," he said again; "the world calls those
+women bad who love where they cannot marry, and the world is always
+right. Marriage sanctifies everything."
+
+Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Do you think so?" she said. "I do not. I
+think that marriage without love is the most unholy of our institutions,
+and that is saying a good deal. Supposing I should say yes to you,
+supposing that I married you, not loving you, what would it be for? For
+your money and your position, and to be called a married woman, and what
+do you suppose I should think of myself in my heart then? No, no, I may
+be bad, but I have not fallen so low as that. Find another wife, Mr.
+Davies; the world is wide and there are plenty of women in it who
+will love you for your own sake, or who at any rate will not be so
+particular. Forget me, and leave me to go my own way--it is not your
+way."
+
+"Leave you to go your own way," he answered almost with passion--"that
+is, leave you to some other man. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. I am
+jealous of every man who comes near you. Do you know how beautiful you
+are? You are too beautiful--every man must love you as I do. Oh, if you
+took anybody else I think that I should kill him."
+
+"Do not speak like that, Mr. Davies, or I shall go."
+
+He stopped at once. "Don't go," he said imploringly. "Listen. You said
+that you would not marry me because you did not love me. Supposing that
+you learned to love me, say in a year's time, Beatrice, would you marry
+me then?"
+
+"I would marry any man whom I loved," she answered.
+
+"Then if you learn to love me you will marry me?"
+
+"Oh, this is ridiculous," she said. "It is not probable, it is hardly
+possible, that such a thing should happen. If it had been going to
+happen it would have happened before."
+
+"It might come about," he answered; "your heart might soften towards me.
+Oh, say yes to this. It is a small request, it costs you nothing, and it
+gives me hope, without which I cannot live. Say that I may ask you once
+more, and that then if you love me you will marry me."
+
+Beatrice thought for a moment. Such a promise could do her no harm, and
+in the course of six months or a year he might get used to the idea of
+living without her. Also it would prevent a scene. It was weak of her,
+but she dreaded the idea of her having refused Owen Davies coming to her
+father's ears.
+
+"If you wish it, Mr. Davies," she said, "so be it. Only I ask you to
+understand this, I am in no way tied to you. I give you no hope that my
+answer, should you renew this offer a year hence or at any other time,
+will differ from that I give you to-day. I do not think there is the
+slightest probability of such a thing. Also, it must be understood that
+you are not to speak to my father about this matter, or to trouble me in
+any way. Do you consent?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I consent. You have me at your mercy."
+
+"Very well. And now, Mr. Davies, good-bye. No, do not walk back with me.
+I had rather go by myself. But I want to say this: I am very sorry
+for what has happened. I have not wished it to happen. I have never
+encouraged it, and my hands are clean of it. But I am sorry, sorry
+beyond measure, and I repeat what I said before--seek out some other
+woman and marry her."
+
+"That is the cruellest thing of all the cruel things which you have
+said," he answered.
+
+"I did not mean it to be cruel, Mr. Davies, but I suppose that the truth
+often is. And now good-bye," and Beatrice stretched out her hand.
+
+He touched it, and she turned and went. But Owen did not go. He sat upon
+the rock, his head bowed in misery. He had staked all his hopes upon
+this woman. She was the one desirable thing to him, the one star in
+his somewhat leaden sky, and now that star was eclipsed. Her words were
+unequivocal, they gave but little hope. Beatrice was scarcely a woman to
+turn round in six months or a year. On the contrary, there was a fixity
+about her which frightened him. What could be the cause of it? How came
+it that she should be so ready to reject him, and all he had to offer
+her? After all, she was a girl in a small position. She could not be
+looking forward to a better match. Nor would the prospect move her one
+way or another. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps he had a rival,
+surely that must be the cause. Some enemy had done this thing. But who?
+
+At this moment a woman's shadow fell athwart him.
+
+"Oh, have you come back?" he cried, springing to his feet.
+
+"If you mean Beatrice," answered a voice--it was Elizabeth's--"she went
+down to the beach ten minutes ago. I happened to be on the cliff, and I
+saw her."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," he said faintly. "I did not see
+who it was."
+
+Elizabeth sat down upon the rock where her sister had sat, and, seeing
+the little holes in the breach, began indolently to clear them of the
+sand which Beatrice had swept over them with her foot. This was no
+difficult matter, for the holes were deeply dug, and it was easy to
+trace their position. Presently they were nearly all clear--that is, the
+letters were legible.
+
+"You have had a talk with Beatrice, Mr. Davies?"
+
+"Yes," he answered apathetically.
+
+Elizabeth paused. Then she took her bull by the horns.
+
+"Are you going to marry Beatrice, Mr. Davies?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know," he answered slowly and without surprise. It seemed
+natural to him that his own central thought should be present in her
+mind. "I love her dearly, and want to marry her."
+
+"She refused you, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Elizabeth breathed more freely.
+
+"But I can ask her again."
+
+Elizabeth frowned. What could this mean? It was not an absolute refusal.
+Beatrice was playing some game of her own.
+
+"Why did she put you off so, Mr. Davies? Do not think me inquisitive. I
+only ask because I may be able to help you."
+
+"I know; you are very kind. Help me and I shall always be grateful to
+you. I do not know--I almost think that there must be somebody else,
+only I don't know who it can be."
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, who had been gazing intently at the little holes
+in the beach which she had now cleared of the sand. "Of course that is
+possible. She is a curious girl, Beatrice is. What are those letters,
+Mr. Davies?"
+
+He looked at them idly. "Something your sister was writing while I
+talked to her. I remember seeing her do it."
+
+"G E O F F R E--why, it must be meant for Geoffrey. Yes, of course it
+is possible that there is somebody else, Mr. Davies. Geoffrey!--how
+curious!"
+
+"Why is it curious, Miss Granger? Who is Geoffrey?"
+
+Elizabeth laughed a disagreeable little laugh that somehow attracted
+Owen's attention more than her words.
+
+"How should I know? It must be some friend of Beatrice's, and one of
+whom she is thinking a great deal, or she would not write his name
+unconsciously. The only Geoffrey that I know is Mr. Geoffrey Bingham,
+the barrister, who is staying at the Vicarage, and whose life Beatrice
+saved." She paused to watch her companion's face, and saw a new idea
+creep across its stolidity. "But of course," she went on, "it cannot be
+Mr. Bingham that she was thinking of, because you see he is married."
+
+"Married?" he said, "yes, but he's a man for all that, and a very
+handsome one."
+
+"Yes, I should call him handsome--a fine man," Elizabeth answered
+critically; "but, as Beatrice said the other day, the great charm about
+him is his talk and power of mind. He is a very remarkable man, and the
+world will hear of him before he has done. But, however, all this is
+neither here nor there. Beatrice is a curious woman, and has strange
+ideas, but I am sure that she would never carry on with a married man."
+
+"But he might carry on with her, Miss Elizabeth."
+
+She laughed. "Do you really think that a man like Mr. Bingham would try
+to flirt with girls without encouragement? Men like that are as proud
+as women, and prouder; the lady must always be a step ahead. But what
+is the good of talking about such a thing? It is all nonsense. Beatrice
+must have been thinking of some other Geoffrey--or it was an accident of
+something. Why, Mr. Davies, if you for one moment really believed that
+dear Beatrice could be guilty of such a shameless thing as to carry on
+a flirtation with a married man, would you have asked her to marry you?
+Would you still think of asking such a woman as she must be to become
+your wife?"
+
+"I don't know; I suppose not," he said doubtfully.
+
+"You suppose not. I know you better than you know yourself. You would
+rather never marry at all than take such a woman as she would be proved
+to be. But it is no good talking such stuff. If you have a rival you may
+be sure it is some unmarried man."
+
+Owen reflected in his heart that on the whole he would rather it was a
+married one, since a married man, at any rate, could not legally take
+possession of Beatrice. But Elizabeth's rigid morality alarmed him, and
+he did not say so.
+
+"Do you know I feel a little upset, Miss Elizabeth," he answered. "I
+think I will be going. By the way, I promised to say nothing of this to
+your father. I hope that you will not do so, either."
+
+"Most certainly not," said Elizabeth, and indeed it would be the last
+thing she would wish to do. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Davies. Do not be
+downhearted; it will all come right in the end. You will always have me
+to help you, remember."
+
+"Thank you, thank you," he said earnestly, and went.
+
+Elizabeth watched him round the wall of rock with a cold and ugly smile
+set upon her face.
+
+"You fool," she thought, "you fool! To tell _me_ that you 'love her
+dearly and want to marry her;' you want to get that sweet face of hers,
+do you? You never shall; I'd spoil it first! Dear Beatrice, she is not
+capable of carrying on a love affair with a married man--oh, certainly
+not! Why, she's in love with him already, and he is more than half in
+love with her. If she hadn't been, would she have put Owen off? Not she.
+Give them time, and we shall see. They will ruin each other--they _must_
+ruin each other; it won't be child's play when two people like that fall
+in love. They will not stop at sighs, there is too much human nature
+about them. It was a good idea to get him into the house. And to see her
+go on with that child Effie, just as though she was its mother--it makes
+me laugh. Ah, Beatrice, with all your wits you are a silly woman! And
+one day, my dear girl, I shall have the pleasure of exposing you to
+Owen; the idol will be unveiled, and there will be an end of your
+chances with him, for he can't marry you after that. Then my turn will
+come. It is a question of time--only a question of time!"
+
+So brooded Elizabeth in her heart, madded with malicious envy and
+passionate jealousy. She loved this man, Owen Davies, as much as she
+could love anybody; at the least, she dearly loved the wealth and
+station of which he was the visible centre, and she hated the sister
+whom he desired. If she could only discredit that sister and show her
+to be guilty of woman's worst crime, misplaced, unlegalised affection,
+surely, she thought, Owen would reject her.
+
+She was wrong. She did not know how entirely he desired to make Beatrice
+his wife, or realise how forgiving a man can be who has such an end to
+gain. It is of the women who already weary them and of their infidelity
+that men are so ready to make examples, not of those who do not belong
+to them, and whom they long for night and day. To these they can be very
+merciful.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+GEOFFREY LECTURES
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice was walking homewards with an uneasy mind. The
+trouble was upon her. She had, it is true, succeeded in postponing it
+a little, but she knew very well that it was only a postponement. Owen
+Davies was not a man to be easily shaken off. She almost wished now that
+she had crushed the idea once and for all. But then he would have gone
+to her father, and there must have been a scene, and she was weak enough
+to shrink from that, especially while Mr. Bingham was in the house. She
+could well imagine the dismay, not to say the fury, of her money-loving
+old father if he were to hear that she had refused--actually
+refused--Owen Davies of Bryngelly Castle, and all his wealth.
+
+Then there was Elizabeth to be reckoned with. Elizabeth would assuredly
+make her life a burden to her. Beatrice little guessed that nothing
+would suit her sister's book better. Oh, if only she could shake the
+dust of Bryngelly off her feet! But that, too, was impossible. She was
+quite without money. She might, it was true, succeed in getting another
+place as mistress to a school in some distant part of England, were
+it not for an insurmountable obstacle. Here she received a salary of
+seventy-five pounds a year; of this she kept fifteen pounds, out of
+which slender sum she contrived to dress herself; the rest she gave
+to her father. Now, as she well knew, he could not keep his head above
+water without this assistance, which, small as it was, made all the
+difference to their household between poverty and actual want. If she
+went away, supposing even that she found an equally well-paid post,
+she would require every farthing of the money to support herself, there
+would be nothing left to send home. It was a pitiable position; here was
+she, who had just refused a man worth thousands a year, quite unable
+to get out of the way of his importunity for the want of seventy-five
+pounds, paid quarterly. Well, the only thing to do was to face it out
+and take her chance. On one point she was, however, quite clear; she
+would _not_ marry Owen Davies. She might be a fool for her pains, but
+she would not do it. She respected herself too much to marry a man
+she did not love; a man whom she positively disliked. "No, never!" she
+exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot upon the shingle.
+
+"Never what?" said a voice, within two yards of her.
+
+She started violently, and looked round. There, his back resting against
+a rock, a pipe in his mouth, an open letter on his knee, and his hat
+drawn down almost over his eyes, sat Geoffrey. He had left Effie to go
+home with Mr. Granger, and climbing down a sloping place in the cliff,
+had strolled along the beach. The letter on his knee was one from his
+wife. It was short, and there was nothing particular in it. Effie's name
+was not even mentioned. It was to see if he had not overlooked it that
+he was reading the note through again. No, it merely related to Lady
+Honoria's safe arrival, gave a list of the people staying at the Hall--a
+fast lot, Geoffrey noticed, a certain Mr. Dunstan, whom he particularly
+disliked, among them--and the number of brace of partridges which had
+been killed on the previous day. Then came an assurance that Honoria
+was enjoying herself immensely, and that the new French cook was "simply
+perfect;" the letter ending "with love."
+
+"Never what, Miss Granger?" he said again, as he lazily folded up the
+sheet.
+
+"Never mind, of course," she answered, recovering herself. "How you
+startled me, Mr. Bingham! I had no idea there was anybody on the beach."
+
+"It is quite free, is it not?" he answered, getting up. "I thought you
+were going to trample me into the pebbles. It's almost alarming when one
+is thinking about a Sunday nap to see a young lady striding along, then
+suddenly stop, stamp her foot, and say, 'No, never!' Luckily I knew that
+you were about or I should really have been frightened."
+
+"How did you know that I was about?" Beatrice asked a little defiantly.
+It was no business of his to observe her movements.
+
+"In two ways. Look!" he said, pointing to a patch of white sand. "That,
+I think, is your footprint."
+
+"Well, what of it?" said Beatrice, with a little laugh.
+
+"Nothing in particular, except that it is your footprint," he answered.
+"Then I happened to meet old Edward, who was loafing along, and he
+informed me that you and Mr. Davies had gone up the beach; there is his
+footprint--Mr. Davies's, I mean--but you don't seem to have been very
+sociable, because here is yours right in the middle of it. Therefore you
+must have been walking in Indian file, and a little way back in parallel
+lines, with quite thirty yards between you."
+
+"Why do you take the trouble to observe things so closely?" she asked in
+a half amused and half angry tone.
+
+"I don't know--a habit of the legal mind, I suppose. One might make
+quite a romance out of those footprints on the sand, and the little
+subsequent events. But you have not heard all my thrilling tale. Old
+Edward also informed me that he saw your sister, Miss Elizabeth, going
+along the cliff almost level with you, from which he concluded that you
+had argued as to the shortest way to the Red Rocks and were putting the
+matter to the proof."
+
+"Elizabeth," said Beatrice, turning a shade paler; "what can she have
+been doing, I wonder."
+
+"Taking exercise, probably, like yourself. Well, I seat myself with my
+pipe in the shadow of that rock, when suddenly I see Mr. Davies coming
+along towards Bryngelly as though he were walking for a wager, his hat
+fixed upon the back of his head. Literally he walked over my legs and
+never saw me. Then you follow and ejaculate, 'No, never!'--and that is
+the end of my story. Have I your permission to walk with you, or shall I
+interfere with the development of the plot?"
+
+"There is no plot, and as you said just now the beach is free," Beatrice
+answered petulantly.
+
+They walked on a few yards and then he spoke in another tone--the
+meaning of the assignation he had overheard in the churchyard grew clear
+to him now.
+
+"I believe that I have to congratulate you, Miss Granger," he said,
+"and I do so very heartily. It is not everybody who is so fortunate as
+to----"
+
+Beatrice stopped, and half turning faced him.
+
+"What _do_ you mean, Mr. Bingham?" she said. "I do not understand your
+dark sayings."
+
+"Mean! oh, nothing particular, except that I wished to congratulate you
+on your engagement."
+
+"My engagement! what engagement?"
+
+"It seems that there is some mistake," he said, and struggle as he might
+to suppress it his tone was one of relief. "I understood that you had
+become engaged to be married to Mr. Owen Davies. If I am wrong I am sure
+I apologise."
+
+"You are quite wrong, Mr. Bingham; I don't know who put such a notion
+into your head, but there is no truth in it."
+
+"Then allow me to congratulate you on there being no truth in it. You
+see that is the beauty of nine affairs matrimonial out of ten--there
+are two or more sides of them. If they come off the amiable and
+disinterested observer can look at the bright side--as in this case,
+lots of money, romantic castle by the sea, gentleman of unexceptional
+antecedents, &c., &c, &c. If, on the other hand, they don't, cause can
+still be found for thankfulness--lady might do better after all, castle
+by the sea rather draughty and cold in spring, gentlemen most estimable
+but perhaps a little dull, and so on, you see."
+
+There was a note of mockery about his talk which irritated Beatrice
+exceedingly. It was not like Mr. Bingham to speak so. It was not even
+the way that a gentleman out of his teens should speak to a lady on such
+a subject. He knew this as well as she did and was secretly ashamed of
+himself. But the truth must out: though Geoffrey did not admit it even
+to himself he was bitterly and profoundly jealous, and jealous people
+have no manners. Beatrice could not, however, be expected to know this,
+and naturally grew angry.
+
+"I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Bingham," she
+said, putting on her most dignified air, and Beatrice could look rather
+alarming. "You have picked up a piece of unfounded gossip and now you
+take advantage of it to laugh at me, and to say rude things of Mr.
+Davies. It is not kind."
+
+"Oh, no; it was the footsteps, Miss Granger, _and_ the gossip, _and_ the
+appointment you made in the churchyard, that I unwillingly overheard,
+not the gossip alone which led me into my mistake. Of course I have now
+to apologise."
+
+Again Beatrice stamped her foot. She saw that he was still mocking her,
+and felt that he did not believe her.
+
+"There," he went on, stung into unkindness by his biting but
+unacknowledged jealousy, for she was right--on reflection he did
+not quite believe what she said as to her not being engaged. "How
+unfortunate I am--I have said something to make you angry again. Why did
+you not walk with Mr. Davies? I should then have remained guiltless of
+offence, and you would have had a more agreeable companion. You want to
+quarrel with me; what shall we quarrel about? There are many things on
+which we are diametrically opposed; let us start one."
+
+It was too much, for though his words were nothing the tone in which
+he spoke gave them a sting. Beatrice, already disturbed in mind by the
+scene through which she had passed, her breast already throbbing with
+a vague trouble of which she did not know the meaning, for once in her
+life lost control of herself and grew hysterical. Her grey eyes filled
+with tears, the corners of her sweet mouth dropped, and she looked very
+much as though she were going to burst out weeping.
+
+"It is most unkind of you," she said, with a half sob. "If you knew how
+much I have to put up with, you would not speak to me like that. I know
+that you do not believe me; very well, I will tell you the truth. Yes,
+though I have no business to do it, and you have no right--none at
+all--to make me do it, I will tell you the truth, because I cannot bear
+that you should not believe me. Mr. Davies did want me to marry him and
+I refused him. I put him off for a while; I did this because I knew that
+if I did not he would go to my father. It was cowardly, but my father
+would make my life wretched----" and again she gave a half-choked sob.
+
+Much has been said and written about the effect produced upon men by
+the sight of a lady in, or on the border line of tears, and there is no
+doubt that this effect is considerable. Man being in his right mind
+is deeply moved by such a spectacle, also he is frightened because he
+dreads a scene. Now most people would rather walk ten miles in their
+dress shoes than have to deal with a young lady in hysterics, however
+modified. Putting the peculiar circumstances of the case aside, Geoffrey
+was no exception to this rule. It was all very well to cross spears
+with Beatrice, who had quite an equal wit, and was very capable of
+retaliation, but to see her surrender at discretion was altogether
+another thing. Indeed he felt much ashamed of himself.
+
+"Please don't--don't--be put out," he said. He did not like to use the
+word "cry." "I was only laughing at you, but I ought not to have spoken
+as I did. I did not wish to force your confidence, indeed I did not. I
+never thought of such a thing. I am so sorry."
+
+His remorse was evidently genuine, and Beatrice felt somewhat appeased.
+Perhaps it did not altogether grieve her to learn that she could make
+him feel sorry.
+
+"You did not force my confidence," she said defiantly, quite forgetting
+that a moment before she had reproached him for making her speak.
+"I told you because I did not choose that you should think I was not
+speaking the truth--and now let us change the subject." She imposed no
+reserve on him as to what she had revealed; she knew that there was no
+necessity to do so. The secret would be between them--another dangerous
+link.
+
+Beatrice recovered her composure and they walked slowly on.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Bingham," she said presently, "how can a woman earn her
+living--I mean a girl like myself without any special qualifications?
+Some of them get on."
+
+"Well," he answered, "that depends upon the girl. What sort of a living
+do you mean? You are earning a living now, of a kind."
+
+"Yes, but sometimes, if only I could manage it, I think that I should
+like to get away from here, and take another line, something bigger. I
+do not suppose that I ever shall, but I like to think of it sometimes."
+
+"I only know of two things which a woman can turn to," he said, "the
+stage and literature. Of course," he added hastily, "the first is out of
+the question in your case."
+
+"And so is the other, I am afraid," she answered shaking her head, "that
+is if by literature you mean imaginative writing, and I suppose that
+is the only way to get into notice. As I told you I lost my
+imagination--well, to be frank, when I lost my faith. At one time I used
+to have plenty, as I used to have plenty of faith, but the one went with
+the other, I do not understand why."
+
+"Don't you? I think I do. A mind without religious sentiment is like a
+star without atmosphere, brighter than other stars but not so soft to
+see. Religion, poetry, music, imagination, and even some of the
+more exalted forms of passion, flourish in the same soil, and are, I
+sometimes think, different manifestations of the same thing. Do you know
+it is ridiculous to hear you talk of having lost your faith, because I
+don't believe it. At the worst it has gone to sleep, and will wake
+up again one day. Possibly you may not accept some particular form of
+faith, but I tell you frankly that to reject all religion simply because
+you cannot understand it, is nothing but a form of atrocious spiritual
+vanity. Your mind is too big for you, Miss Granger: it has run away
+with you, but you know it is tied by a string--it cannot go far. And now
+perhaps you will be angry again."
+
+"No, indeed, why should I be angry? I daresay that you are quite right,
+and I only hope that I may be able to believe again. I will tell you how
+I lost belief. I had a little brother whom I loved more than anything
+else in the world, indeed after my mother died he was the only thing I
+really had to love, for I think that my father cares more for Elizabeth
+than he does for me, she is so much the better at business matters, and
+Elizabeth and I never quite got on. I daresay that the fault is mine,
+but the fact remains--we are sisters but we are not intimate. Well, my
+brother fell ill of a fever, and for a long time he lay between life and
+death, and I prayed for him as I never prayed for anybody or anything
+before--yes, I prayed that I might die instead of him. Then he passed
+through the crisis and got better, and I thanked God, thinking that my
+prayers had been answered; oh, how happy I was for those ten days! And
+then this happened:--My brother got a chill, a relapse followed, and in
+three days he was dead. The last words that he spoke to me were, 'Oh,
+don't let me die, Bee!'--he used to call me Bee--'Please don't let me
+die, dear Bee!' But he died, died in my arms, and when it was over I
+rose from his side feeling as though my heart was dead also. I prayed
+no more after that. It seemed to me as though my prayers had been mocked
+at, as though he had been given back to me for a little while in order
+that the blow might be more crushing when it fell."
+
+"Don't you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a view?"
+said Geoffrey. "Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read about the
+early Christians?--how the lead would not boil the martyr, or the lion
+would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the fire, and how
+the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a great many
+difficult doctrines without further delay. The Athanasian Creed was not
+necessarily true because the fire would not light or the sword would not
+cut, nor, excuse me, were all your old beliefs wrong because your prayer
+was unanswered. It is an ancient story, that we cannot tell whether the
+answering of our petitions will be good or ill for us. Of course I do
+not know anything about such things, but it seems to me rash to suppose
+that Providence is going to alter the working of its eternal laws merely
+to suit the passing wishes of individuals--wishes, too, that in many
+cases would bring unforeseen sorrows if fulfilled. Besides I daresay
+that the poor child is happier dead than he would have been had he
+lived. It is not an altogether pleasant world for most of us."
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham, I know, and I daresay that I should have got over the
+shock in time, only after that I began to read. I read the histories of
+the religions and compared them, and I read the works of those writers
+who have risen up to attack them. I found, or I thought that I found,
+the same springs of superstition in them all--superstitions arising from
+elementary natural causes, and handed on with variations from race to
+race, and time to time. In some I found the same story, only with a
+slightly altered face, and I learned, moreover, that each faith denied
+the other, and claimed truth for itself alone.
+
+"After that, too, I went to the college and there I fell in with a lady,
+one of the mistresses, who was the cleverest woman that I ever knew,
+and in her way a good woman, but one who believed that religion was the
+curse of the world, and who spent all her spare time in attacking it in
+some form or other. Poor thing, she is dead now. And so, you see, what
+between these causes and the continual spectacle of human misery which
+to my mind negatives the idea of a merciful and watching Power, at last
+it came to pass that the only altar left in my temple is an altar to the
+'Unknown God.'"
+
+Geoffrey, like most men who have had to think on these matters, did not
+care to talk about them much, especially to women. For one thing, he was
+conscious of a tendency to speech less reverent than his thought. But he
+had not entered Beatrice's church of Darkness, indeed he had turned
+his back on it for ever, though, like most people, he had at different
+periods of his past life tarried an hour in its porch. So he ventured on
+an objection.
+
+"I am no theologian," he said, "and I am not fond of discussion on such
+matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to say. It
+is no argument, to my mind at least, to point to the existence of evil
+and unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a superior Mercy;
+for what are men that such things should not be with them? Man,
+too, must own some master. If he has doubts let him look up at the
+marshalling of the starry heaven, and they will vanish."
+
+"No," said Beatrice, "I fear not. Kant said so, but before that Moliere
+had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry heavens no
+more prove anything than does the running of the raindrops down the
+window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity."
+
+"I might accept the illustration," answered Geoffrey; "one example of
+law is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working of
+a living Will, but of course that is only my way of looking at it, not
+yours."
+
+"No; I am afraid," said Beatrice, "all this reasoning drawn from
+material things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made _their_
+religions, and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from
+the Out to the In, from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be; if
+Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak with a
+spiritual voice, to be heard, not in the thunderstorm, but only in the
+hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not demonstrate the
+existence of a Redeemer; if anything, it tends to negative it, for the
+power that creates is also the power which destroys. What does touch me,
+however, is the thought of the multitude of the Dead. _That_ is what we
+care for, not for an Eternal Force, ever creating and destroying. Think
+of them all--all the souls of unheard-of races, almost animal, who
+passed away so long ago. Can ours endure more than theirs, and do you
+think that the spirit of an Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is
+anywhere now?"
+
+"There was room for them all on earth," answered Geoffrey. "The universe
+is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our nature, the
+nature we think we know--shall there be none in that which we know not?
+Worlds die, to live again when, after millions of ages, the conditions
+become once more favourable to life, and why should not a man? We
+are creatures of the world, we reflect its every light and shadow, we
+rejoice in its rejoicing, its every feature has a tiny parallel in us.
+Why should not our fate be as its fate, and its fate is so far as we
+know eternal. It may change from gas to chaos, from chaos to active
+life, from active life to seeming death. Then it may once more pass into
+its elements, and from those elements back again to concrete being,
+and so on for ever, always changing, but always the same. So much for
+nature's allegory. It is not a perfect analogy, for Man is a thing
+apart from all things else; it may be only a hint or a type, but it is
+something.
+
+"Now to come to the question of our religion. I confess I draw quite a
+different conclusion from your facts. You say that you trace the same
+superstitions in all religions, and that the same spiritual myths are in
+some shape present in almost all. Well, does not this suggest that the
+same great _truth_ underlies them all, taking from time to time the
+shape which is best suited to the spiritual development of those
+professing each. Every great new religion is better than the last. You
+cannot compare Osirianism with Buddhism, or Buddhism with Christianity,
+or Mahomedanism with the Arabian idol worship. Take the old
+illustration--take a cut crystal and hold it in the sun, and you
+will see many different coloured rays come from its facets. They look
+different, but they are all born of the same great light; they are all
+the same light. May it not be so with religion? Let your altar be to the
+'Unknown God,' if you like--for who can give an unaltering likeness to
+the Power above us?--but do not knock your altar down.
+
+"Depend upon it, Miss Granger, all indications to the contrary
+notwithstanding, there is a watching Providence without the will of
+which we cannot live, and if we deliberately reject that Providence,
+setting up our intelligence in its place, sorrow will come of it, even
+here; for it is wiser than we. I wish that you would try and look at
+the question from another point of view--from a higher point of view. I
+think you will find that it will bear a great deal of examination, and
+that you will come to the conclusion that the dictum of the wise-acre
+who says there is nothing because he can see nothing, is not necessarily
+a true one. There, that is all I have to say, and I wish that I could
+say it better."
+
+"Thank you," said Beatrice, "I will. Why here we are at home; I must go
+and put Effie to bed."
+
+
+
+And here it may be stated that Geoffrey's advice was not altogether
+thrown away. Beatrice did try looking at the question again, and if
+Faith did not altogether come back to her at least Hope did, and "the
+greatest of these, which is Charity," had never deserted her. Hope came
+slowly back, not by argument probably, but rather by example. In the sea
+of Doubt she saw another buoyed up, if it were but on broken pieces of
+the ship. This encouraged her. Geoffrey believed, and she--believed in
+Geoffrey. Indeed, is not this the secret of woman's philosophy--even,
+to some extent, of that of such a woman as Beatrice? "Let the faith or
+unfaith of This, That, or the other Rabbi answer for me," she says--it
+is her last argument. She believes in This, or That, or some other
+philosopher: that is her creed. And Geoffrey was the person in whom
+Beatrice began to believe, all the more wholly because she had never
+believed in any one before. Whatever else she was to lose, this at least
+she won when she saved his life.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+DRIFTING
+
+On the day following their religious discussion an accident happened
+which resulted in Geoffrey and Beatrice being more than ever thrown
+in the company of each other. During the previous week two cases of
+scarlatina had been reported among the school children, and now it was
+found that the complaint had spread so much that it was necessary to
+close the school. This meant, of course, that Beatrice had all her time
+upon her hands. And so had Geoffrey. It was his custom to bathe before
+breakfast, after which he had nothing to do for the rest of the day.
+Beatrice with little Effie also bathed before breakfast from the ladies'
+bathing-place, a quarter of a mile off, and sometimes he would meet her
+as she returned, glowing with health and beauty like Venus new risen
+from the Cyprian sea, her half-dried hair hanging in heavy masses down
+her back. Then after breakfast they would take Effie down to the beach,
+and her "auntie," as the child learned to call Beatrice, would teach her
+lessons and poetry till she was tired, and ran away to paddle in the sea
+or look for prawns among the rocks.
+
+Meanwhile the child's father and Beatrice would talk--not about
+religion, they spoke no more on that subject, nor about Owen Davies,
+but of everything else on earth. Beatrice was a merry woman when she was
+happy, and they never lacked subjects of conversation, for their minds
+were very much in tune. In book-learning Beatrice had the advantage of
+Geoffrey, for she had not only read enormously, she also remembered what
+she read and could apply it. Her critical faculty, too, was very keen.
+He, on the other hand, had more knowledge of the world, and in his rich
+days had travelled a good deal, and so it came to pass that each could
+always find something to tell the other. Never for one second were they
+dull, not even when they sat for an hour or so in silence, for it was
+the silence of complete companionship.
+
+So the long morning would wear away all too quickly, and they would go
+in to dinner, to be greeted with a cold smile by Elizabeth and heartily
+enough by the old gentleman, who never thought of anything out of his
+own circle of affairs. After dinner it was the same story. Either they
+went walking to look for ferns and flowers, or perhaps Geoffrey took his
+gun and hid behind the rocks for curlew, sending Beatrice, who knew the
+coast by heart, a mile round or more to some headland in order to put
+them on the wing. Then she would come back, springing towards him from
+rock to rock, and crouch down beneath a neighbouring seaweed-covered
+boulder, and they would talk together in whispers, or perhaps they would
+not talk at all, for fear lest they should frighten the flighting birds.
+And Geoffrey would first search the heavens for curlew or duck, and,
+seeing none, would let his eyes fall upon the pure beauty of Beatrice's
+face, showing so clearly against the tender sky, and wonder what she was
+thinking about; till, suddenly feeling his gaze, she would turn with a
+smile as sweet as the first rosy blush of dawn upon the waters, and ask
+him what _he_ was thinking about. And he would laugh and answer "You,"
+whereon she would smile again and perhaps blush a little, feeling glad
+at heart, she knew not why.
+
+Then came tea-time and the quiet, when they sat at the open window,
+and Geoffrey smoked and listened to the soft surging of the sea and
+the harmonious whisper of the night air in the pines. In the corner Mr.
+Granger slept in his armchair, or perhaps he had gone to bed altogether,
+for he liked to go to bed at half-past eight, as the old Herefordshire
+farmer, his father, had done before him; and at the far end of the room
+sat Elizabeth, doing her accounts by the light of a solitary candle,
+or, if they failed her, reading some book of a devotional and inspired
+character. But over the edge of the book, or from the page of crabbed
+accounts, her eyes would glance continually towards the handsome pair in
+the window-place, and she would smile as she saw that it went well. Only
+they never saw the glances or noted the smile. When Geoffrey looked that
+way, which was not often, for Elizabeth--old Elizabeth, as he always
+called her to himself--did not attract him, all he saw was her sharp but
+capable-looking form bending over her work, and the light of the candle
+gleaming on her straw-coloured hair and falling in gleaming white
+patches on her hard knuckles.
+
+And so the happy day would pass and bed-time come, and with it unbidden
+dreams.
+
+Geoffrey thought no ill of all this, as of course he ought to have
+thought. He was not the ravening lion of fiction--so rarely, if ever, to
+be met with in real life--going about seeking whom he might devour. He
+had absolutely no designs on Beatrice's affections, any more than she
+had on his, and he had forgotten that first fell prescience of evil to
+come. Once or twice, it is true, qualms of doubt did cross his mind in
+the earlier days of their intimacy. But he put them by as absurd. He
+was no believer in the tender helplessness of full-grown women, his
+experience having been that they are amply capable--and, for the most
+part, more than capable--of looking after themselves. It seemed to him
+a thing ridiculous that such a person as Beatrice, who was competent to
+form opinions and a judgment upon all the important questions of life,
+should be treated as a child, and that he should remove himself from
+Bryngelly lest her young affections should become entangled. He felt
+sure that they would never be entrapped in any direction whatsoever
+without her full consent.
+
+Then he ceased to think about the matter at all. Indeed, the mere
+idea of such a thing involved a supposition that would only have been
+acceptable to a conceited man--namely, that there was a possibility of
+this young lady's falling in love with him. What right had he to suppose
+anything of the sort? It was an impertinence. That there was another
+sort of possibility--namely, of his becoming more attached to her than
+was altogether desirable--did, however, occur to him once or twice. But
+he shrugged his shoulders and put it by. After all, it was his look out,
+and he did not much care. It would do her no harm at the worst. But very
+soon all these shadowy forebodings of dawning trouble vanished quite.
+They were lost in the broad, sweet lights of friendship. By-and-by, when
+friendship's day was done, they might arise again, called by other names
+and wearing a sterner face.
+
+It was ridiculous--of course it was ridiculous; he was not going to fall
+in love like a boy at his time of life; all he felt was gratitude
+and interest--all she felt was amusement in his society. As for the
+intimacy--felt rather than expressed--the intimacy that could already
+almost enable the one to divine the other's thought, that could shape
+her mood to his and his to hers, that could cause the same thing of
+beauty to be a common joy, and discover unity of mind in opinions the
+most opposite--why, it was only natural between people who had together
+passed a peril terrible to think of. So they took the goods the gods
+provided, and drifted softly on--whither they did not stop to inquire.
+
+One day, however, a little incident happened that ought to have opened
+the eyes of both. They had arranged, or rather there was a tacit
+understanding, that they should go out together in the afternoon.
+Geoffrey was to take his gun and Beatrice a book, but it chanced that,
+just before dinner, as she walked back from the village, where she had
+gone to buy some thread to mend Effie's clothes, Beatrice came face to
+face with Mr. Davies. It was their first meeting without witnesses since
+the Sunday of which the events have been described, and, naturally,
+therefore, rather an awkward one. Owen stopped short so that she could
+not pass him with a bow, and then turned and walked beside her. After a
+remark or two about the weather, the springs of conversation ran dry.
+
+"You remember that you are coming up to the Castle this afternoon?" he
+said, at length.
+
+"To the Castle!" she answered. "No, I have heard nothing of it."
+
+"Did not your sister tell you she made an engagement for herself and you
+a week or more ago? You are to bring the little girl; she wants to see
+the view from the top of the tower."
+
+Then Beatrice remembered. Elizabeth had told her, and she had thought it
+best to accept the situation. The whole thing had gone out of her mind.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon! I do remember now, but I have made another
+plan--how stupid of me!"
+
+"You had forgotten," he said in his heavy voice; "it is easy for you
+to forget what I have been looking forward to for a whole week. What is
+your plan--to go out walking with Mr. Bingham, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes," answered Beatrice, "to go out with Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Ah! you go out with Mr. Bingham every day now."
+
+"And what if I do?" said Beatrice quickly; "surely, Mr. Davies, I have a
+right to go out with whom I like?"
+
+"Yes, of course; but the engagement to come to the Castle was made
+first; are you not going to keep it?"
+
+"Of course I am going to keep it; I always keep my engagements when I
+have any."
+
+"Very well, then; I shall expect you at three o'clock."
+
+Beatrice went on home in a curiously irritated condition of mind. She
+did not, naturally, want to go to the Castle, and she did want to go out
+with Geoffrey. However, there was no help for it.
+
+When she came in to dinner she found that Geoffrey was not there. He
+had, it seemed, gone to lunch with Dr. Chambers, whom he had met on the
+beach. Before he returned they were all three starting for the Castle,
+Beatrice leaving a message to this effect with Betty.
+
+About a quarter of an hour afterwards, Geoffrey came back to fetch his
+gun and Beatrice, but Beatrice was gone, and all that he could extract
+from Betty was that she had gone to see Mr. Davies.
+
+He was perfectly furious, though all the while he knew how unreasonable
+was his anger. He had been looking forward to the expedition, and this
+sudden change of plan was too much for his temper. Off he started,
+however, to pass a thoroughly miserable afternoon. He seemed to miss
+Beatrice more each step and gradually to grow more and more angry at
+what he called her "rudeness." Of course it never occurred to him that
+what he was really angry at was her going to see Mr. Davies, or that, in
+truth, her society had become so delightful to him that to be deprived
+of it even for an afternoon was to be wretched. To top everything, he
+only got three good shots that afternoon, and he missed them all, which
+made him crosser than ever.
+
+As for Beatrice, she enjoyed herself just as little at the Castle as
+Geoffrey did on the beach. Owen Davies took them through the great
+unused rooms and showed them the pictures, but she had seen them before,
+and though some of them were very fine, did not care to look at them
+again--at any rate, not that afternoon. But Elizabeth gazed at them with
+eager eyes and mentally appraised their value, wondering if they would
+ever be hers.
+
+"What is this picture?" she asked, pointing to a beautiful portrait of a
+Dutch Burgomaster by Rembrandt.
+
+"That," answered Davies heavily, for he knew nothing of painting and
+cared less, "that is a Velasquez, valued for probate at L3,000--no,"
+referring to the catalogue and reading, "I beg your pardon, the next is
+the Velasquez; that is a Rembrandt in the master's best style, showing
+all his wonderful mastery over light and shade. It was valued for
+probate at L4,000 guineas."
+
+"Four thousand guineas!" said Elizabeth, "fancy having a thing worth
+four thousand guineas hanging on a wall!"
+
+And so they went on, Elizabeth asking questions and Owen answering them
+by the help of the catalogue, till, to Beatrice's relief, they came at
+length to the end of the pictures. Then they took some tea in the little
+sitting room of the master of all this magnificence. Owen, to her great
+annoyance, sat opposite to Beatrice, staring at her with all his eyes
+while she drank her tea, with Effie sitting in her lap, and Elizabeth,
+observing it, bit her lip in jealousy. She had thought it well to bring
+her sister here; it would not do to let Mr. Davies think she was keeping
+Beatrice out of his way, but his mute idol worship was trying to
+her feelings. After tea they went to the top of the tower, and Effie
+rejoiced exceedingly in the view, which was very beautiful. Here Owen
+got a word with Elizabeth.
+
+"Your sister seems to be put out about something," he said.
+
+"I daresay," she answered carelessly; "Beatrice has an uncertain temper.
+I think she wanted to go out shooting with Mr. Bingham this afternoon."
+
+Had Owen been a less religious person he might have sworn; as it was, he
+only said, "Mr. Bingham--it is always Mr. Bingham from morning to night!
+When is he going away?"
+
+"In another week, I believe. Beatrice will be sorry, I think; she makes
+a great companion of him. And now I think that we must be getting home,"
+and she went, leaving this poisoned shaft to rankle in his breast.
+
+After they had returned to the vicarage and Beatrice had heard Effie her
+prayers and tucked her up in her small white bed, she went down to the
+gate to be quiet for a little while before supper. Geoffrey had not yet
+come in.
+
+It was a lovely autumn evening; the sea seemed to sleep, and the little
+clouds, from which the sunset fires had paled, lay like wreaths of
+smoke upon the infinite blue sky. Why had not Mr. Bingham come back,
+she wondered; he would scarcely have time to dress. Supposing that an
+accident had happened to him. Nonsense! what accident could happen? He
+was so big and strong he seemed to defy accidents; and yet had it not
+been for her there would be little enough left of his strength to-day.
+Ah! she was glad that she had lived to be able to save him from death.
+There he came, looming like a giant in the evening mist.
+
+There was a small hand-gate beside the large one on which she leant.
+Geoffrey stalked straight up to it as though he did not see her; he saw
+her well enough, but he was cross with her.
+
+She allowed him to pass through the gate, which he shut slowly, perhaps
+to give her an opportunity of speaking, if she wished to do so; then
+thinking that he did not see her she spoke in her soft, musical voice.
+
+"Did you have good sport, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"No," he answered shortly; "I saw very little, and I missed all I saw."
+
+"I am so sorry, except for the birds. I hate the birds to be killed. Did
+you not see me in this white dress? I saw you fifty yards away."
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," he answered, "I saw you."
+
+"And you were going by without speaking to me; it was very rude of
+you--what is the matter?"
+
+"Not so rude as it was of you to arrange to walk out with me and then to
+go and see Mr. Davies instead."
+
+"I could not help it, Mr. Bingham; it was an old engagement, which I had
+forgotten."
+
+"Quite so, ladies generally have an excuse for doing what they want to
+do."
+
+"It is not an excuse, Mr. Bingham," Beatrice answered, with dignity;
+"there is no need for me to make excuses to you about my movements."
+
+"Of course not, Miss Granger; but it would be more polite to tell me
+when you change your mind--next time, you know. However, I have no doubt
+that the Castle has attractions for you."
+
+She flashed one look at him and turned to go, and as she did so his
+heart relented; he grew ashamed.
+
+"Miss Granger, don't go; forgive me. I do not know what has become of my
+manners, I spoke as I should not. The fact is, I was put out at your not
+coming. To tell you the honest truth, I missed you dreadfully."
+
+"You missed me. That is very nice of you; one likes to be missed. But,
+if you missed me for one afternoon, how will you get on a week hence
+when you go away and miss me altogether?"
+
+Beatrice spoke in a bantering tone, and laughed as she spoke, but the
+laugh ended in something like a sigh. He looked at her for a moment,
+looked till she dropped her eyes.
+
+"Heaven only knows!" he answered sadly.
+
+"Let us go in," said Beatrice, in a constrained voice; "how chill the
+air has turned."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+ONLY GOOD-NIGHT
+
+Five more days passed, all too quickly, and once more Monday came round.
+It was the 22nd of October, and the Michaelmas Sittings began on the
+24th. On the morrow, Tuesday, Geoffrey was to return to London, there
+to meet Lady Honoria and get to work at Chambers. That very morning,
+indeed, a brief, the biggest he had yet received--it was marked thirty
+guineas--had been forwarded to him from his chambers, with a note from
+his clerk to the effect that the case was expected to be in the special
+jury list on the first day of the sittings, and that the clerk had made
+an appointment for him with the solicitors for 5.15 on the Tuesday. The
+brief was sent to him by his uncle's firm, and marked, "With you the
+Attorney-General, and Mr. Candleton, Q.C.," the well-known leader of the
+Probate and Divorce Court Bar. Never before had Geoffrey found himself
+in such honourable company, that is on the back of a brief, and not a
+little was he elated thereby.
+
+But when he came to look into the case his joy abated somewhat, for
+it was one of the most perplexing that he had ever known. The will
+contested, which was that of a Yorkshire money-lender, disposed of
+property to the value of over L80,000, and was propounded by a niece of
+the testator who, when he died, if not actually weak in his mind, was
+in his dotage, and superstitious to the verge of insanity. The niece to
+whom all the property was left--to the exclusion of the son and daughter
+of the deceased, both married, and living away from home--stayed with
+the testator and looked after him. Shortly before his death, however, he
+and this niece had violently quarrelled on account of an intimacy
+which the latter had formed with a married man of bad repute, who was
+a discharged lawyer's clerk. So serious had been the quarrel that only
+three days before his death the testator had sent for a lawyer and
+formally, by means of a codicil, deprived the niece of a sum of L2,000
+which he had left her, all the rest of his property being divided
+between his son and daughter. Three days afterwards, however, he duly
+executed a fresh will, in the presence of two servants, by which he
+left all his property to the niece, to the entire exclusion of his
+own children. This will, though very short, was in proper form and
+was written by nobody knew whom. The servants stated that the testator
+before signing it was perfectly acquainted with its contents, for the
+niece had made him repeat them in their presence. They also declared,
+however, that he seemed in a terrible fright, and said twice, "It's
+behind me; it's behind me!"
+
+Within an hour of the signing of the will the testator was found dead,
+apparently from the effects of fear, but the niece was not in the room
+at the time of death. The only other remarkable circumstance in the case
+was that the disreputable lover of the niece had been seen hanging about
+the house at dusk, the testator having died at ten o'clock at night.
+There was also a further fact. The son, on receiving a message from
+the niece that his father was seriously worse, had hurried with
+extraordinary speed to the house, passing some one or something--he
+could not tell what--that seemed to be running, apparently from the
+window of the sick man's room, which was on the ground floor, and
+beneath which footmarks were afterwards found. Of these footmarks two
+casts had been taken, of which photographs were forwarded with the
+brief. They had been made by naked feet of small size, and in each
+case the little joint of the third toe of the right foot seemed to be
+missing. But all attempts to find the feet that made them had hitherto
+failed. The will was contested by the next of kin, for whom Geoffrey was
+one of the counsel, upon the usual grounds of undue influence and fraud;
+but as it seemed at present with small prospect of success, for, though
+the circumstances were superstitious enough, there was not the slightest
+evidence of either. This curious case, of which the outlines are here
+written, is briefly set out, because it proved to be the foundation of
+Geoffrey's enormous practice and reputation at the Bar.
+
+He read the brief through twice, thought it over well, and could make
+little of it. It was perfectly obvious to him that there had been foul
+play somewhere, but he found himself quite unable to form a workable
+hypothesis. Was the person who had been seen running away concerned
+in the matter?--if it was a person. If so, was he the author of the
+footprints? Of course the ex-lawyer's clerk had something to do with
+it, but what? In vain did Geoffrey cudgel his brains; every idea that
+occurred to him broke down somewhere or other.
+
+"We shall lose this," he said aloud in despair; "suspicious
+circumstances are not enough to upset a will," and then, addressing
+Beatrice, who was sitting at the table, working:
+
+"Here, Miss Granger, you have a smattering of law, see if you can make
+anything of this," and he pushed the heavy brief towards her.
+
+Beatrice took it with a laugh, and for the next three-quarters of an
+hour her fair brow was puckered up in a way quaint to see. At last she
+finished and shut the brief up. "Let me look at the photographs," she
+said.
+
+Geoffrey handed them to her. She very carefully examined first one and
+then the other, and as she did so a light of intelligence broke out upon
+her face.
+
+"Well, Portia, have you got it?" he asked.
+
+"I have got something," she answered. "I do not know if it is right.
+Don't you see, the old man was superstitious; they frightened him first
+of all by a ghostly voice or some such thing into signing the will, and
+then to death after he had signed it. The lawyer's clerk prepared the
+will--he would know how to do it. Then he was smuggled into the room
+under the bed, or somewhere, dressed up as a ghost perhaps. The sending
+for the son by the niece was a blind. The thing that was seen running
+away was a boy--those footprints were made by a boy. I have seen so many
+thousands on the sands here that I could swear to it. He was attracted
+to the house from the road, which was quite near, by catching sight
+of something unusual through the blind; the brief says there were no
+curtains or shutters. Now look at the photographs of the footprints.
+See in No. 1, found outside the window, the toes are pressed down deeply
+into the mud. The owner of the feet was standing on tip-toe to get a
+better view. But in No. 2, which was found near where the son thought
+he saw a person running, the toes are spread out quite wide. That is the
+footprint of some one who was in a great hurry. Now it is not probable
+that a boy had anything to do with the testator's death. Why, then, was
+the boy running so hard? I will tell you: because he was frightened at
+something he had seen through the blind. So frightened was he, that he
+will not come forward, or answer the advertisements and inquiries. Find
+a boy in that town who has a joint missing on the third toe of the right
+foot, and you will soon know all about it."
+
+"By Jove," said Geoffrey, "what a criminal lawyer you would make! I
+believe that you have got it. But how are we to find this boy with the
+missing toe-joint? Every possible inquiry has already been made and
+failed. Nobody has seen such a boy, whose deficiency would probably be
+known by his parents, or schoolfellows."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "it has failed because the boy has taken to
+wearing shoes, which indeed he would always have to do at school. His
+parents, if he has any, would perhaps not speak of his disfigurement,
+and no one else might know of it, especially if he were a new-comer in
+the neighbourhood. It is quite possible that he took off his boots in
+order to creep up to the window. And now I will tell you how I should
+set to work to find him. I should have every bathing-place in the
+river running through the town--there is a river--carefully watched
+by detectives. In this weather" (the autumn was an unusually warm one)
+"boys of that class often paddle and sometimes bathe. If they watch
+close enough, they will probably find a boy with a missing toe joint
+among the number."
+
+"What a good idea," said Geoffrey. "I will telegraph to the lawyers at
+once. I certainly believe that you have got the clue."
+
+And as it turned out afterwards Beatrice had got it; her suppositions
+were right in almost every particular. The boy, who proved to be the son
+of a pedlar who had recently come into the town, was found wading, and
+by a clever trick, which need not be detailed, frightened into telling
+the truth, as he had previously frightened himself into holding his
+tongue. He had even, as Beatrice conjectured, taken off his boots to
+creep up to the window, and as he ran away in his fright, had dropped
+them into a ditch full of water. There they were found, and went far to
+convince the jury of the truth of his story. Thus it was that Beatrice's
+quick wit laid the foundations of Geoffrey's great success.
+
+
+
+This particular Monday was a field day at the Vicarage. Jones had proved
+obdurate; no power on earth could induce him to pay the L34 11s. 4d. due
+on account of tithe. Therefore Mr. Granger, fortified by a judgment duly
+obtained, had announced his intention of distraining upon Jones's hay
+and cattle. Jones had replied with insolent defiance. If any bailiff,
+or auctioneer, or such people came to sell his hay he would kill him, or
+them.
+
+So said Jones, and summoned his supporters, many of whom owed tithe, and
+none of whom wished to pay it, to do battle in his cause. For his part,
+Mr. Granger retained an auctioneer of undoubted courage who was to
+arrive on this very afternoon, supported by six policemen, and carry out
+the sale. Beatrice felt nervous about the whole thing, but Elizabeth
+was very determined, and the old clergyman was now bombastic and now
+despondent. The auctioneer arrived duly by the one o'clock train. He
+was a tall able-bodied man, not unlike Geoffrey in appearance, indeed at
+twenty yards distance it would have been difficult to tell them apart.
+The sale was fixed for half-past two, and Mr. Johnson--that was the
+auctioneer's name--went to the inn to get his dinner before proceeding
+to business. He was informed of the hostile demonstration which awaited
+him, and that an English member of Parliament had been sent down
+especially to head the mob, but being a man of mettle pooh-poohed the
+whole affair.
+
+"All bark, sir," he said to Geoffrey, "all bark and no bite; I'm not
+afraid of these people. Why, if they won't bid for the stuff, I will buy
+it in myself."
+
+"All right," said Geoffrey, "but I advise you to look out. I fancy that
+the old man is a rough customer."
+
+Then Geoffrey went back to his dinner.
+
+As they sat at the meal, through a gap in the fir trees they saw that
+the great majority of the population of Bryngelly was streaming up
+towards the scene of the sale, some to agitate, and some to see the fun.
+
+"It is pretty well time to be off," said Geoffrey. "Are you coming, Mr.
+Granger?"
+
+"Well," answered the old gentleman, "I wished to do so, but Elizabeth
+thinks that I had better keep away. And after all, you know," he added
+airily, "perhaps it is as well for a clergyman not to mix himself up too
+much in these temporal matters. No, I want to go and see about some
+pigs at the other end of the parish, and I think that I shall take this
+opportunity."
+
+"You are not going, Mr. Bingham, are you?" asked Beatrice in a voice
+which betrayed her anxiety.
+
+"Oh, yes," he answered, "of course I am. I would not miss the chance
+for worlds. Why, Beecham Bones is going to be there, the member of
+Parliament who has just done his four months for inciting to outrage. We
+are old friends; I was at school with him. Poor fellow, he was mad even
+in those days, and I want to chaff him."
+
+"I think that you had far better not go, Mr. Bingham," said Beatrice;
+"they are a very rough set."
+
+"Everybody is not so cowardly as you are," put in Elizabeth. "I am going
+at any rate."
+
+"That's right, Miss Elizabeth," said Geoffrey; "we will protect each
+other from the revolutionary fury of the mob. Come, it is time to
+start."
+
+And so they went, leaving Beatrice a prey to melancholy forebodings.
+
+She waited in the house for the best part of an hour, making pretence to
+play with Effie. Then her anxiety got the better of her; she put on her
+hat and started, leaving Effie in charge of the servant Betty.
+
+Beatrice walked quickly along the cliff till she came in sight of
+Jones's farm. From where she stood she could make out a great crowd
+of men, and even, when the wind turned towards her, catch the noise of
+shouting. Presently she heard a sound like the report of a gun, saw the
+crowd break up in violent confusion, and then cluster together again in
+a dense mass.
+
+"What could it mean?" Beatrice wondered.
+
+As the thought crossed her mind, she perceived two men running towards
+her with all their speed, followed by a woman. Three minutes more and
+she saw that the woman was Elizabeth.
+
+The men were passing her now.
+
+"What is it?" she cried.
+
+"_Murder!_" they answered with one voice, and sped on towards Bryngelly.
+
+Another moment and Elizabeth was at hand, horror written on her pale
+face.
+
+Beatrice clutched at her. "_Who_ is it?" she cried.
+
+"Mr. Bingham," gasped her sister. "Go and help; he's shot dead!" And she
+too was gone.
+
+Beatrice's knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth;
+the solid earth spun round and round. "Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey
+killed!" she cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear the
+sound of them, no words came from her lips. "Oh, what should she do?
+Where should she hide herself in her grief?"
+
+A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone
+at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while
+still the solid earth spun round and round.
+
+Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot
+through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.
+
+"Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had
+only said it to torment her." She rose. She flung herself upon her
+knees, there by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many
+years--she prayed with all her soul. "Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him
+his life and me this agony." In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith
+was thus re-born, and, as all human beings must in their hour of mortal
+agony, Beatrice realised her dependence on the Unseen. She rose, and
+weak with emotion sank back on to the stone. The people were streaming
+past her now, talking excitedly. Somebody came up to her and stood over
+her.
+
+Oh, Heaven, it was Geoffrey!
+
+"Is it you?" she gasped. "Elizabeth said that you were murdered."
+
+"No, no. It was not I; it is that poor fellow Johnson, the auctioneer.
+Jones shot him. I was standing next him. I suppose your sister thought
+that I fell. He was not unlike me, poor fellow."
+
+Beatrice looked at him, went red, went white, then burst into a flood of
+tears.
+
+A strange pang seized upon his heart. It thrilled through him, shaking
+him to the core. Why was this woman so deeply moved? Could it be----?
+Nonsense; he stifled the thought before it was born.
+
+"Don't cry," Geoffrey said, "the people will see you, Beatrice" (for the
+first time he called her by her christian name); "pray do not cry. It
+distresses me. You are upset, and no wonder. That fellow Beecham Bones
+ought to be hanged, and I told him so. It is his work, though he never
+meant it to go so far. He's frightened enough now, I can tell you."
+
+Beatrice controlled herself with an effort.
+
+"What happened," he said, "I will tell you as we walk along. No, don't
+go up to the farm. He is not a pleasant sight, poor fellow. When I got
+up there, Beecham Bones was spouting away to the mob--his long hair
+flying about his back--exciting them to resist laws made by brutal
+thieving landlords, and all that kind of gibberish; telling them that
+they would be supported by a great party in Parliament, &c., &c. The
+people, however, took it all good-naturedly enough. They had a beautiful
+effigy of your father swinging on a pole, with a placard on his breast,
+on which was written, 'The robber of the widow and the orphan,' and
+they were singing Welsh songs. Only I saw Jones, who was more than half
+drunk, cursing and swearing in Welsh and English. When the auctioneer
+began to sell, Jones went into the house and Bones went with him.
+After enough had been sold to pay the debt, and while the mob was still
+laughing and shouting, suddenly the back door of the house opened and
+out rushed Jones, now quite drunk, a gun in his hand and Bones hanging
+on to his coat-tails. I was talking to the auctioneer at the moment,
+and my belief is that the brute thought that I was Johnson. At any rate,
+before anything could be done he lifted the gun and fired, at me, as I
+think. The charge, however, passed my head and hit poor Johnson full in
+the face, killing him dead. That is all the story."
+
+"And quite enough, too," said Beatrice with a shudder. "What times we
+live in! I feel quite sick."
+
+Supper that night was a very melancholy affair. Old Mr. Granger was
+altogether thrown off his balance; and even Elizabeth's iron nerves were
+shaken.
+
+"It could not be worse, it could not be worse," moaned the old man,
+rising from the table and walking up and down the room.
+
+"Nonsense, father," said Elizabeth the practical. "He might have been
+shot before he had sold the hay, and then you would not have got your
+tithe."
+
+Geoffrey could not help smiling at this way of looking at things,
+from which, however, Mr. Granger seemed to draw a little comfort. From
+constantly thinking about it, and the daily pressure of necessity, money
+had come to be more to the old man than anything else in the world.
+
+Hardly was the meal done when three reporters arrived and took down
+Geoffrey's statement of what had occurred, for publication in various
+papers, while Beatrice went away to see about packing Effie's things.
+They were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on
+the following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten, and
+in his irritation of mind Mr. Granger insisted upon everybody going
+to bed. Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him on his
+escape as she did so, and went at once; but Beatrice lingered a little.
+At last she came forward and held out her hand.
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Bingham," she said.
+
+"Good-night. I hope that this is not good-bye also," he added with some
+anxiety.
+
+"Of course not," broke in Mr. Granger. "Beatrice will go and see you
+off. I can't; I have to go and meet the coroner about the inquest, and
+Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they won't want you;
+there were so many witnesses."
+
+"Then it is only good-night," said Beatrice.
+
+She went to her room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or
+pretending to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but
+rest she could not. It was "only good-night," a last good-night. He was
+going away--back to his wife, back to the great rushing world, and to
+the life in which she had no share. Very soon he would forget her. Other
+interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and he
+would forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or
+remember her only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it
+mean? Why was her heart so sore? Why had she felt as though she should
+die when they told her that he was dead?
+
+Then the answer rose in her breast. She loved him; it was useless to
+deny the truth--she loved him body, and heart and soul, with all
+her mind and all her strength. She was his, and his alone--to-day,
+to-morrow, and for ever. He might go from her sight, she might never,
+never see him more, but love him she always must. And he was married!
+
+Well, it was her misfortune; it could not affect the solemn truth.
+What should she do now, how should she endure her life when her eyes
+no longer saw his eyes, and her ears never heard his voice? She saw the
+future stretch itself before her as a vision. She saw herself forgotten
+by this man whom she loved, or from time to time remembered only with
+a faint regret. She saw herself growing slowly old, her beauty fading
+yearly from her face and form, companioned only by the love that grows
+not old. Oh, it was bitter, bitter! and yet she would not have it
+otherwise. Even in her pain she felt it better to have found this deep
+and ruinous joy, to have wrestled with the Angel and been worsted, than
+never to have looked upon his face. If she could only know that what she
+gave was given back again, that he loved her as she loved him, she would
+be content. She was innocent, she had never tried to draw him to her;
+she had used no touch or look, no woman's arts or lures such as her
+beauty placed at her command. There had been no word spoken, scarcely
+a meaning glance had passed between them, nothing but frank and free
+companionship as of man with man. She knew he did not love his wife and
+that his wife did not love him--this she could _see_. But she had never
+tried to win him from her, and though she sinned in thought, though her
+heart was guilty--oh, her hands were clean!
+
+Her restlessness overcame her. She could no longer lie in bed.
+Elizabeth, watching through her veil of sleep, saw Beatrice rise, put on
+a wrapper, and, going to the window, throw it wide. At first she thought
+of interfering, for Elizabeth was a prudent person and did not like
+draughts; but her sister's movements excited her curiosity, and she
+refrained. Beatrice sat down on the foot of her bed, and leaning her arm
+upon the window-sill looked out upon the lovely quiet night. How dark
+the pine trees massed against the sky; how soft was the whisper of the
+sea, and how vast the heaven through which the stars sailed on.
+
+What was it, then, this love of hers? Was it mere earthly passion? No,
+it was more. It was something grander, purer, deeper, and quite undying.
+Whence came it, then? If she was, as she had thought, only a child of
+earth, whence came this deep desire which was not of the earth? Had she
+been wrong, had she a soul--something that could love with the body and
+through the body and beyond the body--something of which the body with
+its yearnings was but the envelope, the hand or instrument? Oh, now it
+seemed to Beatrice that this was so, and that called into being by her
+love she and her soul stood face to face acknowledging their unity. Once
+she had held that it was phantasy: that such spiritual hopes were but
+exhalations from a heart unsatisfied; that when love escapes us on the
+earth, in our despair, we swear it is immortal, and that we shall find
+it in the heavens. Now Beatrice believed this no more. Love had kissed
+her on the eyes, and at his kiss her sleeping spirit was awakened, and
+she saw a vision of the truth.
+
+Yes, she loved him, and must always love him! But she could never know
+on earth that he was hers, and if she had a spirit to be freed after
+some few years, would not his spirit have forgotten hers in that far
+hereafter of their meeting?
+
+She dropped her brow upon her arm and softly sobbed. What was there left
+for her to do except to sob--till her heart broke?
+
+Elizabeth, lying with wide-open ears, heard the sobs. Elizabeth, peering
+through the moonlight, saw her sister's form tremble in the convulsion
+of her sorrow, and smiled a smile of malice.
+
+"The thing is done," she thought; "she cries because the man is going.
+Don't cry, Beatrice, don't cry! We will get your plaything back for you.
+Oh, with such a bait it will be easy. He is as sweet on you as you on
+him."
+
+There was something evil, something almost devilish, in this scene
+of the one watching woman holding a clue to and enjoying the secret
+tortures of the other, plotting the while to turn them to her innocent
+rival's destruction and her own advantage. Elizabeth's jealousy was
+indeed bitter as the grave.
+
+Suddenly Beatrice ceased sobbing. She lifted her head, and by a sudden
+impulse threw out the passion of her heart with all her concentrated
+strength of mind towards the man she loved, murmuring as she did so some
+passionate, despairing words which she knew.
+
+At this moment Geoffrey, sleeping soundly, dreamed that he saw Beatrice
+seated by her window and looking at him with eyes which no earthly
+obstacle could blind. She was speaking; her lips moved, but though he
+could hear no voice the words she spoke floated into his mind--
+
+     "Be a god and hold me
+        With a charm!
+     Be a man and fold me
+        With thine arm.
+
+     Teach me, only teach, Love!
+        As I ought
+     I will speak thy speech, Love,
+        Think thy thought--
+
+     Meet, if thou require it,
+        Both demands,
+     Laying flesh and spirit
+        In thy hands.
+
+     That shall be to-morrow
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.
+
+     Must a little weep, Love,
+        (Foolish me!)
+     And so fall asleep, Love,
+        Loved by thee."
+
+Geoffrey heard them in his heart. Then they were gone, the vision of
+Beatrice was gone, and suddenly he awoke.
+
+Oh, what was this flood of inarticulate, passion-laden thought that beat
+upon his brain telling of Beatrice? Wave after wave it came, utterly
+overwhelming him, like the heavy breath of flowers stirred by a night
+wind--like a message from another world. It was real; it was no dream,
+no fancy; she was present with him though she was not there; her
+thought mingled with his thought, her being beat upon his own. His heart
+throbbed, his limbs trembled, he strove to understand and could not. But
+in the mystery of that dread communion, the passion he had trodden down
+and refused acknowledgment took life and form within him; it grew like
+the Indian's magic tree, from seed to blade, from blade to bud, and from
+bud to bloom. In that moment it became clear to him: he knew he loved
+her, and knowing what such a love must mean, for him if not for her,
+Geoffrey sank back and groaned.
+
+And Beatrice? Of a sudden she ceased speaking to herself; she felt
+her thought flung back to her weighted with another's thought. She had
+broken through the barriers of earth; the quick electric message of her
+heart had found a path to him she loved and come back answered. But in
+what tongue was that answer writ? Alas! she could not read it, any more
+than he could read the message. At first she doubted; surely it was
+imagination. Then she remembered it was absolutely proved that people
+dying could send a vision of themselves to others far away; and if that
+could be, why not this? No, it was truth, a solemn truth; she knew he
+felt her thought, she knew that his life beat upon her life. Oh, here
+was mystery, and here was hope, for if this could be, and it _was_, what
+might not be? If her blind strength of human love could so overstep the
+boundaries of human power, and, by the sheer might of its volition,
+mock the physical barriers that hemmed her in, what had she to fear from
+distance, from separation, ay, from death itself? She had grasped a
+clue which might one day, before the seeming end or after--what did it
+matter?--lay strange secrets open to her gaze. She had heard a whisper
+in an unknown tongue that could still be learned, answering Life's
+agonizing cry with a song of glory. If only he loved her, some day all
+would be well. Some day the barriers would fall. Crumbling with the
+flesh, they would fall and set her naked spirit free to seek its other
+self. And then, having found her love, what more was there to seek? What
+other answer did she desire to all the problems of her life than this of
+Unity attained at last--Unity attained in Death!
+
+And if he did not love her, how could he answer her? Surely that message
+could not pass except along the golden chord of love, which ever makes
+its sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of fear.
+
+The troubled glory passed--it throbbed itself away; the spiritual gusts
+of thought grew continually fainter, till, like the echoes of a
+dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sank to
+nothingness. Then wearied with an extreme of wild emotion Beatrice
+sought her bed again and presently was lost in sleep.
+
+
+
+When Geoffrey woke on the next morning, after a little reflection, he
+came to the decision that he had experienced a very curious and moving
+dream, consequent on the exciting events of the previous day, or on the
+pain of his impending departure. He rose, packed his bag--everything
+else was ready--and went in to breakfast. Beatrice did not appear till
+it was half over. She looked very pale, and said that she had been
+packing Effie's things. Geoffrey noticed that she barely touched his
+fingers when he rose to shake hands with her, and that she studiously
+avoided his glance. Then he began to wonder if she also had strangely
+dreamed.
+
+Next came the bustle of departure. Effie was despatched in the fly
+with the luggage and Betty, the fat Welsh servant, to look after her.
+Beatrice and Geoffrey were to walk to the station.
+
+"Time for you to be going, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger. "There,
+good-bye, good-bye! God bless you! Never had such charming lodgers
+before. Hope you will come back again, I'm sure. By the way, they are
+certain to summon you as a witness at the trial of that villain Jones."
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Granger," Geoffrey answered; "you must come and see me in
+town. A change will do you good."
+
+"Well, perhaps I may. I have not had a change for twenty-five years.
+Never could afford it. Aren't you going to say good-bye to Elizabeth?"
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey politely. "Many thanks for all
+your kindness. I hope we shall meet again."
+
+"Do you?" answered Elizabeth; "so do I. I am sure that we shall meet
+again, and I am sure that I shall be glad to see you when we do, Mr.
+Bingham," she added darkly.
+
+In another minute he had left the Vicarage and, with Beatrice at his
+side, was walking smartly towards the station.
+
+"This is very melancholy," he said, after a few moments' silence.
+
+"Going away generally is," she answered--"either for those who go or
+those who stay behind," she added.
+
+"Or for both," he said.
+
+Then came another pause; he broke it.
+
+"Miss Beatrice, may I write to you?"
+
+"Certainly, if you like."
+
+"And will you answer my letters?"
+
+"Yes, I will answer them."
+
+"If I had my way, then, you should spend a good deal of your time in
+writing," he said. "You don't know," he added earnestly, "what a delight
+it has been to me to learn to know you. I have had no greater pleasure
+in my life."
+
+"I am glad," Beatrice answered shortly.
+
+"By the way," Geoffrey said presently, "there is something I want to ask
+you. You are as good as a reference book for quotations, you know. Some
+lines have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I cannot
+remember where they come from."
+
+"What are they?" she asked, looking up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought he
+saw, a strange fear shining in her eyes.
+
+"Here are four of them," he answered unconcernedly; "we have no time for
+long quotations:
+
+     "'That shall be to-morrow,
+        Not to-night:
+     I must bury sorrow
+        Out of sight.'"
+
+Beatrice heard--heard the very lines which had been upon her lips in the
+wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop; she became
+white as the dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supreme effort she
+recovered herself.
+
+"I think that you must know the lines, Mr. Bingham," she said in a low
+voice. "They come from a poem of Browning's, called 'A Woman's Last
+Word.'"
+
+Geoffrey made no answer; what was he to say? For a while they walked
+on in silence. They were getting close to the station now. Separation,
+perhaps for ever, was very near. An overmastering desire to know the
+truth took hold of him.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said again, "you look pale. Did you sleep well last
+night?"
+
+"No, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Did you have curious dreams?"
+
+"Yes, I did," she answered, looking straight before her.
+
+He turned a shade paler. Then it was true!
+
+"Beatrice," he said in a half whisper, "what do they mean?"
+
+"As much as anything else, or as little," she answered.
+
+"What are people to do who dream such dreams?" he said again, in the
+same constrained voice.
+
+"Forget them," she whispered.
+
+"And if they come back?"
+
+"Forget them again."
+
+"And if they will not be forgotten?"
+
+She turned and looked him full in the eyes.
+
+"Die of them," she said; "then they will be forgotten, or----"
+
+"Or what, Beatrice?"
+
+"Here is the station," said Beatrice, "and Betty is quarrelling with the
+flyman."
+
+
+
+Five minutes more and Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE FLAT NEAR THE EDGWARE ROAD
+
+Geoffrey's journey to town was not altogether a cheerful one. To begin
+with, Effie wept copiously at parting with her beloved "auntie," as she
+called Beatrice, and would not be comforted. The prospect of rejoining
+her mother and the voluble Anne had no charms for Effie. They all three
+got on best apart. Geoffrey himself had also much to think about, and
+found little satisfaction in the thinking. He threw his mind back over
+the events of the past few weeks. He remembered how he had first seen
+Beatrice's face through the thick mist on the Red Rocks, and how her
+beauty had struck him as no beauty ever had before. Then he thought
+of the adventure of their shipwreck, and of the desperate courage with
+which she had saved his life, almost at the cost of her own. He thought,
+too, of that scene when on the following day he had entered the room
+where she was asleep, when the wandering ray of light had wavered from
+her breast to his own, when that strange presentiment of the ultimate
+intermingling of their lives had flashed upon him, and when she had
+awakened with an unearthly greeting on her lips. While Effie slowly
+sobbed herself to silence in the corner opposite to him, one by one, he
+recalled every phase and scene of their ever-growing intimacy, till the
+review culminated in his mysterious experience of the past night, and
+the memory of Beatrice's parting words.
+
+Of all men Geoffrey was among those least inclined to any sort of
+superstition; from boyhood he had been noted for common sense, and
+a somewhat disbelieving turn of mind. But he had intellect, and
+imagination which is simply intellect etherealised. Without these, with
+his peculiar mental constitution, he would, for instance, probably have
+been a religious sceptic; having them, he was nothing of the sort. So
+in this matter of his experience of the previous night, and generally of
+the strange and almost unnatural sympathy in which he found himself
+with this lady, common sense and the results of his observation and
+experience pointed to the whole thing being nonsense--the result of
+"propinquity, Sir, propinquity," and a pretty face--and nothing more.
+
+But here his intellect and his imagination stepped in, telling him
+plainly that it was not nonsense, that he had not merely made a donkey
+of himself over an hysterical, or possibly a love-sick girl. They told
+him that because a thing is a mystery it is not necessarily a folly,
+though mysteries are for the most part dealt in by fools. They suggested
+that there may be many things and forces above us and around us,
+invisible as an electric current, intangible as light, yet existent and
+capable of manifestation under certain rare and favourable conditions.
+
+And was it not possible that such conditions should unite in a woman
+like Beatrice, who combined in herself a beauty of body which was only
+outpassed by the beauty of her mind? It was no answer to say that most
+women could never inspire the unearthly passion with which he had been
+shaken some ten hours past, or that most men could never become aware of
+the inspiration. Has not humanity powers and perceptions denied to the
+cattle of the fields, and may there not be men and women as far removed
+from their fellows in this respect as these are from the cattle?
+
+But the weak point of mysterious occurrences is that they lead nowhere,
+and do not materially alter the facts of life. One cannot, for instance,
+plead a mystery in a court of law; so, dropping the imaginative side of
+the question as one beyond him, Geoffrey came to its practical aspect,
+only to find it equally thorny.
+
+Odd as it may seem, Geoffrey did not to this moment know the exact
+position which he occupied in the mind of Beatrice, or that she occupied
+in his. He was not in love with her, at least not in a way in which he
+had ever experienced the influence of that, on the whole, inconvenient
+and disagreeable passion. At any rate he argued from the hypothesis that
+he was not in love with her. This he refused to admit now in the light
+of day, though he had admitted it fully in the watches of the night. It
+would not do to admit it. But he was forced to acknowledge that she had
+crept into his life and possessed it so completely that then and for
+months afterwards, except in deep sleep or in hours of severe mental
+strain, not a single half hour would pass without bringing its thought
+of Beatrice. Everything that was beautiful, or grand, or elevating,
+reminded him of her--and what higher compliment could a mistress have?
+If he listened to glorious music, the voice of Beatrice spoke to him
+through the notes; if he watched the clouds rolling in heavy pomp across
+a broken sky he thought of Beatrice; if some chance poem or novel moved
+him, why Beatrice was in his mind to share the pleasure. All of which
+was very interesting, and in some ways delightful, but under our current
+system not otherwise than inconvenient to a married man.
+
+And now Beatrice was gone, and he must come back to his daily toil,
+sweetened by Honoria's bitter complaints of their poverty, and see her
+no more. The thought made Geoffrey's heart ache with a physical pain,
+but his reason told him that it was best so. After all, there were no
+bones broken; there had been no love scenes, no kiss, no words that
+cannot be recalled; whatever there was lay beneath the surface,
+and while appearances were kept up all was well. No doubt it was
+an hypocrisy, but then hypocrisy is one of the great pillars of
+civilization, and how does it matter what the heart says while the lips
+are silent? The Recording Angel can alone read hearts, and he must often
+find them singularly contradictory and untrustworthy writings.
+
+Die of them, die of her dreams! No, Beatrice would not die of them, and
+certainly he should not. Probably in the end she would marry that pious
+earthly lump, Owen Davies. It was not pleasant to think of, it was even
+dreadful, but really if she were to ask him his opinion, "as a friend,"
+he should tell her it was the best thing that she could do. Of course
+it would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart the lie; but
+when the heart rises in rebellion against the intelligence it must be
+suppressed. Unfortunately, however, though a small member, it is very
+strong.
+
+
+
+They reached London at last, and as had been arranged, Anne, the French
+_bonne_, met them at the station to take Effie home. Geoffrey noticed
+that she looked smarter and less to his taste than ever. However, she
+embraced Effie with an enthusiasm which the child scarcely responded
+to, and at the same time carried on an ocular flirtation with a ticket
+collector. Although early in the year for yellow fogs, London was
+plunged in a dense gloom. It had been misty that morning at Bryngelly,
+and become more and more so as the day advanced; but, though it was not
+yet four o'clock, London was dark as night. Luckily, however, it is not
+far from Paddington to the flat near the Edgware Road, where Geoffrey
+lived, so having personally instructed the cabman, he left Anne to
+convoy Effie and the luggage, and went on to the Temple by Underground
+Railway with an easy mind.
+
+Shortly after Geoffrey reached his chambers in Pump Court the solicitor
+arrived as had been arranged, not his uncle--who was, he learned, very
+unwell--but a partner. To his delight he then found that Beatrice's
+ghost theory was perfectly accurate; the boy with the missing toe-joint
+had been discovered who saw the whole horrible tragedy through a crack
+in the blind; moreover the truth had been wrung from him and he would
+be produced at the trial--indeed a proof of his evidence was already
+forthcoming. Also some specimens of the ex-lawyer's clerk's handwriting
+had been obtained, and were declared by two experts to be identical with
+the writing on the will. One thing, however, disturbed him: neither the
+Attorney-General nor Mr. Candleton was yet in town, so no conference
+was possible that evening. However, both were expected that night--the
+Attorney-General from Devonshire and Mr. Candleton from the Continent;
+so the case being first on the list, it was arranged that the conference
+should take place at ten o'clock on the following morning.
+
+On arriving home Geoffrey was informed that Lady Honoria was dressing,
+and had left a message saying he must be quick and do likewise as
+a gentleman was coming to dinner. Accordingly he went to his own
+room--which was at the other end of the flat--and put on his dress
+clothes. Before going to the dining-room, however, he said good-night to
+Effie--who was in bed, but not asleep--and asked her what time she had
+reached home.
+
+"At twenty minutes past five, daddy," Effie said promptly.
+
+"Twenty minutes past five! Why, you don't mean to say that you were an
+hour coming that little way! Did you get blocked in the fog?"
+
+"No, daddy, but----"
+
+"But what, dear?"
+
+"Anne did tell me not to say!"
+
+"But I tell you to say, dear--never mind Anne!"
+
+"Anne stopped and talked to the ticket-man for a long, long time."
+
+"Oh, did she?" he said.
+
+At that moment the parlourmaid came to say that Lady Honoria and the
+"gentleman" were waiting for dinner. Geoffrey asked her casually what
+time Miss Effie had reached home.
+
+"About half-past five, sir. Anne said the cab was blocked in the fog."
+
+"Very well. Tell her ladyship that I shall be down in a minute."
+
+"Daddy," said the child, "I haven't said my prayers. Mother did not
+come, and Anne said it was all nonsense about prayers. Auntie did always
+hear me my prayers."
+
+"Yes, dear, and so will I. There, kneel upon my lap and say them."
+
+In the middle of the prayers--which Effie did not remember as well as
+she might have done--the parlourmaid arrived again.
+
+"Please, sir, her ladyship----"
+
+"Tell her ladyship I am coming, and that if she is in a hurry she can go
+to dinner! Go on, love."
+
+Then he kissed her and put her to bed again.
+
+"Daddy," said Effie, as he was going, "shall I see auntie Beatrice any
+more?"
+
+"I hope so, dear."
+
+"And shall you see her any more? You want to see her, don't you, daddy?
+She did love you very much!"
+
+Geoffrey could bear it no longer. The truth is always sharper when it
+comes from the mouth of babes and sucklings. With a hurried good-night
+he fled.
+
+In the little drawing-room he found Lady Honoria, very well dressed, and
+also her friend, whose name was Mr. Dunstan. Geoffrey knew him at once
+for an exceedingly wealthy man of small birth, and less breeding, but
+a burning and a shining light in the Garsington set. Mr. Dunstan was
+anxious to raise himself in society, and he thought that notwithstanding
+her poverty, Lady Honoria might be useful to him in this respect. Hence
+his presence there to-night.
+
+"How do you do, Geoffrey?" said his wife, advancing to greet him with
+a kiss of peace. "You look very well. But what an immense time you have
+been dressing. Poor Mr. Dunstan is starving. Let me see. You know Mr.
+Dunstan, I think. Dinner, Mary."
+
+Geoffrey apologised for being late, and shook hands politely with Mr.
+Dunstan--Saint Dunstan he was generally called on account of his rather
+clerical appearance and in sarcastic allusion to his somewhat shady
+reputation. Then they went in to dinner.
+
+"Sorry there is no lady for you, Geoffrey; but you must have had plenty
+of ladies' society lately. By the way, how is Miss--Miss Granger? Would
+you believe it, Mr. Dunstan? that shocking husband of mine has been
+passing the last month in the company of one of the loveliest girls I
+ever saw, who knows Latin and law and everything else under the sun. She
+began by saving his life, they were upset together out of a canoe, you
+know. Isn't it romantic?"
+
+Saint Dunstan made some appropriate--or, rather inappropriate--remark
+to the effect that he hoped Mr. Bingham had made the most of such
+unrivalled opportunities, adding, with a deep sigh, that no lovely young
+lady had ever saved his life that he might live for her, &c., &c.
+
+Here Geoffrey broke in without much ceremony. To him it seemed a
+desecration to listen while this person was making his feeble jokes
+about Beatrice.
+
+"Well, dear," he said, addressing his wife, "and what have you been
+doing with yourself all this time?"
+
+"Mourning for you, Geoffrey, and enjoying myself exceedingly in the
+intervals. We have had a delightful time, have we not, Mr. Dunstan? Mr.
+Dunstan has also been staying at the Hall, you know."
+
+"How could it be otherwise when you were there, Lady Honoria?" answered
+the Saint in that strain of compliment affected by such men, and which,
+to tell the truth, jarred on its object, who was after all a lady.
+
+"You know, Geoffrey," she went on, "the Garsingtons have re-furnished
+the large hall and their drawing-room. It cost eighteen hundred pounds,
+but the result is lovely. The drawing-room is done in hand-painted white
+satin, walls and all, and the hall in old oak."
+
+"Indeed!" he answered, reflecting the while that Lord Garsington might
+as well have paid some of his debts before he spent eighteen hundred
+pounds on his drawing-room furniture.
+
+Then the Saint and Lady Honoria drifted into a long and animated
+conversation about their fellow guests, which Geoffrey scarcely tried to
+follow. Indeed, the dinner was a dull one for him, and he added little
+or nothing to the stock of talk.
+
+When his wife left the room, however, he had to say something, so they
+spoke of shooting. The Saint had a redeeming feature--he was somewhat of
+a sportsman, though a poor one, and he described to Geoffrey a new pair
+of hammerless guns, which he had bought for a trifling sum of a hundred
+and forty guineas, recommending the pattern to his notice.
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that they are very nice; but, you
+see, they are beyond me. A poor man cannot afford so much for a pair of
+guns."
+
+"Oh, if that is all," answered his guest, "I will sell you these; they
+are a little long in the stock for me, and you can pay me when you like.
+Or, hang it all, I have plenty of guns. I'll be generous and give them
+to you. If I cannot afford to be generous, I don't know who can!"
+
+"Thank you very much, Mr. Dunstan," answered Geoffrey coldly, "but I am
+not in the habit of accepting such presents from my--acquaintances. Will
+you have a glass of sherry?--no. Then shall we join Lady Honoria?"
+
+This speech quite crushed the vulgar but not ill-meaning Saint, and
+Geoffrey was sorry for it a moment after he had made it. But he was
+weary and out of temper. Why did his wife bring such people to the
+house? Very shortly afterwards their guest took his leave, reflecting
+that Bingham was a conceited ass, and altogether too much for him. "And
+I don't believe that he has got a thousand a year," he reflected to
+himself, "and the title is his wife's. I suppose that is what he married
+her for. She's a much better sort than he is, any way, though I don't
+quite make her out either--one can't go very far with her. But she is
+the daughter of a peer and worth cultivating, but not when Bingham is at
+home--not if I know it."
+
+"What have you said to Mr. Dunstan to make him go away so soon,
+Geoffrey?" asked his wife.
+
+"Said to him? oh, I don't know. He offered to give me a pair of guns,
+and I told him that I did not accept presents from my acquaintances.
+Really, Honoria, I don't want to interfere with your way of life, but
+I do not understand how you can associate with such people as this Mr.
+Dunstan."
+
+"Associate with him!" answered Lady Honoria. "Do you suppose I want to
+associate with him? Do you suppose that I don't know what the man is?
+But beggars cannot be choosers; he may be a cad, but he has thirty
+thousand a year, and we simply cannot afford to throw away an
+acquaintance with thirty thousand a year. It is too bad of you,
+Geoffrey," she went on with rising temper, "when you know all that I
+must put up with in our miserable poverty-stricken life, to take every
+opportunity of making yourself disagreeable to the people I think it
+wise to ask to come and see us. Here I return from comfort to this
+wretched place, and the first thing that you do is make a fuss. Mr.
+Dunstan has got boxes at several of the best theaters, and he offered to
+let me have one whenever I liked--and now of course there is an end of
+it. It is too bad, I say!"
+
+"It is really curious, Honoria," said her husband, "to see what
+obligations you are ready to put yourself under in search of pleasure.
+It is not dignified of you to accept boxes at theatres from this
+gentleman."
+
+"Nonsense. There is no obligation about it. If he gave us a box, of
+course he would make a point of looking in during the evening, and then
+telling his friends that it was Lady Honoria Bingham he was speaking
+to--that is the exchange. I want to go to the theatre; he wants to get
+into good society--there you have the thing in a nutshell. It is done
+every day. The fact of the matter is, Geoffrey," she went on, looking
+very much as though she were about to burst into a flood of angry tears,
+"as I said just now, beggars cannot be choosers--I cannot live like
+the wife of a banker's clerk. I must have _some_ amusement, and _some_
+comfort, before I become an old woman. If you don't like it, why did you
+entrap me into this wretched marriage, before I was old enough to know
+better, or why do you not make enough money to keep me in a way suitable
+to my position?"
+
+"We have argued that question before, Honoria," said Geoffrey, keeping
+his temper with difficulty, "and now there is another thing I wish to
+say to you. Do you know that detestable woman Anne stopped for more than
+half an hour at Paddington Station this evening, flirting with a ticket
+collector, instead of bringing Effie home at once, as I told her to do.
+I am very angry about it. She is not to be relied on; we shall have some
+accident with the child before we have done. Cannot you discharge her
+and get another nurse?"
+
+"No, I cannot. She is the one comfort I have. Where am I going to find
+another woman who can make dresses like Anne--she saves me a hundred
+a year--I don't care if she flirted with fifty ticket collectors. I
+suppose you got this story from Effie; the child ought to be whipped for
+tale-bearing, and I daresay that it is not true."
+
+"Effie will certainly not be whipped," answered Geoffrey sternly. "I
+warn you that it will go very badly with anybody who lays a finger on
+her."
+
+"Oh, very well, ruin the child. Go your own way, Geoffrey! At any rate I
+am not going to stop here to listen to any more abuse. Good-night," and
+she went.
+
+Geoffrey sat down, and lit a cigarette. "A pleasant home-coming,"
+he thought to himself. "Honoria shall have money as much as she can
+spend--if I kill myself to get it, she shall have it. What a life, what
+a life! I wonder if Beatrice would treat her husband like this--if she
+had one."
+
+He laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, and then with a gesture
+of impatience threw his cigarette into the fire and went to his room to
+try and get some sleep, for he was thoroughly wearied.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE
+
+Before ten o'clock on the following morning, having already spent two
+hours over his brief, that he had now thoroughly mastered, Geoffrey was
+at his chambers, which he had some difficulty in reaching owing to the
+thick fog that still hung over London, and indeed all England.
+
+To his surprise nothing had been heard either of the Attorney-General or
+of Mr. Candleton. The solicitors were in despair; but he consoled them
+by saying that one or the other was sure to turn up in time, and that a
+few words would suffice to explain the additional light which had been
+thrown on the case. He occupied his half hour, however, in making a few
+rough notes to guide him in the altogether improbable event of his being
+called on to open, and then went into court. The case was first on the
+list, and there were a good many counsel engaged on the other side. Just
+as the judge took his seat, the solicitor, with an expression of dismay,
+handed Geoffrey a telegram which had that moment arrived from Mr.
+Candleton. It was dated from Calais on the previous night, and ran, "Am
+unable to cross on account of thick fog. You had better get somebody
+else in Parsons and Douse."
+
+"And we haven't got another brief prepared," said the agonised
+solicitor. "What is more, I can hear nothing of the Attorney-General,
+and his clerk does not seem to know where he is. You must ask for an
+adjournment, Mr. Bingham; you can't manage the case alone."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, and on the case being called he rose and
+stated the circumstances to the court. But the Court was crusty. It had
+got the fog down its throat, and altogether It didn't seem to see it.
+Moreover the other side, marking its advantage, objected strongly. The
+witnesses, brought at great expense, were there; his Lordship was there,
+the jury was there; if this case was not taken there was no other with
+which they could go on, &c., &c.
+
+The court took the same view, and lectured Geoffrey severely. Every
+counsel in a case, the Court remembered, when It was at the Bar, used to
+be able to open that case at a moment's notice, and though things had,
+It implied, no doubt deteriorated to a considerable extent since
+those palmy days, every counsel ought still to be prepared to do so on
+emergency.
+
+Of course, however, if he, Geoffrey, told the court that he was
+absolutely unprepared to go on with the case, It would have no option
+but to grant an adjournment.
+
+"I am perfectly prepared to go on with it, my lord," Geoffrey interposed
+calmly.
+
+"Very well," said the Court in a mollified tone, "then go on! I have no
+doubt that the learned Attorney-General will arrive presently."
+
+Then, as is not unusual in a probate suit, followed an argument as to
+who should open it, the plaintiff or the defendant. Geoffrey claimed
+that this right clearly lay with him, and the opposing counsel raised no
+great objection, thinking that they would do well to leave the opening
+in the hands of a rather inexperienced man, who would very likely
+work his side more harm than good. So, somewhat to the horror of
+the solicitors, who thought with longing of the eloquence of the
+Attorney-General, and the unrivalled experience and finesse of Mr.
+Candleton, Geoffrey was called upon to open the case for the defendants,
+propounding the first will.
+
+He rose without fear or hesitation, and with but one prayer in his
+heart, that no untimely Attorney-General would put in an appearance. He
+had got his chance, the chance for which many able men have to wait long
+years, and he knew it, and meant to make the most of it. Naturally
+a brilliant speaker, Geoffrey was not, as so many good speakers are,
+subject to fits of nervousness, and he was, moreover, thoroughly master
+of his case. In five minutes judge, jury and counsel were all listening
+to him with attention; in ten they were absorbed in the lucid and
+succinct statement of the facts which he was unfolding to them. His
+ghost theory was at first received with a smile, but presently counsel
+on the other side ceased to smile, and began to look uneasy. If he could
+prove what he said, there was an end of their case. When he had been
+speaking for about forty minutes one of the opposing counsel
+interrupted him with some remark, and at that moment he noticed that the
+Attorney-General's clerk was talking to the solicitor beneath him.
+
+"Bother it, he is coming," thought Geoffrey.
+
+But no, the solicitor bending forward informed him that the
+Attorney-General had been unavoidably detained by some important
+Government matter, and had returned his brief.
+
+"Well, we must get on as we can," Geoffrey said.
+
+"If you continue like that we shall get on very well," whispered the
+solicitors, and then Geoffrey knew that he was doing well.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham!" said his Lordship.
+
+Then Geoffrey went on with his statement.
+
+At lunch time it was a question whether another leader should be
+briefed. Geoffrey said that so far as he was concerned he could get on
+alone. He knew every point of the case, and he had got a friend to "take
+a note" for him while he was speaking.
+
+After some hesitation the solicitors decided not to brief fresh counsel
+at this stage of the case, but to leave it entirely in his hands.
+
+It would be useless to follow the details of this remarkable will suit,
+which lasted two days, and attracted much attention. Geoffrey won it and
+won it triumphantly. His address to the jury on the whole case was
+long remembered in the courts, rising as it did to a very high level of
+forensic eloquence. Few who saw it ever forgot the sight of his handsome
+face and commanding presence as he crushed the case of his opponents
+like an eggshell, and then with calm and overwhelming force denounced
+the woman who with her lover had concocted the cruel plot that robbed
+her uncle of life and her cousins of their property, till at the last,
+pointing towards her with outstretched hand, he branded her to the jury
+as a murderess.
+
+Few in that crowded court have forgotten the tragic scene that followed,
+when the trembling woman, worn out by the long anxiety of the trial,
+and utterly unnerved by her accuser's brilliant invective, rose from her
+seat and cried:
+
+"We did it--it is true that we did it to get the money, but we did not
+mean to frighten him to death," and then fell fainting to the ground--or
+Geoffrey Bingham's quiet words as he sat down:
+
+"My lord and gentlemen of the jury, I do not think it necessary to carry
+my case any further."
+
+There was no applause, the occasion was too dramatically solemn, but the
+impression made both upon the court and the outside public, to whom such
+a scene is peculiarly fitted to appeal, was deep and lasting.
+
+Geoffrey himself was under little delusion about the matter. He had no
+conceit in his composition, but neither had he any false modesty. He
+merely accepted the situation as really powerful men do accept such
+events--with thankfulness, but without surprise. He had got his chance
+at last, and like any other able man, whatever his walk of life, he had
+risen to it. That was all. Most men get such chances in some shape or
+form, and are unable to avail themselves of them. Geoffrey was one of
+the exceptions; as Beatrice had said, he was born to succeed. As he sat
+down, he knew that he was a made man.
+
+And yet while he walked home that night, his ears still full of the
+congratulations which had rained in on him from every quarter, he was
+conscious of a certain pride. He will have felt as Geoffrey felt that
+night, whose lot it has been to fight long and strenuously against
+circumstances so adverse as to be almost overwhelming, knowing in his
+heart that he was born to lead and not to follow; and who at last, by
+one mental effort, with no friendly hand to help, and no friendly voice
+to guide, has succeeded in bursting a road through the difficulties
+which hemmed him in, and has suddenly found himself, not above
+competition indeed, but still able to meet it. He will not have been
+too proud of that endeavour; it will have seemed but a little thing to
+him--a thing full of faults and imperfections, and falling far short
+of his ideal. He will not even have attached a great importance to his
+success, because, if he is a person of this calibre, he must remember
+how small it is, when all is said and done; that even in his day there
+are those who can beat him on his own ground; and also that all worldly
+success, like the most perfect flower, yet bears in it the elements of
+decay. But he will have reflected with humble satisfaction on those long
+years of patient striving which have at length lifted him to an eminence
+whence he can climb on and on, scarcely encumbered by the jostling
+crowd; till at length, worn out, the time comes for him to fall.
+
+So Geoffrey thought and felt. The thing was to be done, and he had done
+it. Honoria should have money now; she should no longer be able to twit
+him with their poverty. Yes, and a better thought still, Beatrice would
+be glad to hear of his little triumph.
+
+He reached home rather late. Honoria was going out to dinner with a
+distinguished cousin, and was already dressing. Geoffrey had declined
+the invitation, which was a short one, because he had not expected to be
+back from chambers. In this enthusiasm, however, he went to his wife's
+room to tell her of the event.
+
+"Well," she said, "what have you been doing? I think that you might have
+arranged to come out with me. My going out so much by myself does not
+look well. Oh, I forgot; of course you are in that case."
+
+"Yes--that is, I was. I have won the case. Here is a very fair report of
+it in the _St. James's Gazette_ if you care to read it."
+
+"Good heavens, Geoffrey! How can you expect me to read all that stuff
+when I am dressing?"
+
+"I don't expect you to, Honoria; only, as I say, I have won the case,
+and I shall get plenty of work now."
+
+"Will you? I am glad to hear it; perhaps we shall be able to escape
+from this horrid flat if you do. There, Anne! Je vous l'ai toujours dit,
+cette robe ne me va pas bien."
+
+"Mais, milady, la robe va parfaitement----"
+
+"That is your opinion," grumbled Lady Honoria. "Well, it isn't mine. But
+it will have to do. Good-night, Geoffrey; I daresay that you will have
+gone to bed when I get back," and she was gone.
+
+Geoffrey picked up his _St. James's Gazette_ with a sigh. He felt
+hurt, and knew that he was a fool for his pains. Lady Honoria was not a
+sympathetic person; it was not fair to expect it from her. Still he felt
+hurt. He went upstairs and heard Effie her prayers.
+
+"Where has you beed, daddy?--to the Smoky Town?" The Temple was
+euphemistically known to Effie as the Smoky Town.
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"You go to the Smoky Town to make bread and butter, don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, dear, to make bread and butter."
+
+"And did you make any, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, Effie, a good deal to-day."
+
+"Then where is it? In your pocket?"
+
+"No, love, not exactly. I won a big lawsuit to-day, and I shall get a
+great many pennies for it."
+
+"Oh," answered Effie meditatively, "I am glad that you did win. You do
+like to win, doesn't you, daddy, dear."
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"Then I will give you a kiss, daddy, because you did win," and she
+suited the action to the word.
+
+Geoffrey went from the little room with a softened heart. He dressed and
+ate some dinner.
+
+Then he sat down and wrote a long letter to Beatrice, telling her all
+about the trial, and not sparing her his reasons for adopting each
+particular tactic and line of argument which conduced to the great
+result.
+
+And though his letter was four sheets in length, he knew that Beatrice
+would not be bored at having to read it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE RISING STAR
+
+As might be expected, the memorable case of Parsons and Douse proved to
+be the turning point in Geoffrey's career, which was thenceforward one
+of brilliant and startling success. On the very next morning when he
+reached his chambers it was to find three heavy briefs awaiting him, and
+they proved to be but the heralds of an uninterrupted flow of lucrative
+business. Of course, he was not a Queen's Counsel, but now that his
+great natural powers of advocacy had become generally known, solicitors
+frequently employed him alone, or gave him another junior, so that he
+might bring those powers to bear upon juries. Now it was, too, that
+Geoffrey reaped the fruits of the arduous legal studies which he had
+followed without cessation from the time when he found himself thrown
+upon his own resources, and which had made a sound lawyer of him as
+well as a brilliant and effective advocate. Soon, even with his great
+capacity for work, he had as much business as he could attend to. When
+fortune gives good gifts, she generally does so with a lavish hand.
+
+Thus it came to pass that, about three weeks after the trial of Parsons
+and Douse, Geoffrey's uncle the solicitor died, and to his surprise left
+him twenty thousand pounds, "believing," he said in his will, which was
+dated three days before the testator's death, "that this sum will assist
+him to rise to the head of his profession."
+
+Now that it had dawned upon her that her husband really was a success,
+Honoria's manner towards him modified very considerably. She even became
+amiable, and once or twice almost affectionate. When Geoffrey told her
+of the twenty thousand pounds she was radiant.
+
+"Why, we shall be able to go back to Bolton Street now," she said,
+"and as luck will have it, our old house is to let. I saw a bill in the
+window yesterday."
+
+"Yes," he said, "you can go back as soon as you like."
+
+"And can we keep a carriage?"
+
+"No, not yet; I am doing well, but not well enough for that. Next year,
+if I live, you will be able to have a carriage. Don't begin to grumble,
+Honoria. I have got L150 to spare, and if you care to come round to a
+jeweller's you can spend it on what you like."
+
+"Oh, you delightful person!" said his wife.
+
+So they went to the jeweller's, and Lady Honoria bought ornaments to
+the value of L150, and carried them home and hung over them, as another
+class of woman might hang over her first-born child, admiring them with
+a tender ecstasy. Whenever he had a sum of money that he could afford
+to part with, Geoffrey would take her thus to a jeweller's or a
+dressmaker's, and stand by coldly while she bought things to its value.
+Lady Honoria was delighted. It never entered into her mind that in a
+sense he was taking a revenge upon her, and that every fresh exhibition
+of her rejoicings over the good things thus provided added to his
+contempt for her.
+
+Those were happy days for Lady Honoria! She rejoiced in this return of
+wealth like a school-boy at the coming of the holidays, or a half-frozen
+wanderer at the rising of the sun. She had been miserable during all
+this night of poverty, as miserable as her nature admitted of, now
+she was happy again, as she understood happiness. For bred, educated,
+civilized--what you will--out of the more human passions, Lady Honoria
+had replaced them by this idol-worship of wealth, or rather of what
+wealth brings. It gave her a positive physical satisfaction; her
+beauty, which had begun to fade, came back to her; she looked five years
+younger. And all the while Geoffrey watched her with an ever-growing
+scorn.
+
+Once it broke out. The Bolton Street house had been furnished; he gave
+her fifteen hundred pounds to do it, and with what things they owned
+she managed very well on that. They moved into it, and Honoria had set
+herself up with a sufficient supply of grand dresses and jewellery,
+suitable to her recovered position. One day however, it occurred to her
+that Effie was a child of remarkable beauty, who, if properly dressed,
+would look very nice in the drawing-room at tea-time. So she ordered a
+lovely costume for her--this deponent is not able to describe it, but
+it consisted largely of velvet and lace. Geoffrey heard nothing of this
+dress, but coming home rather early one afternoon--it was on a Saturday,
+he found the child being shown off to a room full of visitors, and
+dressed in a strange and wonderful attire with which, not unnaturally,
+she was vastly pleased. He said nothing at the time, but when at length
+the dropping fire of callers had ceased, he asked who put Effie into
+that dress.
+
+"I did," said Lady Honoria, "and a pretty penny it has cost, I can tell
+you. But I can't have the child come down so poorly clothed, it does not
+look well."
+
+"Then she can stay upstairs," said Geoffrey frowning.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked his wife.
+
+"I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes. They
+are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her to take
+to vanity."
+
+"I really don't understand you, Geoffrey. Why should not the child be
+handsomely dressed?"
+
+"Why not! Great heaven, Honoria, do you suppose that I want to see Effie
+grow up like you, to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking idleness, and
+make a god of luxury. I had rather see her"--he was going to add, "dead
+first," but checked himself and said--"have to work for her living.
+Dress yourself up as much as you like, but leave the child alone."
+
+Lady Honoria was furious, but she was also a little frightened. She
+had never heard her husband speak quite like this before, and there was
+something underneath his words that she did not quite understand. Still
+less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly told her
+that he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked; then accompanied
+her to a mantle shop, and stood patiently by, smiling coldly while she
+invested it in lace and embroideries. Honoria thought that he was making
+reparation for his sharp words, and so he was, but to himself, and in
+another sense. Every time he gave her money in this fashion, Geoffrey
+felt like a man who has paid off a debt of honour. She had taunted
+him again and again with her poverty--the poverty she said that he had
+brought her; for every taunt he would heap upon her all those things in
+which her soul delighted. He would glut her with wealth as, in her hour
+of victory, Queen Tomyris glutted dead Cyrus with the blood of men.
+
+It was an odd way of taking a revenge, and one that suited Lady Honoria
+admirably; but though its victim felt no sting, it gave Geoffrey much
+secret relief. Also he was curious; he wished to see if there was
+any bottom to such a woman's desire for luxury, if it would not bring
+satiety with it. But Lady Honoria was a very bad subject for such an
+experiment. She never showed the least sign of being satiated, either
+with fine things, with pleasures, or with social delights. They were her
+natural element, and he might as soon have expected a fish to weary of
+the water, or an eagle of the rushing air.
+
+
+
+The winter wore away and the spring came. One day, it was in April,
+Geoffrey, who was a moderate Liberal by persuasion, casually announced
+at dinner that he was going to stand for Parliament in the Unionist
+interest. The representation of one of the few Metropolitan divisions
+which had then returned a Home Ruler had fallen vacant. As it chanced he
+knew the head Unionist whip very well. They had been friends since they
+were lads at school together, and this gentleman, having heard Geoffrey
+make a brilliant speech in court, was suddenly struck with the idea that
+he was the very man to lead a forlorn hope.
+
+The upshot of it was that Geoffrey was asked if he would stand, and
+replied that he must have two days to think it over. What he really
+wanted the two days for was to enable him to write to Beatrice and
+receive an answer from her. He had an almost superstitious faith in her
+judgment, and did not like to act without it. After carefully weighing
+the pros and cons, his own view was that he should do well to stand.
+Probably he would be defeated, and it might cost him five hundred
+pounds. On the other hand it would certainly make his name known as a
+politician, and he was now in a fair way to earn so large an income that
+he could well afford to risk the money. The only great objection which
+he saw, was that if he happened to get in, it must mean that he would
+have to work all day and all night too. Well, he was strong and the more
+work he did the better--it kept him from thinking.
+
+In due course Beatrice's answer came. Her view coincided with his own;
+she recommended him to take the opportunity, and pointed out that with
+his growing legal reputation there was no office in the State to which
+he might not aspire, when he had once proved himself a capable member of
+Parliament. Geoffrey read the letter through; then immediately sat
+down and wrote to his friend the whip, accepting the suggestion of the
+Government.
+
+The next fortnight was a hard one for him, but Geoffrey was as good a
+man on the platform as in court, and he had, moreover, the very valuable
+knack of suiting himself to his audience. As his canvass went on it was
+generally recognised that the seat which had been considered hopeless
+was now doubtful. A great amount of public interest was concentrated
+on the election, both upon the Unionist and the Separatist side, each
+claiming that the result of the poll would show to their advantage. The
+Home Rule party strained every nerve against him, being most anxious to
+show that the free and independent electors of this single division,
+and therefore of the country at large, held the Government policy in
+particular horror. Letters were obtained from great authorities and
+freely printed. Irish members, fresh from gaol, were brought down to
+detail their grievances. It was even suggested that one of them should
+appear on the platform in prison garb--in short, every electioneering
+engine known to political science was brought to bear to forward the
+fortunes of either side.
+
+As time went on Lady Honoria, who had been somewhat indifferent at
+first, grew quite excited about the result. For one thing she found that
+the contest attached an importance to herself in the eyes of the truly
+great, which was not without its charm. On the day of the poll she drove
+about all day in an open carriage under a bright blue parasol, having
+Effie (who had become very bored) by her side, and two noble lords on
+the front seat. As a consequence the result was universally declared by
+a certain section of the press to be entirely due to the efforts of an
+unprincipled but titled and lovely woman. It was even said that, like
+another lady of rank in a past generation, she kissed a butcher in
+order to win his vote. But those who made the remark did not know Lady
+Honoria; she was incapable of kissing a butcher, or indeed anybody else.
+Her inclinations did not lie in that direction.
+
+In the end Geoffrey was returned by a magnificent majority of ten votes,
+reduced on a scrutiny to seven. He took his seat in the House on the
+following night amidst loud Unionist cheering. In the course of the
+evening's debate a prominent member of the Government made allusion to
+his return as a proof of the triumph of Unionist principles. Thereon a
+very leading member of the Separatist opposition retorted that it was
+nothing of the sort, "that it was a matter of common notoriety that the
+honourable member's return was owing to the unusual and most uncommon
+ability displayed by him in the course of his canvass, aided as it was,
+by artfully applied and aristocratic feminine influence." This was a
+delicate allusion to Honoria and her blue parasol.
+
+As Geoffrey and his wife were driving back to Bolton Street, after the
+declaration of the poll, a little incident occurred. Geoffrey told the
+coachman to stop at the first telegraph office and, getting out of the
+carriage, wired to Beatrice, "In by ten votes."
+
+"Who have you been telegraphing to, Geoffrey?" asked Lady Honoria.
+
+"I telegraphed to Miss Granger," he answered.
+
+"Ah! So you still keep up a correspondence with that pupil teacher
+girl."
+
+"Yes, I do. I wish that I had a few more such correspondents."
+
+"Indeed. You are easy to please. I thought her one of the most
+disagreeable young women whom I ever met."
+
+"Then it does not say much for your taste, Honoria."
+
+His wife made no further remark, but she had her thoughts. Honoria
+possessed good points: among others she was not a jealous person; she
+was too cold and too indifferent to be jealous. But she did not like the
+idea of another woman obtaining an influence over her husband, who, as
+she now began to recognise, was one of the most brilliant men of his
+day, and who might well become one of the most wealthy and powerful.
+Clearly he existed for _her_ benefit, not for that of any other woman.
+She was no fool, and she saw that a considerable intimacy must
+exist between the two. Otherwise Geoffrey would not have thought of
+telegraphing to Beatrice at such a moment.
+
+Within a week of his election Geoffrey made a speech. It was not a long
+speech, nor was it upon any very important issue; but it was exceedingly
+good of its kind, good enough to be reported verbatim indeed, and those
+listening to it recognised that they had to deal with a new man who
+would one day be a very big man. There is no place where an able person
+finds his level quicker than in the House of Commons, composed as it is
+for the most part, of more or less wealthy or frantic mediocrities. But
+Geoffrey was not a mediocrity, he was an exceedingly able and powerful
+man, and this fact the House quickly recognised.
+
+For the next few months Geoffrey worked as men rarely work. All day
+he was at his chambers or in court, and at night he sat in the House,
+getting up his briefs when he could. But he always did get them up;
+no solicitors had to complain that the interests of their client were
+neglected by him; also he still found time to write to Beatrice. For
+the rest he went out but little, and except in the way of business
+associated with very few. Indeed he grew more and more silent and
+reserved, till at last he won the reputation of being cold and hard. Not
+that he was really so. He threw himself head and soul into his work
+with a fixed determination to reach the top of the tree. He knew that he
+should not care very much about it when he got there, but he enjoyed the
+struggle.
+
+Geoffrey was not a truly ambitious man; he was no mere self-seeker.
+He knew the folly of ambition too well, and its end was always clearly
+before his eyes. He often thought to himself that if he could have
+chosen his lot, he would have asked for a cottage with a good garden,
+five hundred a year, and somebody to care for. But perhaps he would soon
+have wearied of his cottage. He worked to stifle thought, and to some
+extent he succeeded. But he was at bottom an affectionate-natured man,
+and he could not stifle the longing for sympathy which was his secret
+weakness, though his pride would never allow him to show it. What did he
+care for his triumphs when he had nobody with whom to share them? All he
+could share were their fruits, and these he gave away freely enough. It
+was but little that Geoffrey spent upon his own gratification. A certain
+share of his gains he put by, the rest went in expenses. The house in
+Bolton Street was a very gay place in those days, but its master took
+but little part in its gaieties.
+
+And what was the fact? The longer he remained separated from Beatrice
+the more intensely did he long for her society. It was of no use; try as
+he would, he could not put that sweet face from his mind; it drew him as
+a magnet draws a needle. Success did not bring him happiness, except in
+the sense that it relieved him from money cares.
+
+People of coarse temperament only can find real satisfaction in worldly
+triumphs, and eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow they die! Men like
+Geoffrey soon learn that this also is vanity. On the contrary, as his
+mind grew more and more wearied with the strain of work, melancholy took
+an ever stronger hold of it. Had he gone to a doctor, he might have been
+told that his liver was out of order, which was very likely true. But
+this would not mend matters. "What a world," he might have cried, "what
+a world to live in when all the man's happiness depends upon his liver!"
+He contracted an accursed habit of looking on the black side of things;
+trouble always caught his eye.
+
+It was no wonderful case. Men of large mind are very rarely happy men.
+It is your little animal-minded individual who can be happy. Thus women,
+who reflect less, are as a class much happier and more contented than
+men. But the large-minded man sees too far, and guesses too much of
+what he cannot see. He looks forward, and notes the dusty end of his
+laborious days; he looks around and shudders at the unceasing misery of
+a coarse struggling world; the sight of the pitiful beggar babe craving
+bread on tottering feet, pierces his heart. He cannot console himself
+with a reflection that the child had no business to be born, or that if
+he denuded himself of his last pound he would not materially help the
+class which bred it.
+
+And above the garish lights of earthly joys and the dim reek of earthly
+wretchedness, he sees the solemn firmament that veils his race's
+destiny. For such a man, in such a mood, even religion has terrors as
+well as hopes, and while the gloom gathers about his mind these are
+with him more and more. What lies beyond that arching mystery to whose
+horizon he daily draws more close--whose doors may even now be opening
+for him? A hundred hands point out a hundred roads to knowledge--they
+are lost half way. Only the cold spiritual firmament, unlit by any
+guiding stars, unbrightened by the flood of human day, and unshadowed
+by the veils of human night, still bends above his head in awful
+changelessness, and still his weary feet draw closer to the portals of
+the West.
+
+It is very sad and wrong, but it is not altogether his fault; it is
+rather a fault of the age, of over-education, of over-striving to be
+wise. Cultivate the searching spirit and it will grow and rend you. The
+spirit would soar, it would see, but the flesh weighs it down, and
+in all flesh there is little light. Yet, at times, brooding on some
+unnatural height of Thought, its eyes seem to be opened, and it catches
+gleams of terrifying days to come, or perchance, discerns the hopeless
+gates of an immeasurable night.
+
+Oh, for that simpler faith which ever recedes farther from the ken of
+the cultivated, questioning mind! There alone can peace be found, and
+for the foolish who discard it, setting up man's wisdom at a sign, soon
+the human lot will be one long fear. Grown scientific and weary with
+the weight of knowledge, they will reject their ancient Gods, and no
+smug-faced Positivism will bring them consolation. Science, here and
+there illumining the gloom of destiny with its poor electric lights,
+cries out that they are guiding stars. But they are no stars, and they
+will flare away. Let us pray for darkness, more darkness, lest, to our
+bewildered sight, they do but serve to show that which shall murder
+Hope.
+
+
+
+So think Geoffrey and his kin, and in their unexpressed dismay, turn,
+seeking refuge from their physical and spiritual loneliness, but for the
+most part finding none. Nature, still strong in them, points to the dear
+fellowship of woman, and they make the venture to find a mate, not
+a companion. But as it chanced in Geoffrey's case he did find such a
+companion in Beatrice, after he had, by marriage, built up an impassable
+wall between them.
+
+And yet he longed for her society with an intensity that alarmed him.
+He had her letters indeed, but what are letters! One touch of a beloved
+hand is worth a thousand letters. In the midst of his great success
+Geoffrey was wretched at heart, yet it seemed to him that if he once
+more could have Beatrice at his side, though only as a friend, he would
+find rest and happiness.
+
+
+
+When a man's heart is thus set upon an object, his reason is soon
+convinced of its innocence, even of its desirability, and a kindly fate
+will generally contrive to give him the opportunity of ruin which he so
+ardently desires.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+GEOFFREY HAS A VISITOR
+
+And Beatrice--had she fared better during these long months? Alas, not
+at all. She had gone away from the Bryngelly Station on that autumn
+morning of farewell sick at heart, and sick at heart she had remained.
+Through all the long winter months sorrow and bitterness had been her
+portion, and now in the happiness of spring, sorrow and bitterness were
+with her still. She loved him, she longed for his presence, and it was
+denied to her. She could not console herself as can some women, nor
+did her deep passion wear away; on the contrary, it seemed to grow and
+gather with every passing week. Neither did she wish to lose it,
+she loved too well for that. It was better to be thus tormented by
+conscience and by hopelessness than to lose her cause of pain.
+
+One consolation Beatrice had and one only: she knew that Geoffrey did
+not forget her. His letters told her this. These letters indeed were
+everything to her--a woman can get so much more comfort out of a letter
+than a man. Next to receiving them she loved to answer them. She was a
+good and even a brilliant letter writer, but often and often she would
+tear up what she had written and begin again. There was not much news
+in Bryngelly; it was difficult to make her letters amusing. Also the
+farcical nature of the whole proceeding seemed to paralyse her. It was
+ridiculous, having so much to say, to be able to say nothing. Not that
+Beatrice wished to indite love-letters--such an idea had never crossed
+her mind, but rather to write as they had talked. Yet when she tried to
+do so the results were not satisfactory to her, the words looked strange
+on paper--she could not send them.
+
+In Geoffrey's meteor-like advance to fame and fortune she took the
+keenest joy and interest, far more than he did indeed. Though, like that
+of most other intelligent creatures, her soul turned with loathing
+from the dreary fustian of politics, she would religiously search the
+parliamentary column from beginning to end on the chance of finding his
+name or the notice of a speech by him. The law reports also furnished
+her with a happy hunting-ground in which she often found her game.
+
+But they were miserable months. To rise in the morning, to go through
+the round of daily duty--thinking of Geoffrey; to come home wearied, and
+finally to seek refuge in sleep and dreams of him--this was the sum of
+them. Then there were other troubles. To begin with, things had gone
+from bad to worse at the Vicarage. The tithes scarcely came in at all,
+and every day their poverty pinched them closer. Had it not been for
+Beatrice's salary it was difficult to see how the family could have
+continued to exist. She gave it almost all to her father now, only
+keeping back a very small sum for her necessary clothing and such
+sundries as stamps and writing paper. Even then, Elizabeth grumbled
+bitterly at her extravagance in continuing to buy a daily paper, asking
+what business she had to spend sixpence a week on such a needless
+luxury. But Beatrice would not make up her mind to dock the paper with
+its occasional mention of Geoffrey.
+
+Again, Owen Davies was a perpetual anxiety to her. His infatuation for
+herself was becoming notorious; everybody saw it except her father. Mr.
+Granger's mind was so occupied with questions connected with tithe that
+fortunately for Beatrice little else could find an entry. Owen dogged
+her about; he would wait whole hours outside the school or by the
+Vicarage gate merely to speak a few words to her. Sometimes when at
+length she appeared he seemed to be struck dumb, he could say nothing,
+but would gaze at her with his dull eyes in a fashion that filled her
+with vague alarm. He never ventured to speak to her of his love indeed,
+but he looked it, which was almost as bad. Another thing was that he
+had grown jealous. The seed which Elizabeth had planted in his mind had
+brought forth abundantly, though of course Beatrice did not know that
+this was her sister's doing.
+
+On the very morning that Geoffrey went away Mr. Davies had met her as
+she was walking back from the station and asked her if Mr. Bingham had
+gone. When she replied that this was so, she had distinctly heard him
+murmur, "Thank God! thank God!" Subsequently she discovered also that he
+bribed the old postman to keep count of the letters which she sent and
+received from Geoffrey.
+
+These things filled Beatrice with alarm, but there was worse behind. Mr.
+Davies began to send her presents, first such things as prize pigeons
+and fowls, then jewellery. The pigeons and fowls she could not well
+return without exciting remark, but the jewellery she sent back by one
+of the school children. First came a bracelet, then a locket with his
+photograph inside, and lastly, a case that, when she opened it, which
+her curiosity led her to do, nearly blinded her with light. It was a
+diamond necklace, and she had never seen such diamonds before, but from
+their size and lustre she knew that each stone must be worth hundreds of
+pounds. Beatrice put it in her pocket and carried it until she met him,
+which she did in the course of that afternoon.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she said before he could speak, and handing him the
+package, "this has been sent to me by mistake. Will you kindly take it
+back?"
+
+He took it, abashed.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she went on, looking him full in the eyes, "I hope that
+there will be no more such mistakes. Please understand that I cannot
+accept presents from you."
+
+"If Mr. Bingham had sent it, you would have accepted it," he muttered
+sulkily.
+
+Beatrice turned and flashed such a look on him that he fell back and
+left her. But it was true, and she knew that it was true. If Geoffrey
+had given her a sixpence with a hole in it, she would have valued it
+more than all the diamonds on earth. Oh! what a position was hers.
+And it was wrong, too. She had no right to love the husband of another
+woman. But right or wrong the fact remained: she did love him.
+
+And the worst of it was that, as she well knew, sooner or later all
+this about Mr. Davies must come to the ears of her father, and then what
+would happen? One thing was certain. In his present poverty-stricken
+condition he would move heaven and earth to bring about her marriage to
+this rich man. Her father never had been very scrupulous where money was
+concerned, and the pinch of want was not likely to make him more so.
+
+Nor, we may be sure, did all this escape the jealous eye of Elizabeth.
+Things looked black for her, but she did not intend to throw up the
+cards on that account. Only it was time to lead trumps. In other words,
+Beatrice must be fatally compromised in the eyes of Owen Davies, if by
+any means this could be brought about. So far things had gone well for
+her schemes. Beatrice and Geoffrey loved each other, of that Elizabeth
+was certain. But the existence of this secret, underhand affection would
+avail her naught unless it could be ripened into acts. Everybody is free
+to indulge in secret predilections, but if once they are given way to,
+if once a woman's character is compromised, then the world avails itself
+of its opportunities and destroys her. What man, thought Elizabeth,
+would marry a compromised woman? If Beatrice could be compromised, Owen
+Davies would not take her to wife--therefore this must be brought about.
+
+It sounds wicked and unnatural. "Impossible that sister should so treat
+sister," the reader of this history may say, thinking of her own, and of
+her affectionate and respectable surroundings. But it is not impossible.
+If you, who doubt, will study the law reports, and no worse occupation
+can be wished to you, you will find that such things are possible.
+Human nature can rise to strange heights, and it can also fall to depths
+beyond your fathoming. Because a thing is without parallel in your own
+small experience it in no way follows that it cannot be.
+
+Elizabeth was a very remorseless person; she was more--she was a woman
+actuated by passion and by greed: the two strongest motives known to the
+human heart. But with her recklessness she united a considerable degree
+of intelligence, or rather of intellect. Had she been a savage she might
+have removed her sister from her path by a more expeditious way; being
+what she was, she merely strove to effect the same end by a method not
+punishable by law, in short, by murdering her reputation. Would she be
+responsible if her sister went wrong, and was thus utterly discredited
+in the eyes of this man who wished to marry her, and whom Elizabeth
+wished to marry? Of course not; that was Beatrice's affair. But she
+could give her every chance of falling into temptation, and this it was
+her fixed design to do.
+
+Circumstances soon gave her an opportunity. The need of money became
+very pressing at the Vicarage. They had literally no longer the
+wherewithal to live. The tithe payers absolutely refused to fulfil
+their obligations. As it happened, Jones, the man who had murdered the
+auctioneer, was never brought to trial. He died shortly after his arrest
+in a fit of _delirium tremens_ and nervous prostration brought on by
+the sudden cessation of a supply of stimulants, and an example was lost,
+that, had he been duly hanged, might have been made of the results of
+defying the law. Mr. Granger was now too poor to institute any further
+proceedings, which, in the state of public feeling in Wales, might or
+might not succeed; he could only submit, and submission meant beggary.
+Indeed he was already a beggar. In this state of affairs he took counsel
+with Elizabeth, pointing out that they must either get money or starve.
+Now the only possible way to get money was by borrowing it, and Mr.
+Granger's suggestion was that he should apply to Owen Davies, who had
+plenty. Indeed he would have done so long ago, but that the squire had
+the reputation of being an exceedingly close-fisted man.
+
+But this proposition did not at all suit Elizabeth's book. Her great
+object had been to conceal Mr. Davies's desires as regards Beatrice from
+her father, and her daily dread was that he might become acquainted with
+them from some outside source. She knew very well that if her father
+went up to the Castle to borrow money it would be lent, or rather given,
+freely enough; but she also knew that the lender would almost certainly
+take the opportunity, the very favourable opportunity, to unfold his
+wishes as regards the borrower's daughter. The one thing would naturally
+lead to the other--the promise of her father's support of Owen's suit
+would be the consideration for the money received. How gladly that
+support would be given was also obvious to her, and with her father
+pushing Beatrice on the one side and Owen Davies pushing her on the
+other, how could Elizabeth be sure that she would not yield? Beatrice
+would be the very person to be carried away by an idea of duty. Their
+father would tell her that he had got the money on this undertaking, and
+it was quite possible that her pride might bring her to fulfil a bond
+thus given, however distasteful the deed might be to her personally. No,
+her father must at all hazards be prevented from seeking assistance from
+Owen Davies. And yet the money must be had from somewhere, or they would
+be ruined.
+
+Ah, she had it--Geoffrey Bingham should lend the money! He could well
+afford it now, and she shrewdly guessed that he would not grudge the
+coat off his back if he thought that by giving it he might directly or
+indirectly help Beatrice. Her father must go up to town to see him, she
+would have no letter-writing; one never knows how a letter may be read.
+He must see Mr. Bingham, and if possible bring him down to Bryngelly. In
+a moment every detail of the plot became clear to Elizabeth's mind, and
+then she spoke.
+
+"You must not go to Mr. Davies, father," she said; "he is a hard man,
+and would only refuse and put you in a false position; you must go to
+Mr. Bingham. Listen: he is rich now, and he is very fond of you and
+of Beatrice. He will lend you a hundred pounds at once. You must go to
+London by the early train to-morrow, and drive straight to his chambers
+and see him. It will cost two pounds to get there and back, but that
+cannot be helped; it is safer than writing, and I am sure that you will
+not go for nothing. And see here, father, bring Mr. Bingham back with
+you for a few days if you can. It will be a little return for his
+kindness, and I know that he is not well. Beatrice had a letter from him
+in which he said that he was so overworked that he thought he must take
+a little rest soon. Bring him back for Whit-Sunday."
+
+Mr. Granger hesitated, demurred, and finally yielded. The weak,
+querulous old farmer clergyman, worn out with many daily cares and quite
+unsupported by mental resources, was but a tool in Elizabeth's able
+hands. He did not indeed feel any humiliation at the idea of trying
+to borrow the cash, for his nature was not finely strung, and money
+troubles had made him callous to the verge of unscrupulousness; but he
+did not like the idea of a journey to London, where he had not been for
+more than twenty years, and the expenditure that it entailed. Still he
+acted as Elizabeth bade him, even to keeping the expedition secret
+from Beatrice. Beatrice, as her sister explained to him, was proud as
+Lucifer, and might raise objections if she knew that he was going to
+London to borrow money of Mr. Bingham. This indeed she would certainly
+have done.
+
+On the following afternoon--it was the Friday before Whit-Sunday, and
+the last day of the Easter sittings--Geoffrey sat in his chambers, in
+the worst possible spirits, thoroughly stale and worn out with work.
+There was a consultation going on, and his client, a pig-headed Norfolk
+farmer, who was bent upon proceeding to trial with some extraordinary
+action for trespass against his own landlord, was present with his
+solicitor. Geoffrey in a few short, clear words had explained the
+absurdity of the whole thing, and strongly advised him to settle, for
+the client had insisted on seeing him, refusing to be put off with a
+written opinion. But the farmer was not satisfied, and the solicitor was
+now endeavouring to let the pure light of law into the darkness of his
+injured soul.
+
+Geoffrey threw himself back in his chair, pushed the dark hair from his
+brow, and pretended to listen. But in a minute his mind was far
+away. Heavens, how tired he was! Well, there would be rest for a few
+days--till Tuesday, when he had a matter that must be attended to--the
+House had risen and so had the courts. What should he do with himself?
+Honoria wished to go and stay with her brother, Lord Garsington,
+and, for a wonder, to take Effie with her. He did not like it, but he
+supposed that he should have to consent. One thing was, _he_ would not
+go. He could not endure Garsington, Dunstan, and all their set. Should
+he run down to Bryngelly? The temptation was very great; that would be
+happiness indeed, but his common sense prevailed against it. No, it was
+better that he should not go there. He would leave Bryngelly alone. If
+Beatrice wished him to come she would have said so, and she had never
+even hinted at such a thing, and if she had he did not think that he
+would have gone. But he lacked the heart to go anywhere else. He would
+stop in town, rest, and read a novel, for Geoffrey, when he found
+time, was not above this frivolous occupation. Possibly, under certain
+circumstances, he might even have been capable of writing one. At that
+moment his clerk entered, and handed him a slip of paper with something
+written on it. He opened it idly and read:
+
+"Revd. Mr. Granger to see you. Told him you were engaged, but he said he
+would wait."
+
+Geoffrey started violently, so violently that both the solicitor and the
+obstinate farmer looked up.
+
+"Tell the gentleman that I will see him in a minute," he said to the
+retreating clerk, and then, addressing the farmer, "Well, sir, I have
+said all that I have to say. I cannot advise you to continue this
+action. Indeed, if you wish to do so, you must really direct your
+solicitor to retain some other counsel, as I will not be a party to what
+can only mean a waste of money. Good afternoon," and he rose.
+
+The farmer was convoyed out grumbling. In another moment Mr. Granger
+entered, dressed in a somewhat threadbare suit of black, and his thin
+white hair hanging, as usual, over his eyes. Geoffrey glanced at him
+with apprehension, and as he did so noticed that he had aged greatly
+during the last seven months. Had he come to tell him some ill news of
+Beatrice--that she was ill, or dead, or going to be married?
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Granger?" he said, as he stretched out his hand, and
+controlling his voice as well as he could. "How are you? This is a most
+unexpected pleasure."
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" answered the old man, while he seated
+himself nervously in a chair, placing his hat with a trembling hand
+upon the floor beside him. "Yes, thank you, I am pretty well, not very
+grand--worn out with trouble as the sparks fly upwards," he added, with
+a vague automatic recollection of the scriptural quotation.
+
+"I hope that Miss Elizabeth and Be--that your daughters are well also,"
+said Geoffrey, unable to restrain his anxiety.
+
+"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Bingham. Elizabeth isn't very grand either,
+complains of a pain in her chest, a little bilious perhaps--she always
+is bilious in the spring."
+
+"And Miss Beatrice?"
+
+"Oh, I think she's well--very quiet, you know, and a little pale,
+perhaps; but she is always quiet--a strange woman Beatrice, Mr. Bingham,
+a very strange woman, quite beyond me! I do not understand her, and
+don't try to. Not like other women at all, takes no pleasure in things
+seemingly; curious, with her good looks--very curious. But nobody
+understands Beatrice."
+
+Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. "And how are tithes being paid, Mr.
+Granger? not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died in
+prison."
+
+Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at
+random; the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him. What
+did interest him was this money question. Nor was it very wonderful;
+the poor narrow-minded old man had thought about money till he could
+scarcely find room for anything else, indeed nothing else really touched
+him closely. He broke into a long story of his wrongs, and, drawing
+a paper from his breast pocket, with shaking finger pointed out to
+Geoffrey how that his clerical income for the last six months had been
+at the rate of only forty pounds a year, upon which sum even a Welsh
+clergyman could not consider himself passing rich. Geoffrey listened and
+sympathised; then came a pause.
+
+"That's how we've been getting on at Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham," Mr.
+Granger said presently, "starving, pretty well starving. It's only you
+who have been making money; we've been sitting on the same dock-leaf
+while you have become a great man. If it had not been for Beatrice's
+salary--she's behaved very well about the salary, has Beatrice--I am
+sure I don't understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she
+keeps; I know that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter,
+because she got a cough from it--we should have been in the workhouse,
+and that's where we shall be yet," and he rubbed the back of his
+withered hand across his eyes.
+
+Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe
+herself--Beatrice shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak
+while _he_ lived in luxury! It made him sick to think of it. For a
+moment he could say nothing.
+
+"I have come here--I've come," went on the old man in a broken voice,
+broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear
+lest it should be refused, "to ask you if you could lend me a little
+money. I don't know where to turn, I don't indeed, or I would not do it,
+Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could lend
+me a hundred pounds I'd give you note of hand for it and try to pay
+it back little by little; we might take twenty pounds a year from
+Beatrice's salary----"
+
+"Don't, please--do not talk of such a thing!" ejaculated the horrified
+Geoffrey. "Where the devil is my cheque-book? Oh, I know, I left it in
+Bolton Street. Here, this will do as well," and he took up a draft note
+made out to his order, and, rapidly signing his name on the back of it,
+handed it to Mr. Granger. It was in payment of the fees in the great
+case of Parsons and Douse and some other matters. Mr. Granger took the
+draft, and, holding it close to his eyes, glanced at the amount; it was
+L200.
+
+"But this is double what I asked for," he said doubtfully. "Am I to
+return you L100?"
+
+"No, no," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that you have some debts to pay.
+Thank Heaven, I can get on very well and earn more money than I want.
+Not enough clothing--it is shocking to think of!" he added, more to
+himself than to his listener.
+
+The old man rose, his eyes full of tears. "God bless you," he said,
+"God bless you. I do not know how to thank you--I don't indeed," and he
+caught Geoffrey's hand between his trembling palms and pressed it.
+
+"Please do not say any more, Mr. Granger; it really is only a matter of
+mutual obligation. No, no, I don't want any note of hand. If I were
+to die it might be used against you. You can pay me whenever it is
+convenient."
+
+"You are too good, Mr. Bingham," said the old clergyman. "Where could
+another man be found who would lend me L200 without security?" (where
+indeed!) "By the way," he added, "I forgot; my mind is in such a whirl.
+Will you come back with me for a few days to Bryngelly? We shall all be
+so pleased if you can. Do come, Mr. Bingham; you look as though you want
+a change, you do indeed."
+
+Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the desk. But half an hour before
+he had made up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And now----The vision
+of Beatrice rose before his eyes. Beatrice who had gone cold all winter
+and never told him one word of their biting poverty--the longing for the
+sight of Beatrice came into his heart, and like a hurricane swept the
+defences of his reason to the level ground. Temptation overwhelmed him;
+he no longer struggled against it. He must see her, if it was only to
+say good-bye.
+
+"Thank you," he said quietly, lifting his bowed head. "Yes, I have
+nothing particular to do for the next day or two. I think that I will
+come. When do you go back?"
+
+"Well, I thought of taking the night mail, but I feel so tired. I really
+don't know. I think I shall go by the nine o'clock train to-morrow."
+
+"That will suit me very well," said Geoffrey; "and now what are you
+going to do to-night? You had better come and dine and sleep at my
+house. No dress clothes? Oh, never mind; there are some people coming
+but they won't care; a clergyman is always dressed. Come along and I
+will get that draft cashed. The bank is shut, but I can manage it."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+BACK AT BRYNGELLY
+
+Geoffrey and Mr. Granger reached Bolton Street about six o'clock.
+The drawing-room was still full of callers. Lady Honoria's young men
+mustered in great force in those days. They were very inoffensive young
+men and Geoffrey had no particular objection to them. Only he found
+it difficult to remember all their names. When Geoffrey entered the
+drawing-room there were no fewer than five of them, to say nothing of
+two stray ladies, all superbly dressed and sitting metaphorically at
+Honoria's very pretty feet. Otherwise their contributions to the general
+store of amusement did not amount to much, for her ladyship did most of
+the talking.
+
+Geoffrey introduced Mr. Granger, whom Honoria could not at first
+remember. Nor did she receive the announcement that he was going to dine
+and stay the night with any particular enthusiasm. The young men melted
+away at Geoffrey's advent like mists before a rising sun. He greeted
+them civilly enough, but with him they had nothing in common. To tell
+the truth they were a little afraid of him. This man with his dark
+handsome face sealed with the stamp of intellect, his powerful-looking
+form (ill dressed, according to their standard) and his great and
+growing reputation, was a person with whom they had no sympathy, and
+who, they felt, had no sympathy with them. We talk as though there is
+one heaven and one hell for all of us, but here must be some mistake. An
+impassable gulf yawns between the different classes of mankind. What has
+such a man as Geoffrey to do with the feeble male and female butterflies
+of a London drawing-room? There is only one link between them: they live
+on the same planet.
+
+When the fine young men and the two stray ladies had melted away,
+Geoffrey took Mr. Granger up to his room. Coming downstairs again he
+found Lady Honoria waiting for him in the study.
+
+"Is that individual really going to dine and sleep here?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly, Honoria, and he has brought no dress clothes," he answered.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey, it is too bad of you," said the lady with some
+pardonable irritation. "Why do you bring people to dinner in this
+promiscuous way? It will quite upset the table. Just fancy asking an old
+Welsh clergyman to dine, who has not the slightest pretensions to being
+a gentleman, when one has the Prime Minister and a Bishop coming--and a
+clergyman without dress clothes too. What has he come for?"
+
+"He came to see me on business, and as to the people coming to dinner,
+if they don't like it they can grumble when they go home. By the way,
+Honoria, I am going down to Wales for a day or two to-morrow. I want a
+change."
+
+"Indeed! Going to see the lovely Beatrice, I suppose. You had better be
+careful, Geoffrey. That girl will get you into a mess, and if she does
+there are plenty of people who are ready to make an example of you. You
+have enemies enough, I can tell you. I am not jealous, it is not in my
+line, but you are too intimate with that girl, and you will be sorry for
+it one day."
+
+"Nonsense," said Geoffrey angrily, but nevertheless he felt that Lady
+Honoria's words were words of truth. It struck him, moreover, that she
+must feel this strongly, or she would not have spoken in that tone.
+Honoria did not pose as a household philosopher. Still he would not draw
+back now. His heart was set on seeing Beatrice.
+
+"Am I to understand," went on his wife, "that you still object to my
+staying with the Garsingtons? I think it is a little hard if I do not
+make a fuss about your going to see your village paragon, that you
+should refuse to allow me to visit my own brother."
+
+Geoffrey felt that he was being bargained with. It was degrading, but in
+the extremity of his folly he yielded.
+
+"Go if you like," he said shortly, "but if you take Effie, mind she is
+properly looked after, that is all," and he abruptly left the room.
+
+Lady Honoria looked after him, slowly nodding her handsome head. "Ah,"
+she said to herself, "I have found out how to manage you now. You
+have your weak point like other people, Master Geoffrey--and it spells
+Beatrice. Only you must not go too far. I am not jealous, but I am not
+going to have a scandal for fifty Beatrices. I will not allow you to
+lose your reputation and position. Just imagine a man like that pining
+for a village girl--she is nothing more! And they talk about his being
+so clever. Well, he always liked ladies' society; that is his failing,
+and now he has burnt his fingers. They all do sooner or later,
+especially these clever men. The women flatter them, that's it. Of
+course the girl is trying to get hold of him, and she might do worse,
+but so surely as my name is Honoria Bingham I will put a spoke in her
+wheel before she has done. Bah! and they laugh at the power of women
+when a man like Geoffrey, with all the world to lose, grows love-sick
+for a pretty face; it is a _very_ pretty face by the way. I do believe
+that if I were out of the way he would marry her. But I am in the way,
+and mean to stay there. Well, it is time to dress for dinner. I only
+hope that old clown of a clergyman won't do something ridiculous. I
+shall have to apologise for him."
+
+Dinner-time had come; it was a quarter past eight, and the room was
+filled with highly bred people all more or less distinguished. Mr.
+Granger had duly appeared, arrayed in his threadbare black coat,
+relieved, however, by a pair of Geoffrey's dress shoes. As might have
+been expected, the great folk did not seem surprised at his presence,
+or to take any particular notice of his attire, the fact being that such
+people never are surprised. A Zulu chief in full war dress would only
+excite a friendly interest in their breasts. On the contrary they
+recognised vaguely that the old gentleman was something out of the
+common run, and as such worth cultivating. Indeed the Prime Minister,
+hearing casually that he was a clergyman from Wales, asked to be
+introduced to him, and at once fell into conversation about tithes, a
+subject of which Mr. Granger was thoroughly master.
+
+Presently they went down to dinner, Mr. Granger escorting the wife
+of the Bishop, a fat and somewhat apoplectic lady, blessed with an
+excellent appetite. On his other side was the Prime Minister, and
+between the two he got on very well, especially after a few glasses of
+wine. Indeed, both the apoplectic wife of the Bishop and the head of Her
+Majesty's Government were subsequently heard to declare that Mr. Granger
+was a very entertaining person. To the former he related with much
+detail how his daughter had saved their host's life, and to the latter
+he discoursed upon the subject of tithes, favouring him with his ideas
+of what legislation was necessary to meet the question. Somewhat to his
+own surprise, he found that his views were received with attention and
+even with respect. In the main, too, they received the support of the
+Bishop, who likewise felt keenly on the subject of tithes. Never before
+had Mr. Granger had such a good dinner nor mingled with company so
+distinguished. He remembered both till his dying day.
+
+Next morning Geoffrey and Mr. Granger started before Lady Honoria
+was up. Into the details of their long journey to Wales (in a crowded
+third-class carriage) we need not enter. Geoffrey had plenty to think
+of, but his fears had vanished, as fears sometimes do when we draw near
+to the object of them, and had been replaced by a curious expectancy. He
+saw now, or thought he saw, that he had been making a mountain out of
+a molehill. Probably it meant nothing at all. There was no real danger.
+Beatrice liked him, no doubt; possibly she had even experienced a fit of
+tenderness towards him. Such things come and such things go. Time is a
+wonderful healer of moral distempers, and few young ladies endure the
+chains of an undesirable attachment for a period of seven whole months.
+It made him almost blush to think that this might be so, and that the
+gratuitous extension of his misfortune to Beatrice might be nothing more
+than the working of his own unconscious vanity--a vanity which, did she
+know of it, would move her to angry laughter.
+
+He remembered how once, when he was quite a young fellow, he had been
+somewhat smitten with a certain lady, who certainly, if he might judge
+from her words and acts, reciprocated the sentiment. And he remembered
+also, how when he met that lady some months afterwards she treated him
+with a cold indifference, indeed almost with an insolence, that quite
+bewildered him, making him wonder how the same person could show in such
+different lights, till at length, mortified and ashamed by his mistake,
+he had gone away in a rage and seen her face no more. Of course he had
+set it down to female infidelity; he had served her turn, she had made
+a fool of him, and that was all she wanted. Now he might enjoy
+his humiliation. It did not occur to him that it might be simple
+"cussedness," to borrow an energetic American term, or that she had not
+really changed, but was angry with him for some reason which she did
+not choose to show. It is difficult to weigh the motives of women in the
+scales of male experience, and many other men besides Geoffrey have
+been forced to give up the attempt and to console themselves with the
+reflection that the inexplicable is generally not worth understanding.
+
+Yes, probably it would be the same case over again. And yet, and
+yet--was Beatrice of that class? Had she not too much of a man's
+straightforwardness of aim to permit her to play such tricks? In the
+bottom of his soul he thought that she had, but he would not admit it
+to himself. The fact of the matter was that, half unknowingly, he was
+trying to drug his conscience. He knew that in his longing to see her
+dear face once more he had undertaken a dangerous thing. He was about to
+walk with her over an abyss on a bridge which might bear them, or--might
+break. So long as he walked there alone it would be well, but would it
+bear them _both?_ Alas for the frailty of human nature, this was the
+truth; but he would not and did not acknowledge it. He was not going
+to make love to Beatrice, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of her
+society. In friendship there could be no harm.
+
+It is not difficult thus to still the qualms of an uneasy mind, more
+especially when the thing in question at its worst is rather an offence
+against local custom than against natural law. In many countries of the
+world--in nearly all countries, indeed, at different epochs of their
+history--it would have been no wrong that Geoffrey and Beatrice should
+love each other, and human nature in strong temptation is very apt to
+override artificial barriers erected to suit the convenience or promote
+the prosperity of particular sections of mankind. But, as we have heard,
+even though all things may be lawful, yet all things are not expedient.
+To commit or even to condone an act because the principle that stamps it
+as wrong will admit of argument on its merits is mere sophistry, by the
+aid of which we might prove ourselves entitled to defy the majority
+of laws of all calibres. Laws vary to suit the generations, but each
+generation must obey its own, or confusion will ensue. A deed should
+be judged by its fruits; it may even be innocent in itself, yet if its
+fruits are evil the doer in a sense is guilty.
+
+Thus in some countries to mention the name of your mother-in-law entails
+the most unpleasant consequences on that intimate relation. Nobody can
+say that to name the lady is a thing wicked in itself; yet the man who,
+knowing the penalties which will ensue, allows himself, even in a fit of
+passion against that relative, to violate the custom and mention her by
+name is doubtless an offender. Thus, too, the result of an entanglement
+between a woman and a man already married generally means unhappiness
+and hurt to all concerned, more especially to the women, whose prospects
+are perhaps irretrievably injured thereby. It is useless to point to
+the example of the patriarchs, some foreign royal families, and many
+respectable Turks; it is useless to plead that the love is deep and
+holy love, for which a man or woman might well live and die, or to show
+extenuating circumstances in the fact of loneliness, need of sympathy,
+and that the existing marriage is a hollow sham. The rule is clear. A
+man may do most things except cheat at cards or run away in action; a
+woman may break half-a-dozen hearts, or try to break them, and finally
+put herself up at auction and take no harm at all--but neither of them
+may in any event do _this_.
+
+Not that Geoffrey, to do him justice, had any such intentions. Most
+men are incapable of plots of that nature. If they fall, it is when the
+voice of conscience is lost in the whirlwind of passion, and counsel
+is darkened by the tumultuous pleadings of the heart. Their sin is
+that they will, most of them, allow themselves to be put in positions
+favourable to the development of these disagreeable influences. It is
+not safe to light cigarettes in a powder factory. If Geoffrey had done
+what he ought to have done, he would never have gone to Bryngelly, and
+there would have been no story to tell, or no more than there usually
+is.
+
+
+
+At length Mr. Granger and his guest reached Bryngelly; there was nobody
+to meet them, for nobody knew that they were coming, so they walked up
+to the Vicarage. It was strange to Geoffrey once more to pass by the
+little church through those well-remembered, wind-torn pines and see
+that low long house. It seemed wonderful that all should still be just
+as it was, that there should be no change at all, when he himself had
+seen so much. There was Beatrice's home; where was Beatrice?
+
+He passed into the house like a man in a dream. In another moment he
+was in the long parlour where he had spent so many happy hours, and
+Elizabeth was greeting him. He shook hands with her, and as he did so,
+noticed vaguely that she too was utterly unchanged. Her straw-coloured
+hair was pushed back from the temples in the same way, the mouth wore
+the same hard smile, her light eyes shone with the same cold look; she
+even wore the same brown dress. But she appeared to be very pleased to
+see him, as indeed she was, for the game looked well for Elizabeth. Her
+father kissed her hurriedly, and bustled from the room to lock up his
+borrowed cash, leaving them together.
+
+Somehow Geoffrey's conversational powers failed him. Where was Beatrice?
+she ought to be back from school. It was holiday time indeed. Could she
+be away?
+
+He made an effort, and remarked absently that things seemed very
+unchanged at Bryngelly.
+
+"You are looking for Beatrice," said Elizabeth, answering his thought
+and not his words. "She has gone out walking, but I think she will be
+back soon. Excuse me, but I must go and see about your room."
+
+Geoffrey hung about a little, then he lit his pipe and strolled down to
+the beach, with a vague unexpressed idea of meeting Beatrice. He did not
+meet Beatrice, but he met old Edward, who knew him at once.
+
+"Lord, sir," he said, "it's queer to see you here again, specially when
+I thinks as how I saw you first, and you a dead 'un to all purposes,
+with your mouth open, and Miss Beatrice a-hanging on to your hair fit
+to pull your scalp off. You never was nearer old Davy than you was
+that night, sir, nor won't be. And now you've been spared to become a
+Parliament man, I hears, and much good may you do there--it will take
+all your time, sir--and I think, sir, that I should like to drink your
+health."
+
+Geoffrey put his hand in his pocket and gave the old man a sovereign. He
+could afford to do so now.
+
+"Does Miss Beatrice go out canoeing now?" he asked while Edward mumbled
+his astonished thanks.
+
+"At times, sir--thanking you kindly; it ain't many suvrings as comes my
+way--though I hate the sight on it, I do. I'd like to stave a hole in
+the bottom of that there cranky concern; it ain't safe, and that's the
+fact. There'll be another accent out of it one of these fine days and
+no coming to next time. But, Lord bless you, it's her way of pleasuring
+herself. She's a queer un is Miss Beatrice, and she gets queerer and
+queerer, what with their being so tight screwed up at the Vicarage, no
+tithes and that, and one thing and another. Not but what I'm thinking,
+sir," he added in a portentous whisper, "as the squire has got summut to
+do with it. He's a courting of her, he is; he's as hard after her as a
+dog fish after a stray herring, and why she can't just say yes and marry
+him I'm sure I don't know."
+
+"Perhaps she doesn't like him," said Geoffrey coldly.
+
+"May be, sir, may be; maids all have their fancies, in whatsoever walk
+o' life it has pleased God to stick 'em, but it's a wonderful pity, it
+is. He ain't no great shakes, he ain't, but he's a sound man--no girl
+can't want a sounder--lived quiet all his days you see, sir, and what's
+more he's got the money, and money's tight up at the Vicarage, sir. Gals
+must give up their fancies sometimes, sir. Lord! a brace of brats and
+she'd forget all about 'em. I'm seventy years old and I've seen their
+ways, sir, though in a humble calling. You should say a word to her,
+sir; she'd thank you kindly five years after. You'd do her a good turn,
+sir, you would, and not a bad un as the saying goes, and give it the
+lie--no, beg your pardon, that is the other way round--she's bound to
+do you the bad turn having saved your life, though I don't see how she
+could do that unless, begging your pardon, she made you fall in love
+with her, being married, which though strange wouldn't be wunnerful
+seeing what she is and seeing how I has been in love with her myself
+since she was seven, old missus and all, who died eight years gone and
+well rid of the rheumatics."
+
+Beatrice was one of the few subjects that could unlock old Edward's
+breast, and Geoffrey retired before his confusing but suggestive
+eloquence. Hurriedly bidding the old man good-night he returned to the
+house, and leaning on the gate watched the twilight dying on the bosom
+of the west.
+
+Suddenly, a bunch of wild roses in her girdle, Beatrice emerged from the
+gathering gloom and stood before him face to face.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE THIRD APPEAL
+
+Face to face they stood, while at the vision of her sweetness his heart
+grew still. Face to face, and the faint light fell upon her tender
+loveliness and died in her deep eyes, and the faint breeze fragrant with
+the breath of pines gently stirred her hair. Oh, it was worth living to
+see her thus!
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said in a puzzled tone, stepping forward to
+pass the gate.
+
+"_Beatrice!_"
+
+She gave a little cry, and clutched the railing, else she would have
+fallen. One moment she stayed so, looking up towards his face that was
+hid in the deepening shadow--looking with wild eyes of hope and fear and
+love.
+
+"Is it you," she said at length, "or another dream?"
+
+"It is I, Beatrice!" he answered, amazed.
+
+She recovered herself with an effort.
+
+"Then why did you frighten me so?" she asked. "It was unkind--oh, I did
+not mean to say anything cross. What did I say? I forget. I am so glad
+that you have come!" and she put her hand to her forehead and looked at
+him again as one might gaze at a ghost from the grave.
+
+"Did you not expect me?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+"Expect you? no. No more than I expected----" and she stopped suddenly.
+
+"It is very odd," he said; "I thought you knew that your father was
+going to ask me down. I returned from London with him."
+
+"From London," she murmured. "I did not know; Elizabeth did not tell me
+anything about it. I suppose that she forgot."
+
+"Here I am at any rate, and how are you?"
+
+"Oh, well now, quite well. There, I am all right again. It is very wrong
+to frighten people in that way, Mr. Bingham," she added in her usual
+voice. "Let me pass through the gate and I will shake hands with
+you--if," she added, in a tone of gentle mockery, "one may shake hands
+with so great a man. But I told you how it would be, did I not, just
+before we were drowned together, you know? How is Effie?"
+
+"Effie flourishes," he answered. "Do you know, you do not look very
+grand. Your father told me that you had a cold in the winter," and
+Geoffrey shivered as he thought of the cause.
+
+"Oh, thank you, I have nothing to complain of. I am strong and well. How
+long do you stay here?"
+
+"Not long. Perhaps till Tuesday morning, perhaps till Monday."
+
+Beatrice sighed. Happiness is short. She had not brought him here, she
+would not have lifted a finger to bring him here, but since he had come
+she wished that he was going to stay longer.
+
+"It is supper time," she said; "let us go in."
+
+So they went in and ate their supper. It was a happy meal. Mr. Granger
+was in almost boisterous spirits. It is wonderful what a difference the
+possession of that two hundred pounds made in his demeanour; he seemed
+another man. It was true that a hundred of it must go in paying debts,
+but a hundred would be left, which meant at least a year's respite for
+him. Elizabeth, too, relaxed her habitual grimness; the two hundred
+pounds had its influence on her also, and there were other genial
+influences at work in her dark secret heart. Beatrice knew nothing of
+the money and sat somewhat silent, but she too was happy with the wild
+unreal happiness that sometimes visits us in dreams.
+
+As for Geoffrey, if Lady Honoria could have seen him she would have
+stared in astonishment. Of late he had been a very silent man, many
+people indeed had found him a dull companion. But under the influence
+of Beatrice's presence he talked and talked brilliantly. Perhaps he was
+unconsciously striving to show at his very best before her, as a man
+naturally does in the presence of a woman whom he loves. So brilliantly
+did he talk that at last they all sat still and listened to him, and
+they might have been worse employed.
+
+At length supper was done, and Elizabeth retired to her room. Presently,
+too, Mr. Granger was called out to christen a sick baby and went
+grumbling, and they were left alone. They sat in the window-place and
+looked out at the quiet night.
+
+"Tell me about yourself," said Beatrice.
+
+So he told her. He narrated all the steps by which he had reached
+his present position, and showed her how from it he might rise to the
+topmost heights of all. She did not look at him, and did not answer
+him, but once when he paused, thinking that he had talked enough about
+himself, she said, "Go on; tell me some more."
+
+At last he had told her all.
+
+"Yes," she said, "you have the power and the opportunity, and you will
+one day be among the foremost men of your generation."
+
+"I doubt it," he said with a sigh. "I am not ambitious. I only work for
+the sake of work, not for what it will bring. One day I daresay that I
+shall weary of it all and leave it. But while I do work, I like to be
+among the first in my degree."
+
+"Oh, no," she answered, "you must not give it up; you must go on and on.
+Promise me," she continued, looking at him for the first time--"promise
+me that while you have health and strength you will persevere till you
+stand alone and quite pre-eminent. Then you can give it up."
+
+"Why should I promise you this, Beatrice?"
+
+"Because I ask it of you. Once I saved your life, Mr. Bingham, and it
+gives me some little right to direct its course. I wish that the man
+whom I saved to the world should be among the first men in the world,
+not in wealth, which is an accident, but in intellect and force. Promise
+me this and I shall be happy."
+
+"I promise you," he said, "I promise that I will try to rise because you
+ask it, not because the prospect attracts me; but as he spoke his heart
+was wrung. It was bitter to hear her speak thus of a future in which
+she would have no share, which, as her words implied, would be a thing
+utterly apart from her, as much apart as though she were dead.
+
+"Yes," he said again, "you gave me my life, and it makes me very unhappy
+to think that I can give you nothing in return. Oh, Beatrice, I will
+tell you what I have never told to any one. I am lonely and wretched.
+With the exception of yourself, I do not think that there is anybody who
+really cares for--I mean who really sympathises with me in the world.
+I daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a humiliating thing to
+say, and, in a fashion, a selfish thing. I never should have said it to
+any living soul but you. What is the use of being great when there is
+nobody to work for? Things might have been different, but the world is a
+hard place. If you--if you----"
+
+At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the
+tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it. Then
+there was a moment's pause, and very gently she drew her hand away and
+thrust it in her bosom.
+
+"You have your wife to share your fortune," she said; "you have Effie to
+inherit it, and you can leave your name to your country."
+
+Then came a heavy pause.
+
+"And you," he said, breaking it, "what future is there for you?"
+
+She laughed softly. "Women have no future and they ask none. At least I
+do not now, though once I did. It is enough for them if they can ever
+so little help the lives of others. That is their happiness, and their
+reward is--rest."
+
+
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his christening, and Beatrice rose
+and went to bed.
+
+"Looks a little pale, doesn't she, Mr. Bingham?" said her father. "I
+think she must be troubled in her mind. The fact is--well, there is no
+reason why I should not tell you; she thinks so much of you, and you
+might say a word to brighten her up--well, it's about Mr. Davies. I
+fancy, you know, that she likes him and is vexed because he does not
+come forward. Well, you see--of course I may be mistaken, but I have
+sometimes thought that he may. I have seen him look as if he was
+thinking of it, though of course it is more than Beatrice has got any
+right to expect. She's only got herself and her good looks to give him,
+and he's a rich man. Think of it, Mr. Bingham," and the old gentleman
+turned up his eyes piously, "just think what a thing it would be for
+her, and indeed for all of us, if it should please God to send a chance
+like that in her way; she would be rich for life, and such a position!
+But it is possible; one never knows; he might take a fancy to her. At
+any rate, Mr. Bingham, I think you could cheer her up a little; there is
+no need for her to give up hope yet."
+
+Geoffrey burst into a short grim laugh. The idea of Beatrice languishing
+for Owen Davies, indeed the irony of the whole position, was too much
+for his sense of humour.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I daresay that it might be a good match for her, but I
+do not know how she would get on with Mr. Davies."
+
+"Get on! why, well enough, of course. Women are soft, and can squeeze
+into most holes, especially if they are well lined. Besides, he may be
+a bit heavy, but I think she is pining for him, and it's a pity that
+she should waste her life like that. What, are you going to bed? Well,
+good-night--good-night."
+
+Geoffrey did go to bed, but not to sleep. For a long while he lay awake,
+thinking. He thought of the last night which he had spent in this little
+room, of its strange experiences, of all that had happened since, and
+of the meeting of to-day. Could he, after that meeting, any longer
+doubt what were the feelings with which Beatrice regarded him? It was
+difficult to so, and yet there was still room for error. Then he thought
+of what old Edward had said to him, and of what Mr. Granger had said
+with reference to Beatrice and Owen Davies. The views of both were
+crudely and even vulgarly expressed, but they coincided, and, what was
+more, there was truth in them, and he knew it. The idea of Beatrice
+marrying Mr. Davies, to put it mildly, was repulsive to him; but had he
+any claim to stand between her and so desirable a settlement in life?
+Clearly, he had not, his conscience told him so.
+
+Could it be right, moreover, that this kind of tie which existed between
+them should be knitted more closely? What would it mean? Trouble, and
+nothing but trouble, more especially to Beatrice, who would fret her
+days away to no end. He had done wrong in coming here at all, he had
+done wrong in taking her hand. He would make the only reparation in his
+power (as though in such a case as that of Beatrice reparation were now
+possible)! He would efface himself from her life and see her no more.
+Then she might learn to forget him, or, at the worst, to remember him
+with but a vague regret. Yes, cost what it might, he would force himself
+to do it before any actual mischief ensued. The only question was,
+should he not go further? Should he not tell her that she would do well
+to marry Mr. Davies?
+
+Pondering over this most painful question, at last he went to sleep.
+
+When men in Geoffrey's unhappy position turn penitent and see the error
+of their ways, the prudent resolves that ensue are apt to overshoot the
+mark and to partake of an aggressive nature. Not satisfied with leaving
+things alone, they must needs hasten to proclaim their new-found virtue
+to the partner of their fault, and advertise their infallible specific
+(to be taken by the partner) for restoring the _status quo ante_.
+Sometimes as a consequence of this pious zeal they find themselves
+misunderstood, or even succeed in precipitating the catastrophe which
+they laudably desire to prevent.
+
+
+
+The morrow was Whit-Sunday, and a day that Geoffrey had occasion to
+remember for the rest of his life. They all met at breakfast and shortly
+afterwards went to church, the service being at half-past ten. By way
+of putting into effect the good resolutions with which he was so busy
+paving an inferno of his own, Geoffrey did not sit by Beatrice, but took
+a seat at the end of the little church, close to the door, and tried to
+console himself by looking at her.
+
+It was a curious sullen-natured day, and although there was not very
+much sun the air was as hot as though they were in midsummer. Had they
+been in a volcanic region, Geoffrey would have thought that such weather
+preceded a shock of earthquake. As it was he knew that the English
+climate was simply indulging itself at the expense of the population.
+But as up to the present, the season had been cold, this knowledge did
+not console him. Indeed he felt so choked in the stuffy little church
+that just before the sermon (which he happened to be aware was _not_
+written by Beatrice) he took an opportunity to slip out unobserved. Not
+knowing where to go, he strolled down to the beach, on which there
+was nobody to be seen, for, as has been observed, Bryngelly slept on
+Sundays. Presently, however, a man approached walking rapidly, and to
+all appearance aimlessly, in whom he recognised Owen Davies. He was
+talking to himself while he walked, and swinging his arms. Geoffrey
+stepped aside to let him pass, and as he did so was surprised and even
+shocked to see the change in the man. His plump healthy-looking face had
+grown thin, and wore a half sullen, half pitiful expression; there were
+dark circles round his blue eyes, once so placid, and his hair would
+have been the better for cutting. Geoffrey wondered if he had had an
+illness. At that moment Owen chanced to look round and saw him.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" he said. "I heard that you were here. They
+told me at the station last night. You see this is a small place and one
+likes to know who comes and goes," he added as though in excuse.
+
+He walked on and Geoffrey walked with him.
+
+"You do not look well, Mr. Davies," he said. "Have you been laid up?"
+
+"No, no," he answered, "I am quite right; it is only my mind that is
+ill."
+
+"Indeed," said Geoffrey, thinking that he certainly did look strange.
+"Perhaps you live too much alone and it depresses you."
+
+"Yes, I live alone, because I can't help myself. What is a man to do,
+Mr. Bingham, when the woman he loves will not marry him, won't look at
+him, treats him like dirt?"
+
+"Marry somebody else," suggested Geoffrey.
+
+"Oh, it is easy for you to say that--you have never loved anybody, and
+you don't understand. I cannot marry anybody else, I want her only."
+
+"Her? Whom?"
+
+"Who! why, Beatrice--whom else could a man want to marry, if once he had
+seen her. But she will not have me; she hates me."
+
+"Really," said Geoffrey.
+
+"Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell
+you," and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoarsely in his ear:
+"Because she loves _you_, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies," said Geoffrey shaking his arm free,
+"I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off your head."
+
+"Don't be angry with me," he answered. "It is true. I have watched her
+and I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why
+does she always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh,
+Mr. Bingham," Owen went on piteously, "be merciful--you have your wife
+and lots of women to make love to if you wish--leave me Beatrice. If
+you don't I think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her, ever
+since she was a child, and now my love travels faster and grows stronger
+every day, and carries me away with it like a rock rolling down a hill.
+You can only bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her everything, as
+much money as she wants, all that she wants, and I will make her a good
+husband; I will never leave her side."
+
+"I have no doubt that would be delightful for her," answered Geoffrey;
+"but does it not strike you that all this is just a little undignified?
+These remarks, interesting as they are, should be made to Miss Granger,
+not to me, Mr. Davies."
+
+"I know," he said, "but I don't care; it is my only chance, and what do
+I mind about being undignified? Oh, Mr. Bingham, I have never loved any
+other woman, I have been lonely all my days. Do not stand in my path
+now. If you only knew what I have suffered, how I have prayed God night
+after night to give me Beatrice, you would help me. Say that you will
+help me! You are one of those men who can do anything; she will listen
+to you. If you tell her to marry me she will do so, and I shall bless
+you my whole life."
+
+Geoffrey looked upon this abject suppliant with the most unmitigated
+scorn. There is always something contemptible in the sight of one
+man pleading to another for assistance in his love affairs--that is a
+business which he should do for himself. How much greater, then, is the
+humiliation involved when the amorous person asks the aid of one whom he
+believes to be his rival--his successful rival--in the lady's affection?
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Davies," Geoffrey said, "I think that I have had
+enough of this. I am not in a position to force Miss Granger to accept
+advances which appear to be unwelcome according to your account. But if
+I get an opportunity I will do this: I will tell her what you say.
+You really must manage the rest for yourself. Good morning to you, Mr.
+Davies."
+
+He turned sharply and went while Owen watched him go.
+
+"I don't believe him," he groaned to himself. "He will try to make her
+his lover. Oh, God help me--I cannot bear to think of it. But if he
+does, and I find him out, let him be careful. I will ruin him, yes,
+I will ruin him! I have the money and I can do it. Ah, he thinks me a
+fool, they all think me a fool, but I haven't been quiet all these years
+for nothing. I can make a noise if necessary. And if he is a villain,
+God will help me to destroy him. I have prayed to God, and God will help
+me."
+
+Then he went back to the Castle. Owen Davies was a type of the class of
+religious men who believe that they can enlist the Almighty on the side
+of their desires, provided only that those desires receive the sanction
+of human law or custom.
+
+
+
+Thus within twenty-four hours Geoffrey received no less than three
+appeals to help the woman whom he loved to the arms of a distasteful
+husband. No wonder then that he grew almost superstitious about the
+matter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+A NIGHT OF STORM
+
+That afternoon the whole Vicarage party walked up to the farm to inspect
+another litter of young pigs. It struck Geoffrey, remembering former
+editions, that the reproductive powers of Mr. Granger's old sow were
+something little short of marvellous, and he dreamily worked out a
+calculation of how long it would take her and her progeny to produce a
+pig to every square yard of the area of plucky little Wales. It seemed
+that the thing could be done in six years, which was absurd, so he gave
+up calculating.
+
+He had no words alone with Beatrice that afternoon. Indeed, a certain
+coldness seemed to have sprung up between them. With the almost
+supernatural quickness of a loving woman's intuition, she had divined
+that something was passing in his mind, inimical to her most vital
+interests, so she shunned his company, and received his conventional
+advances with a politeness which was as cold as it was crushing. This
+did not please Geoffrey; it is one thing (in her own interests, of
+course) to make up your mind heroically to abandon a lady whom you do
+not wish to compromise, and quite another to be snubbed by that lady
+before the moment of final separation. Though he never put the idea into
+words or even defined it in his mind--for Geoffrey was far too anxious
+and unhappy to be flippant, at any rate in thought--he would at heart
+have wished her to remain the same, indeed to wax ever tenderer, till
+the fatal time of parting arrived, and even to show appreciation of his
+virtuous conduct.
+
+But to the utter destruction of most such hands as Geoffrey held, loving
+women never will play according to the book. Their conduct imperils
+everything, for it is obvious that it takes two to bring an affair of
+this nature to a dignified conclusion, even when the stakes are highest,
+and the matter is one of life and death. Beatrice after all was very
+much of a woman, and she did not behave much better than any other woman
+would have done. She was angry and suspicious, and she showed it,
+with the result that Geoffrey grew angry also. It was cruel of her, he
+thought, considering all things. He forgot that she could know nothing
+of what was in his mind, however much she might guess; also as yet he
+did not know the boundless depth and might of her passion for him, and
+all that it meant to her. Had he realised this he would have acted very
+differently.
+
+
+
+They came home and took tea, then Mr. Granger and Elizabeth made ready
+to go to evening service. To Geoffrey's dismay Beatrice did the same. He
+had looked forward to a quiet walk with her--really this was not to be
+borne. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, she was ready the first,
+and he got a word with her.
+
+"I did not know that you were going to church," he said; "I thought that
+we might have had a walk together. Very likely I shall have to go away
+early to-morrow morning."
+
+"Indeed," answered Beatrice coldly. "But of course you have your work to
+attend to. I told Elizabeth that I was coming to church, and I must go;
+it is too sultry to walk; there will be a storm soon."
+
+At this moment Elizabeth came in.
+
+"Well, Beatrice," she said, "are you coming to church? Father has gone
+on."
+
+Beatrice pretended not to hear, and reflected a moment. He would go away
+and she would see him no more. Could she let slip this last hour? Oh,
+she could not do it!
+
+In that moment of reflection her fate was sealed.
+
+"No," she answered slowly, "I don't think that I am coming; it is too
+sultry to go to church. I daresay that Mr. Bingham will accompany you."
+
+Geoffrey hastily disclaimed any such intention, and Elizabeth started
+alone. "Ah!" she said to herself, "I thought that you would not come, my
+dear."
+
+"Well," said Geoffrey, when she had well gone, "shall we go out?"
+
+"I think it is pleasanter here," answered Beatrice.
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, don't be so unkind," he said feebly.
+
+"As you like," she replied. "There is a fine sunset--but I think that we
+shall have a storm."
+
+They went out, and turned up the lonely beach. The place was utterly
+deserted, and they walked a little way apart, almost without speaking.
+The sunset was magnificent; great flakes of golden cloud were driven
+continually from a home of splendour in the west towards the cold lined
+horizon of the land. The sea was still quiet, but it moaned like a thing
+in pain. The storm was gathering fast.
+
+"What a lovely sunset," said Geoffrey at length.
+
+"It is a fatal sort of loveliness," she answered; "it will be a bad
+night, and a wet morrow. The wind is rising; shall we turn?"
+
+"No, Beatrice, never mind the wind. I want to speak to you, if you will
+allow me to do so."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "what about, Mr. Bingham."
+
+To make good resolutions in a matter of this sort is comparatively
+easy, but the carrying of them out presents some difficulties. Geoffrey,
+conscience-stricken into priggishness, wished to tell her that she
+would do well to marry Owen Davies, and found the matter hard. Meanwhile
+Beatrice preserved silence.
+
+"The fact is," he said at length, "I most sincerely hope you will
+forgive me, but I have been thinking a great deal about you and your
+future welfare."
+
+"That is very kind of you," said Beatrice, with an ominous humility.
+
+This was disconcerting, but Geoffrey was determined, and he went on in
+a somewhat flippant tone born of the most intense nervousness and hatred
+of his task. Never had he loved her so well as now in this moment when
+he was about to counsel her to marry another man. And yet he persevered
+in his folly. For, as so often happens, the shrewd insight and knowledge
+of the world which distinguished Geoffrey as a lawyer, when dealing with
+the affairs of others, quite deserted him in this crisis of his own life
+and that of the woman who worshipped him.
+
+"Since I have been here," he said, "I have had made to me no less than
+three appeals on your behalf and by separate people--by your father,
+who fancies that you are pining for Owen Davies; by Owen Davies, who is
+certainly pining for you; and by old Edward, intervening as a kind of
+domestic _amicus curiae_."
+
+"Indeed," said Beatrice, in a voice of ice.
+
+"All these three urged the same thing--the desirability of your marrying
+Owen Davies."
+
+Beatrice's face grew quite pale, her lips twitched and her grey eyes
+flashed angrily.
+
+"Really," she said, "and have _you_ any advice to give on the subject,
+Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Yes, Beatrice, I have. I have thought it over, and I think
+that--forgive me again--that if you can bring yourself to it, perhaps
+you had better marry him. He is not such a bad sort of man, and he is
+well off."
+
+They had been walking rapidly, and now they were reaching the spot known
+as the "Amphitheatre," that same spot where Owen Davies had proposed to
+Beatrice some seven months before.
+
+Beatrice passed round the projecting edge of rock, and walked some way
+towards the flat slab of stone in the centre before she answered.
+While she did so a great and bitter anger filled her heart. She saw,
+or thought she saw, it all. Geoffrey wished to be rid of her. He had
+discerned an element of danger in their intimacy, and was anxious to
+make that intimacy impossible by pushing her into a hateful marriage.
+Suddenly she turned and faced him--turned like a thing at bay. The last
+red rays of the sunset struck upon her lovely face made more lovely
+still by its stamp of haughty anger: they lay upon her heaving
+breast. Full in the eyes she looked him with those wide angry eyes of
+hers--never before had he seen her so imperial a mien. Her dignity and
+the power of her presence literally awed him, for at times Beatrice's
+beauty was of that royal stamp which when it hides a heart, is a
+compelling force, conquering and born to conquer.
+
+"Does it not strike you, Mr. Bingham," she said quietly, "that you are
+taking a very great liberty? Does it not strike you that no man who is
+not a relation has any right to speak to a woman as you have spoken to
+me?--that, in short, you have been guilty of what in most people would
+be an impertinence? What right have you to dictate to me as to whom I
+should or should not marry? Surely of all things in the world that is my
+own affair."
+
+Geoffrey coloured to the eyes. As would have been the case with most
+men of his class, he felt her accusation of having taken a liberty, of
+having presumed upon an intimacy, more keenly than any which she could
+have brought against him.
+
+"Forgive me," he said humbly. "I can only assure you that I had no such
+intention. I only spoke--ill-judgedly, I fear--because--because I felt
+driven to it."
+
+Beatrice took no notice of his words, but went on in the same cold
+voice.
+
+"What right have you to speak of my affairs with Mr. Davies, with an old
+boatman, or even with my father? Had I wished you to do so I should have
+asked you. By what authority do you constitute yourself an intermediary
+for the purpose of bringing about a marriage which you are so good as to
+consider would be to my pecuniary interest? Do you not know that such a
+matter is one which the woman concerned, the woman whose happiness and
+self-respect are at stake, alone can judge of? I have nothing more to
+say except this. I said just now that you had been guilty of what would
+in most people be an impertinence. Well, I will add something. In
+this case, Mr. Bingham, there are circumstances which make it--a cruel
+insult!"
+
+She stopped speaking, then suddenly, without the slightest warning,
+burst into passionate weeping. As she did so, the first rush of the
+storm passed over them, winnowing the air as with a thousand eagles'
+wings, and was lost on the moaning depths beyond.
+
+The light went out of the sky. Now Geoffrey could only see the faint
+outlines of her weeping face. One moment he hesitated and one only; then
+Nature prevailed against him, for the next she was in his arms.
+
+Beatrice scarcely resisted him. Her energies seemed to fail her, or
+perhaps she had spent them in her bitter words. Her head fell upon his
+shoulder, and there she sobbed her fill. Presently she lifted it and
+their lips met in a first long kiss. It was finished; this was the end
+of it--and thus did Geoffrey prosper Owen Davies's suit.
+
+"Oh, you are cruel, cruel!" he whispered in her ear. "You must have
+known I loved you, Beatrice, that I spoke against myself because I
+thought it to be my duty. You must have known that, to my sin and
+sorrow, I have always loved you, that you have never been an hour from
+my mind, that I have longed to see your face like a sick man for the
+light. Tell me, did you not know it, Beatrice?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered very softly; "I could only guess,
+and if indeed you love me how could you wish me to marry another man? I
+thought that you had learned my weakness and took this way to reproach
+me. Oh, Geoffrey, what have we done? What is there between you and
+me--except our love?"
+
+"It would have been better if we had been drowned together at the
+first," he said heavily.
+
+"No, no," she answered, "for then we never should have loved one
+another. Better first to love, and then to die!"
+
+"Do not speak so," he said; "let us sit here and be happy for a little
+while to-night, and leave trouble till to-morrow."
+
+And, where on a bygone day Beatrice had tarried with another wooer, side
+by side they sat upon the great stone and talked such talk as lovers
+use.
+
+Above them moaned the rising gale, though sheltered as they were by
+cliffs its breath scarcely stirred their hair. In front of them the long
+waves boomed upon the beach, while far out to sea the crescent moon,
+draped in angry light, seemed to ride the waters like a boat.
+
+
+
+And were they alone with their great bliss, or did they only dream? Nay,
+they were alone with love and lovers' joys, and all the truth was told,
+and all their doubts were done. Now there was an end of hopes and fears;
+now reason fell and Love usurped his throne, and at that royal coming
+Heaven threw wide her gates. Oh, Sweetest and most dear! Oh, Dearest and
+most sweet! Oh, to have lived to find this happy hour--oh, in this hour
+to die!
+
+See heaviness is behind us, see now we are one. Blow, you winds, blow
+out your stormy heart; we know the secret of your strength, you rush to
+your desire. Fall, deep waters of the sea, fall in thunder at the feet
+of earth; we hear the music of your pleading.
+
+Earth, and Seas, and Winds, sing your great chant of love! Heaven and
+Space and Time, echo back the melody! For Life has called to us the
+answer of his riddle! Heart to heart we sit, and lips to lips, and
+we are more wise than Solomon, and richer than barbarian kings, for
+Happiness is ours.
+
+To this end were we born, Dearest and most sweet, and from all time
+predestinate! To this end, Sweetest and most dear, do we live and die,
+in death to find completer unity. For here is that secret of the world
+which wise men search and cannot find, and here too is the gate of
+Heaven.
+
+Look into my eyes, and let me gaze on yours, and listen how these things
+shall be. The world is but a mockery, and a shadow is our flesh, for
+where once they were there shall be naught. Only Love is real; Love
+shall endure till all the suns are dead, and yet be young.
+
+Kiss me, thou Conqueror, for Destiny is overcome, Sorrow is gone by; and
+the flame that we have hallowed upon this earthly altar shall still burn
+brightly, and yet more bright, when yonder stars have lost their fire.
+
+But alas! words cannot give a fitting form to such a song as this. Let
+music try! But music also folds her wings. For in so supreme an hour
+
+"A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,"
+
+and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be
+written.
+
+
+
+They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the frenzy
+of a passion gross in its very essence. Let those think it who will, but
+to dreamers let them leave their dreams. Why then, at such a time, do
+visions come to children of the world like Beatrice and Geoffrey? Why do
+their doubts vanish, and what is that breath from heaven which they seem
+to feel upon their brow? The intoxication of earthly love born of the
+meeting of youth and beauty. So be it! Slave, bring more such wine and
+let us drink--to Immortality and to those dear eyes that mirror forth a
+spirit's face!
+
+Such loves indeed are few. For they must be real and deep, and natures
+thus shaped are rare, nor do they often cross each other's line of life.
+Yes, there are few who can be borne so high, and none can breathe
+that ether long. Soon the wings which Love lent them in his hour of
+revelation will shrink and vanish, and the borrowers will fall back to
+the level of this world, happy if they escape uncrushed. Perchance
+even in their life-days, they may find these spirit wings again,
+overshadowing the altar of their vows in the hour of earthly marriage,
+if by some happy fate, marriage should be within their reach, or like
+the holy pinions of the goddess Nout, folded about a coffin, in the time
+of earthly death. But scant are the occasions, and few there are who
+know them.
+
+
+
+Thus soared Beatrice and Geoffrey while the wild night beat around them,
+making a fit accompaniment to their stormy loves. And thus they too fell
+from heaven to earth.
+
+"We must be going, Geoffrey; it grows late," said Beatrice. "Oh,
+Geoffrey, Geoffrey, what have we done? What can be the end of all this?
+It will bring trouble on you, I know that it must. The old saying will
+come true. I saved your life, and I shall bring ruin on you!"
+
+It is characteristic of Beatrice that already she was thinking of the
+consequences to Geoffrey, not of those to herself.
+
+"Beatrice," said Geoffrey, "we are in a desperate position. Do you wish
+to face it and come away with me, far away to the other side of the
+world?"
+
+"No, no," she answered vehemently, "it would be your ruin to abandon the
+career that is before you. What part of the world could you go to where
+you would not be known? Besides there is your wife to think of. Ah,
+God, your wife--what would she say of me? You belong to her, you have
+no right to desert her. And there is Effie too. No, Geoffrey, no, I have
+been wicked enough to learn to love you--oh, as you were never loved
+before, if it is wicked to do what one cannot help--but I am not bad
+enough for this. Walk quicker, Geoffrey; we shall be late, and they will
+suspect something."
+
+Poor Beatrice, the pangs of conscience were finding her out!
+
+"We are in a dreadful position," he said again. "Oh, dearest, I have
+been to blame. I should never have come back here. It is my fault; and
+though I never thought of this, I did my best to please you."
+
+"And I thank you for it," she answered. "Do not deceive yourself,
+Geoffrey. Whatever happens, promise me never for one moment to believe
+that I reproached or blamed you. Why should I blame you because you won
+my heart? Let me sooner blame the sea on which we floated, the beach
+where we walked, the house in which we lived, and the Destiny that
+brought us together. I am proud and glad to love you, dear, but I am not
+so selfish as to wish to ruin you: Geoffrey--I had rather die."
+
+"Don't talk so," he said, "I cannot bear it. What are we to do? Am I to
+go away and see you no more? How can we live so, Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, Geoffrey," she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and gazing
+up into his face, "you are to go away and see me no more, not for years
+and years. This is what we have brought upon ourselves, it is the
+price that we must pay for this hour which has gone. You are to go away
+to-morrow, that we may be put out of temptation, and you must come back
+no more. Sometimes I shall write to you, and sometimes perhaps you will
+write to me, till the thing becomes a burden, then you can stop.
+And whether you forget me or not--and, Geoffrey, I do not think you
+will--you will know that I shall never forget you, whom I saved from the
+sea--to love me."
+
+There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words,
+instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey
+bent at heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle,
+gathering snow. What was he to do, how could he leave her? And yet she
+was right. He must go, and go quickly, lest his strength might fail
+him, and hand in hand they should pass a bourne from which there is no
+return.
+
+"Heaven help us, Beatrice," he said. "I will go to-morrow morning and,
+if I can, I will keep away."
+
+"You _must_ keep away. I will not see you any more. I will not bring
+trouble on you, Geoffrey."
+
+"You talk of bringing trouble on me," he said; "you say nothing of
+yourself, and yet a man, even a man with eyes on him like myself, is
+better fitted to weather such a storm. If it ruined me, how much more
+would it ruin you?"
+
+They were at the gate of the Vicarage now, and the wind rushed so
+strongly through the firs that she needed to put her lips quite close to
+his ear to make her words heard.
+
+"Stop, one minute," she said, "perhaps you do not quite understand. When
+a woman does what I have done, it is because she loves with all her
+life and heart and soul, because all these are a part of her love. For
+myself, I no longer care anything--I have _no_ self away from you; I
+have ceased to be of myself or in my own keeping. I am of you and in
+yours. For myself and my own fate or name I think no more; with my eyes
+open and of my own free will I have given everything to you, and am glad
+and happy to give it. But for you I still do care, and if I took any
+step, or allowed you to take any that could bring sorrow on you, I
+should never forgive myself. That is why we must part, Geoffrey. And now
+let us go in; there is nothing more to say, except this: if you wish
+to bid me good-bye, a last good-bye, dear Geoffrey, I will meet you
+to-morrow morning on the beach."
+
+"I shall leave at half-past eight," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Then we will meet at seven," Beatrice said, and led the way into the
+house.
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger were already seated at supper. They supped at
+nine on Sunday nights; it was just half-past.
+
+"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "we began to think that you two must
+have been out canoeing and got yourselves drowned in good earnest this
+time. What have you been doing?"
+
+"We have had a long walk," answered Geoffrey; "I did not know that it
+was so late."
+
+"One wants to be pleased with one's company to walk far on such a night
+as this," put in Elizabeth maliciously.
+
+"And so we were--at least I was," Geoffrey answered with perfect truth,
+"and the night is not so bad as you might think, at least under the lee
+of the cliffs. It will be worse by and by!"
+
+Then they sat down and made a desperate show of eating supper.
+Elizabeth, the keen-eyed, noticed that Geoffrey's hand was shaking. Now
+what, she wondered, would make the hand of a strong man shake like a
+leaf? Deep emotion might do it, and Elizabeth thought that she detected
+other signs of emotion in them both, besides that of Geoffrey's shaking
+hand. The plot was working well, but could it be brought to a climax?
+Oh, if he would only throw prudence to the winds and run away with
+Beatrice, so that she might be rid of her, and free to fight for her own
+hand.
+
+Shortly after supper both Elizabeth and Beatrice went to bed, leaving
+their father with Geoffrey.
+
+"Well," said Mr. Granger, "did you get a word with Beatrice? It was very
+kind of you to go that long tramp on purpose. Gracious, how it blows! we
+shall have the house down presently. Lightning, too, I declare."
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I did."
+
+"Ah, I hope you told her that there was no need for her to give up hope
+of him yet, of Mr. Davies, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, I told her that--that is if the greater includes the less," he
+added to himself.
+
+"And how did she take it?"
+
+"Very badly," said Geoffrey; "she seemed to think that I had no right to
+interfere."
+
+"Indeed, that is strange. But it doesn't mean anything. She's grateful
+enough to you at heart, depend upon it she is, only she did not like to
+say so. Dear me, how it blows; we shall have a night of it, a regular
+gale, I declare. So you are going away to-morrow morning. Well, the
+best of friends must part. I hope that you will often come and see us.
+Good-bye."
+
+Once more a sense of the irony of the position overcame Geoffrey, and he
+smiled grimly as he lit his candle and went to bed. At the back of the
+house was a long passage, which terminated at one end in the room where
+he slept, and at the other in that occupied by Elizabeth and Beatrice.
+This passage was lit by two windows, and built out of it were two more
+rooms--that of Mr. Granger, and another which had been Effie's. The
+windows of the passage, like most of the others in the Vicarage, were
+innocent of shutters, and Geoffrey stood for a moment at one of them,
+watching the lightning illumine the broad breast of the mountain behind.
+Then looking towards the door of Beatrice's room, he gazed at it with
+the peculiar reverence that sometimes afflicts people who are very much
+in love, and, with a sigh, turned and sought his own.
+
+He could not sleep, it was impossible. For nearly two hours he lay
+turning from side to side, and thinking till his brain seemed like to
+burst. To-morrow he must leave her, leave her for ever, and go back to
+his coarse unprofitable struggle with the world, where there would be no
+Beatrice to make him happy through it all. And she, what of her?
+
+The storm had lulled a little, now it came back in strength, heralded
+by the lightning. He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a window
+watching it. Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of some little
+of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have maddened him.
+
+In eight hours--eight short hours--this matter would be ended so far as
+concerned their actual intercourse. It would be a secret locked for ever
+in their two breasts, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as the worm
+that dieth not. Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart's thought
+towards his sleeping love. Then once more, as in a bygone night, there
+broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual sense. Stronger
+and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy unnatural waves,
+till his reason seemed to reel and sink, and he remembered naught but
+Beatrice, knew naught save that her very life was with him now.
+
+He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
+
+"Beatrice," he whispered to the empty air, "Beatrice! Oh, my love! my
+sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!"
+
+There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered in
+his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its power
+and across dividing space they were mingled in one being.
+
+A great gust shook the house and passed away along the roaring depths.
+
+Oh! what was this? Silently the door opened, and a white draped form
+passed its threshold. He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible joy,
+took possession of him. The lightning flared out wildly in the eastern
+sky. There in the fierce light she stood before him--she, Beatrice, a
+sight of beauty and of dread. She stood with white arms outstretched,
+with white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly beneath her
+night-dress, her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart, her face
+upturned, and a stamp of terrifying calm.
+
+"In the wide, blind eyes uplift Thro' the darkness and the drift."
+
+Great Heaven, she was asleep!
+
+Hush! she spoke.
+
+"You called me, Geoffrey," she said, in a still, unnatural voice. "You
+called me, my beloved, and I--have--come."
+
+He rose aghast, trembling like an aspen with doubt and fear, trembling
+at the sight of the conquering glory of the woman whom he worshipped.
+
+See! She drew on towards him, and she was _asleep_. Oh, what could he
+do?
+
+Suddenly the draught of the great gale rushing through the house caught
+the opened door and crashed it to.
+
+She awoke with a wild stare of terror.
+
+"Oh, God, where am I?" she cried.
+
+"Hush, for your life's sake!" he answered, his faculties returning.
+"Hush! or you are lost."
+
+But there was no need to caution here to silence, for Beatrice's senses
+failed her at the shock, and she sank swooning in his arms.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+A DAWN OF RAIN
+
+That crash of the closing door did not awake Beatrice only; it awoke
+both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Elizabeth sat up in bed straining her
+eyes through the gloom to see what had happened. They fell on Beatrice's
+bed--surely--surely----
+
+Elizabeth slipped up, cat-like she crept across the room and felt with
+her hand at the bed. Beatrice was not there. She sprang to the blind
+and drew it, letting in such light as there was, and by it searched the
+room. She spoke: "Beatrice, where are you?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Ah--h," said Elizabeth aloud; "I understand. At last--at last!"
+
+What should see do? Should she go and call her father and put them to
+an open shame? No. Beatrice must come back some time. The knowledge was
+enough; she wanted the knowledge to use if necessary. She did not wish
+to ruin her sister unless in self-defence, or rather, for the cause of
+self-advancement. Still less did she wish to injure Geoffrey, against
+whom she had no grudge. So she peeped along the passage, then returning,
+crept back to her bed like a snake into a hole and watched.
+
+Mr. Granger, hearing the crash, thought that the front door had blown
+open. Rising, he lit a candle and went to see.
+
+But of all this Geoffrey knew nothing, and Beatrice naturally less than
+nothing.
+
+She lay senseless in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder, her
+heavy hair streamed down his side almost to his knee. He lifted her,
+touched her on the forehead with his lips and laid her on the bed. What
+was to be done? Bring her back to life? No, he dared not--not here.
+While she lay thus her helplessness protected her; but if once more she
+was a living, loving woman here and so--oh, how should they escape? He
+dared not touch her or look towards her--till he had made up his mind.
+It was soon done. Here she must not bide, and since of herself she could
+not go, why he must take her now, this moment! However far Geoffrey fell
+short of virtue's stricter standard, let this always be remembered in
+his favour.
+
+He opened the door, and as he did so, thought that he heard some
+one stirring in the house. And so he did; it was Mr. Granger in the
+sitting-room. Hearing no more, Geoffrey concluded that it was the wind,
+and turning, groped his way to the bed where Beatrice lay as still as
+death. For one moment a horrible fear struck him that she might be dead.
+He had heard of cases of somnambulists who, on being startled from their
+unnatural sleep, only woke to die. It might be so with her. Hurriedly he
+placed his hand upon her breast. Yes, her heart stirred--faintly indeed,
+but still it stirred. She had only swooned. Then he set his teeth,
+and placing his arms about her, lifted her as though she were a babe.
+Beatrice was no slip of a girl, but a well-grown woman of full size. He
+never felt her weight; it seemed nothing to him. Stealthily as one bent
+on midnight murder, he stepped with her to the door and through it into
+the passage. Then supporting her with one arm, he closed the door with
+his left hand. Stealthily in the gloom he passed along the corridor, his
+bare feet making no noise upon the boarded floor, till he reached the
+bisecting passage leading from the sitting-rooms.
+
+He glanced up it apprehensively, and what he saw froze the blood in
+his veins, for there coming down it, not eight paces from him, was Mr.
+Granger, holding a candle in his hand. What could be done? To get
+back to his room was impossible--to reach that of Beatrice was also
+impossible. With an effort he collected his thoughts, and like a flash
+of light it passed into his mind that the empty room was not two paces
+from him. A stride and he had reached it. Oh, where was the handle? and
+oh, if the room should be locked! By a merciful chance it was not. He
+stepped through the door, knocking Beatrice's feet against the framework
+as he did so, closed it--to shut it he had no time--and stood gasping
+behind it.
+
+The gleam of light drew nearer. Merciful powers! he had been seen--the
+old man was coming in. What could he say? Tell the truth, that was
+all; but who would believe such a story? why, it was one that he should
+scarcely care to advance in a court of law. Could he expect a father to
+believe it--a father finding a man crouched like a thief behind a door
+at the dead of night with his lovely daughter senseless in his arms? He
+had already thought of going straight to Mr. Granger, but had abandoned
+the idea as hopeless. Who would believe this tale of sleep-walking?
+For the first time in his life Geoffrey felt terribly afraid, both for
+Beatrice and himself; the hair rose on his head, his heart stood still,
+and a cold perspiration started on to his face.
+
+"It's very odd," he heard the old man mutter to himself; "I could almost
+swear that I saw something white go into that room. Where's the handle?
+If I believed in ghosts--hullo! my candle has blown out! I must go and
+hunt for a match. Don't quite like going in there without a light."
+
+For the moment they were saved. The fierce draught rushing through the
+open crack of the door from the ill-fitting window had extinguished the
+candle.
+
+Geoffrey waited a few seconds to allow Mr. Granger to reach his room,
+and then once more started on his awful journey. He passed out of the
+room in safety; happily Beatrice showed no signs of recovery. A few
+quick steps and he was at her own door. And now a new terror seized him.
+What if Elizabeth was also walking the house or even awake? He thought
+of putting Beatrice down at the door and leaving her there, but
+abandoned the idea. To begin with, her father might see her, and then
+how could her presence be accounted for? or if he did not, she would
+certainly suffer ill effects from the cold. No, he must risk it, and
+at once, though he would rather have faced a battery of guns. The door
+fortunately was ajar. Geoffrey opened it with his foot, entered, and
+with his foot pushed it to again. Suddenly he remembered that he had
+never been in the room, and did not know which bed belonged to Beatrice.
+He walked to the nearest; a deep-drawn breath told him that it was the
+wrong one. Drawing some faint consolation from the fact that Elizabeth
+was evidently asleep, he groped his way to the second bed through
+the deep twilight of the room. The clothes were thrown back. He laid
+Beatrice down and threw them over her. Then he fled.
+
+As he reached the door he saw Mr. Granger's light disappear into his own
+room and heard his door close. After that it seemed to him that he took
+but two steps and was in his own place.
+
+He burst out laughing; there was as much hysteria in the laugh as a man
+gives way to. His nerves were shattered by struggle, love and fear, and
+sought relief in ghastly merriment. Somehow the whole scene reminded
+him of one in a comic opera. There was a ludicrous side to it. Supposing
+that the political opponents, who already hated him so bitterly, could
+have seen him slinking from door to door at midnight with an unconscious
+lady in his arms--what would they have said?
+
+He ceased laughing; the fit passed--indeed it was no laughing matter.
+Then he thought of the first night of their strange communion, that
+night before he had returned to London. The seed sown in that hour had
+blossomed and borne fruit indeed. Who would have dreamed it possible
+that he should thus have drawn Beatrice to him? Well, he ought to have
+known. If it was possible that the words which floated through her
+mind could arise in his as they had done upon that night, what was
+not possible? And were there not other words, written by the same
+master-hand, which told of such things as these:
+
+     "'Now--now,' the door is heard;
+     Hark, the stairs! and near--
+     Nearer--and here--
+     'Now'! and at call the third,
+     She enters without a word.
+
+     Like the doors of a casket shrine,
+     See on either side,
+     Her two arms divide
+     Till the heart betwixt makes sign,
+     'Take me, for I am thine.'
+
+     First, I will pray. Do Thou
+     That ownest the soul,
+     Yet wilt grant control
+     To another, nor disallow
+     For a time, restrain me now!"
+
+Did they not run thus? Oh, he should have known! This he could plead,
+and this only--that control had been granted to him.
+
+But how would Beatrice fare? Would she come to herself safely? He
+thought so, it was only a fainting fit. But when she did recover, what
+would she do? Nothing rash, he prayed. And what could be the end of
+it all? Who might say? How fortunate that the sister had been so sound
+asleep. Somehow he did not trust Elizabeth--he feared her.
+
+Well might Geoffrey fear her! Elizabeth's sleep was that of a weasel.
+She too was laughing at this very moment, laughing, not loud but
+long--the laugh of one who wins.
+
+She had seen him enter, his burden in his arms; saw him come with it to
+her own bedside, and had breathed heavily to warn him of his mistake.
+She had watched him put Beatrice on her bed, and heard him sigh and turn
+away; nothing had escaped her. As soon as he was gone, she had risen and
+crept up to Beatrice, and finding that she was only in a faint had left
+her to recover, knowing her to be in no danger. Elizabeth was not a
+nervous person. Then she had listened till at length a deep sigh told
+her of the return of her sister's consciousness. After this there was a
+pause, till presently Beatrice's long soft breaths showed that she had
+glided from swoon to sleep.
+
+The slow night wore away, and at length the cold dawn crept through
+the window. Elizabeth still watching, for she was not willing to lose a
+single scene of a drama so entrancing in itself and so important to her
+interests, saw her sister suddenly sit up in bed and press her hands
+to her forehead, as though she was striving to recall a dream. Then
+Beatrice covered her eyes with her hands and groaned heavily. Next she
+looked at her watch, rose, drank a glass of water, and dressed herself,
+even to the putting on of an old grey waterproof with a hood to it, for
+it was wet outside.
+
+"She is going to meet her lover," thought Elizabeth. "I wish I could be
+there to see that too, but I have seen enough."
+
+She yawned and appeared to wake. "What, Beatrice, going out already in
+this pouring rain?" she said, with feigned astonishment.
+
+"Yes, I have slept badly and I want to get some air," answered Beatrice,
+starting and colouring; "I suppose that it was the storm."
+
+"Has there been a storm?" said Elizabeth, yawning again. "I heard
+nothing of it--but then so many things happen when one is asleep of
+which one knows nothing at the time," she added sleepily, like one
+speaking at random. "Mind that you are back to say good-bye to Mr.
+Bingham; he goes by the early train, you know--but perhaps you will
+see him out walking," and appearing to wake up thoroughly, she raised
+herself in bed and gave her sister one piercing look.
+
+Beatrice made no answer; that look sent a thrill of fear through her.
+Oh; what had happened! Or was it all a dream? Had she dreamed that she
+stood face to face with Geoffrey in his room before a great darkness
+struck her and overwhelmed her? Or was it an awful truth, and if a
+truth, how came she here again? She went to the pantry, found a morsel
+of bread and ate it, for faintness still pursued her. Then feeling
+better, she left the house and set her face towards the beach.
+
+
+
+It was a dreary morning. The great wind had passed; now it only blew in
+little gusts heavy with driving rain. The sea was sullen and grey and
+grand. It beat in thunder on the shore and flew over the sunken rocks in
+columns of leaden spray. The whole earth seemed one desolation, and all
+its grief was centred in this woman's broken heart.
+
+Geoffrey, too, was up. How he had passed the remainder of that tragic
+night we need not inquire--not too happily we may be sure. He heard the
+front door close behind Beatrice, and followed out into the rain.
+
+On the beach, some half of a mile away, he found her gazing at the sea,
+a great white gull wheeling about her head. No word of greeting passed
+between them; they only grasped each other's hands and looked into each
+other's hollow eyes.
+
+"Come under the shelter of the cliff," he said, and she came. She stood
+beneath the cliff, her head bowed low, her face hidden by the hood, and
+spoke.
+
+"Tell me what has happened," she said; "I have dreamed something, a
+worse dream than any that have gone before--tell me if it is true. Do
+not spare me."
+
+And Geoffrey told her all.
+
+When he had finished she spoke again.
+
+"By what shall I swear," she said, "that I am not the thing which you
+must think me? Geoffrey, I swear by my love for you that I am innocent.
+If I came--oh, the shame of it! if I came--to your room last night, it
+was my feet which led me, not my mind that led my feet. I went to sleep,
+I was worn out, and then I knew no more till I heard a dreadful sound,
+and saw you before me in a blaze of light, after which there was
+darkness."
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, do not be distressed," he answered. "I saw that you were
+asleep. It is a dreadful thing which has happened, but I do not think
+that we were seen."
+
+"I do not know," she said. "Elizabeth looked at me very strangely this
+morning, and she sees everything. Geoffrey, for my part, I neither know
+nor care. What I do care for is, what must _you_ think of me? You must
+believe, oh!--I cannot say it. And yet I am innocent. Never, never did I
+dream of this. To come to you--thus--oh, it is shameless!"
+
+"Beatrice, do not talk so. I tell you I know it. Listen--I drew you. I
+did not mean that you should come. I did not think that you would come,
+but it was my doing. Listen to me, dear," and he told her that which
+written words can ill express.
+
+When he had finished, she looked up, with another face; the deep shadow
+of her shame had left her. "I believe you, Geoffrey," she said, "because
+I know that you have not invented this to shield me, for I have felt
+it also. See by it what you are to me. You are my master and my all. I
+cannot withstand you if I would. I have little will apart from yours
+if you choose to gainsay mine. And now promise me this upon your word.
+Leave me uninfluenced; do not draw me to you to be your ruin. I make
+no pretence, I have laid my life at your feet, but while I have any
+strength to struggle against it, you shall never take it up unless you
+can do so to your own honour, and that is not possible. Oh, my dear, we
+might have been very happy together, happier than men and women often
+are, but it is denied to us. We must carry our cross, we must crucify
+the flesh upon it; perhaps so--who can say?--we may glorify the spirit.
+I owe you a great deal. I have learnt much from you, Geoffrey. I have
+learned to hope again for a Hereafter. Nothing is left to me now--but
+that--that and an hour hence--your memory.
+
+"Oh, why should I weep? It is ungrateful, when I have your love, for
+which this misery is but a little price to pay. Kiss me, dear, and
+go--and never see me more. You will not forget me, I know now that you
+will _never_ forget me all your life. Afterwards--perhaps--who can tell?
+If not, why then--it will indeed be best--to die."
+
+* * * * *
+
+It is not well to linger over such a scene as this. After all, too, it
+is nothing. Only another broken heart or so. The world breaks so many
+this way and the other that it can have little pleasure in gloating over
+such stale scenes of agony.
+
+Besides we must not let our sympathies carry us away. Geoffrey and
+Beatrice deserved all they got; they had no business to put themselves
+into such a position. They had defied the customs of their world,
+and the world avenged itself upon them and their petty passions. What
+happens to the worm that tries to burrow on the highways? Grinding
+wheels and crushing feet; these are its portion. Beatrice and Geoffrey
+point a moral and adorn a tale. So far as we can see and judge there was
+no need for them to have plunged into that ever-running river of human
+pain. Let them struggle and drown, and let those who are on the bank
+learn wisdom from the sight, and hold out no hand to help them.
+
+Geoffrey drew a ring from his finger and gave it to his love. It was a
+common flat-sided silver ring that had been taken from the grave of a
+Roman soldier: one peculiarity it had, however; on its inner surface
+were roughly cut the words, "ave atque vale." Greeting and farewell! It
+was a fitting gift to pass between people in their position. Beatrice,
+trembling sorely, whispered that she would wear it on her heart, upon
+her hand she could not put it yet awhile--it might be recognised.
+
+Then thrice did they embrace there upon the desolate shore, once, as it
+were, for past joy, once for present pain, and once for future hope,
+and parted. There was no talk of after meetings--they felt them to
+be impossible, at any rate for many years. How could they meet as
+indifferent friends? Too much they loved for that. It was a final
+parting, than which death had been less dreadful--for Hope sits ever by
+the bed of death--and misery crushed them to the earth.
+
+
+
+He left her, and happiness went out of his life as at nightfall the
+daylight goes out of the day. Well, at least he had his work to go to.
+But Beatrice, poor woman, what had she?
+
+Geoffrey left her. When he had gone some thirty paces he turned again
+and gazed his last upon her. There she stood or rather leant, her hand
+resting against the wet rock, looking after him with her wide grey eyes.
+Even through the drizzling rain he could see the gleam of her rich
+hair, the marking of her lovely face, and the carmine of her lips. She
+motioned to him to go on. He went, and when he had traversed a hundred
+paces looked round once more. She was still there, but now her face was
+a blur, and again the great white gull hovered about her head.
+
+Then the mist swept up and hid her.
+
+
+
+Ah, Beatrice, with all your brains you could never learn those simple
+principles necessary to the happiness of woman; principles inherited
+through a thousand generations of savage and semi-civilized
+ancestresses. To accept the situation and the master that situation
+brings with it--this is the golden rule of well-being. Not to put out
+the hand of your affection further than you can draw it back, this is
+another, at least not until you are quite sure that its object is well
+within your grasp. If by misfortune, or the anger of the Fates, you
+are endowed with those deeper qualities, those extreme capacities of
+self-sacrificing affection, such as ruined your happiness, Beatrice,
+keep them in stock; do not expose them to the world. The world does not
+believe in them; they are inconvenient and undesirable; they are even
+immoral. What the world wants, and very rightly, in a person of your
+attractiveness is quiet domesticity of character, not the exhibition of
+attributes which though they might qualify you for the rank of heroine
+in a Greek drama, are nowadays only likely to qualify you for the
+reprobation of society.
+
+What? you would rather keep your love, your reprehensible love which
+never can be satisfied, and bear its slings and arrows, and die hugging
+a shadow to your heart, straining your eyes into the darkness of that
+beyond whither you shall go--murmuring with your pale lips that _there_
+you will find reason and fulfilment? Why it is folly. What ground have
+you to suppose that you will find anything of the sort? Go and take the
+opinion of some scientific person of eminence upon this infatuation of
+yours and those vague visions of glory that shall be. He will explain
+it clearly enough, will show you that your love itself is nothing but
+a natural passion, acting, in your case, on a singularly sensitive and
+etherealised organism. Be frank with him, tell him of your secret hopes.
+He will smile tenderly, and show you how those also are an emanation
+from a craving heart, and the innate superstitions of mankind. Indeed
+he will laugh and illustrate the absurdity of the whole thing by a few
+pungent examples of what would happen if these earthly affections could
+be carried beyond the grave. Take what you can _now_ will be the burden
+of his song, and for goodness' sake do not waste your precious hours in
+dreams of a To Be.
+
+Beatrice, the world does not want your spirituality. It is not a
+spiritual world; it has no clear ideas upon the subject--it pays its
+religious premium and works off its aspirations at its weekly church
+going, and would think the person a fool who attempted to carry theories
+of celestial union into an earthly rule of life. It can sympathise with
+Lady Honoria; it can hardly sympathise with _you_.
+
+And yet you will still choose this better part: you will still "live and
+love, and lose."
+
+"With blinding tears and passionate beseeching, And outstretched arms
+through empty silence reaching."
+
+Then, Beatrice, have your will, sow your seed of tears, and take your
+chance. You may find that you were right and the worldlings wrong, and
+you may reap a harvest beyond the grasp of their poor imaginations. And
+if you find that they are right and _you_ are wrong, what will it matter
+to you who sleep? For of this at least you are sure. If there is no
+future for such earthly love as yours, then indeed there is none for the
+children of this world and all their troubling.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+LADY HONORIA TAKES THE FIELD
+
+Geoffrey hurried to the Vicarage to fetch his baggage and say good-bye.
+He had no time for breakfast, and he was glad of it, for he could not
+have eaten a morsel to save his life. He found Elizabeth and her father
+in the sitting-room.
+
+"Why, where have you been this wet morning, Mr. Bingham?" said Mr.
+Granger.
+
+"I have been for a walk with Miss Beatrice; she is coming home by the
+village," he answered. "I don't mind rain, and I wanted to get as much
+fresh air as I could before I go back to the mill. Thank you--only a cup
+of tea--I will get something to eat as I go."
+
+"How kind of him," reflected Mr. Granger; "no doubt he has been speaking
+to Beatrice again about Owen Davies."
+
+"Oh, by the way," he added aloud, "did you happen to hear anybody moving
+in the house last night, Mr. Bingham, just when the storm was at its
+height? First of all a door slammed so violently that I got up to see
+what it was, and as I came down the passage I could almost have sworn
+that I saw something white go into the spare room. But my candle went
+out and by the time that I had found a light there was nothing to be
+seen."
+
+"A clear case of ghosts," said Geoffrey indifferently. It was indeed
+a "case of ghosts," and they would, he reflected, haunt him for many a
+day.
+
+"How very odd," put in Elizabeth vivaciously, her keen eyes fixed
+intently on his face. "Do you know I thought that I twice saw the door
+of our room open and shut in the most mysterious fashion. I think that
+Beatrice must have something to do with it; she is so uncanny in her
+ways."
+
+Geoffrey never moved a muscle, he was trained to keep his countenance.
+Only he wondered how much this woman knew. She must be silenced somehow.
+
+"Excuse me for changing the subject," he said, "but my time is short,
+and I have none to spare to hunt the 'Vicarage Ghost.' By the way,
+there's a good title for somebody. Mr. Granger, I believe that I may
+speak of business matters before Miss Elizabeth?"
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Bingham," said the clergyman; "Elizabeth is my right
+hand, and has the best business head in Bryngelly."
+
+Geoffrey thought that this was very evident, and went on. "I only want
+to say this. If you get into any further difficulties with your rascally
+tithe-payers, mind and let me know. I shall always be glad to help you
+while I can. And now I must be going."
+
+He spoke thus for two reasons. First, naturally enough, he meant to make
+it his business to protect Beatrice from the pressure of poverty, and
+well knew that it would be useless to offer her direct assistance.
+Secondly, he wished to show Elizabeth that it would not be to the
+advantage of her family to quarrel with him. If she _had_ seen a ghost,
+perhaps this fact would make her reticent on the subject. He did not
+know that she was playing a much bigger game for her own hand, a game
+of which the stakes were thousands a year, and that she was moreover mad
+with jealousy and what, in such a woman, must pass for love.
+
+Elizabeth made no comment on his offer, and before Mr. Granger's profuse
+thanks were nearly finished, Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+Three weeks passed at Bryngelly, and Elizabeth still held her hand.
+Beatrice, pale and spiritless, went about her duties as usual. Elizabeth
+never spoke to her in any sense that could awaken her suspicions, and
+the ghost story was, or appeared to be, pretty well forgotten. But at
+last an event occurred that caused Elizabeth to take the field. One day
+she met Owen Davies walking along the beach in the semi-insane way which
+he now affected. He stopped, and, without further ado, plunged into
+conversation.
+
+"I can't bear it any longer," he said wildly, throwing up his arms. "I
+saw her yesterday, and she cut me short before I could speak a word. I
+have prayed for patience and it will not come, only a Voice seemed
+to say to me that I must wait ten days more, ten short days, and then
+Beatrice, my beautiful Beatrice, would be my wife at last."
+
+"If you go on in this way, Mr. Davies," said Elizabeth sharply, her
+heart filled with jealous anger, "you will soon be off your head. Are
+you not ashamed of yourself for making such a fuss about a girl's pretty
+face? If you want to get married, marry somebody else."
+
+"Marry somebody else," he said dreamily; "I don't know anybody else whom
+I could marry except you, and you are not Beatrice."
+
+"No," answered Elizabeth angrily, "I should hope that I have more
+sense, and if you wanted to marry me you would have to set about it in
+a different way from this. I am not Beatrice, thank Heaven, but I am
+her sister, and I warn you that I know more about her than you do. As a
+friend I warn you to be careful. Supposing that Beatrice were not worthy
+of you, you would not wish to marry her, would you?"
+
+Now Owen Davies was at heart somewhat afraid of Elizabeth, like most
+other people who had the privilege of her acquaintance. Also, apart from
+matters connected with his insane passion, he was very fairly shrewd. He
+suspected Elizabeth of something, he did not know of what.
+
+"No, no, of course not," he said. "Of course I would not marry her if
+she was not fit to be my wife--but I must know that first, before I talk
+of marrying anybody else. Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. It will soon
+be settled now; it cannot go on much longer now. My prayers will be
+answered, I know they will."
+
+"You are right there, Owen Davies," thought Elizabeth, as she looked
+after him with ineffable bitterness, not to say contempt. "Your prayers
+shall be answered in a way that will astonish you. You shall not marry
+Beatrice, and you shall marry _me_. The fish has been on the line long
+enough, now I must begin to pull in."
+
+Curiously enough it never really occurred to Elizabeth that Beatrice
+herself might prove to be the true obstacle to the marriage she plotted
+to prevent. She knew that her sister was fond of Geoffrey Bingham, but,
+when it came to the point that she would absolutely allow her affection
+to interfere with so glorious a success in life, she never believed for
+one moment. Of course she thought it was possible that if Beatrice could
+get possession of Geoffrey she might prefer to do so, but failing him,
+judging from her own low and vulgar standard, Elizabeth was convinced
+that she would take Owen. It did not seem possible that what was so
+precious in her own eyes might be valueless and even hateful to those of
+her sister. As for that little midnight incident, well, it was one thing
+and marriage was another. People forget such events when they marry;
+sometimes even they marry in order to forget them.
+
+Yes, she must strike, but how? Elizabeth had feelings like other people.
+She did not mind ruining her sister and rival, but she would very much
+prefer it should not be known that hers was the hand to cut her down. Of
+course, if the worst came to the worst, she must do it. Meanwhile, might
+not a substitute be found--somebody in whom the act would seem not one
+of vengeance, but of virtue? Ah! she had it: Lady Honoria! Who could be
+better for such a purpose than the cruelly injured wife? But then how
+should she communicate the facts to her ladyship without involving
+herself? Again she hit upon a device much favoured by such people--"un
+vieux truc mais toujours bon"--the pristine one of an anonymous letter,
+which has the startling merit of not committing anybody to anything.
+An anonymous letter, to all appearance written by a servant: it was the
+very thing! Most likely it would result in a searching inquiry by Lady
+Honoria, in which event Elizabeth, of course against her will, would
+be forced to say what she knew; almost certainly it would result in a
+quarrel between husband and wife, which might induce the former to show
+his hand, or even to take some open step as regards Beatrice. She was
+sorry for Geoffrey, against whom she had no ill feeling, but it could
+not be helped; he must be sacrificed.
+
+That very evening she wrote her letter and sent it to be posted by
+an old servant living in London. It was a master-piece in its way,
+especially phonetically. This precious epistle, which was most
+exceedingly ill writ in a large coarse hand, ran thus:
+
+"My Ladi,--My consence druvs me to it, much again my will. I've tried
+hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i heve knowed
+good and peur and also for the sakes of your evil usband that wulf in
+scheeps cloathin. But when i think on you my ladi a lorful legel wife
+gud and virtus and peur and of the things as i hev seen which is enuf
+to bring a blush to the face of a stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to
+rite your ladishipp as follers. Your ladishipp forgif me but on the nite
+of whittsundey last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room
+of your bad usband--as I was to mi sham ther to se. Afterward more
+nor an hour, she cum out ain being carred _in his harmes_. And if your
+ladishipp dont believ me, let your ladishipp rite to miss elizbeth, as
+had this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,
+
+"The Riter."
+
+In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria, bearing
+a London post-mark. She read and re-read it, and soon mastered its
+meaning. Then, after a night's thought, she took the "Riter's" advice
+and wrote to Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her own),
+vehemently repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply that
+should dissipate this foul slander from her mind for ever.
+
+The answer came by return. It was short and artful.
+
+"Dear Lady Honoria Bingham," it ran, "you must forgive me if I decline
+to answer the questions in your letter. You will easily understand that
+between a desire to preserve a sister's reputation and an incapacity (to
+be appreciated by every Christian) to speak other than the truth--it
+is possible for a person to be placed in the most cruel of positions--a
+position which I am sure will command even your sympathy, though
+under such circumstances I have little right to expect any from a wife
+believing herself to have been cruelly wronged. Let me add that nothing
+short of the compulsion of a court of law will suffice to unseal my
+lips as to the details of the circumstances (which are, I trust,
+misunderstood) alluded to in the malicious anonymous letter of which you
+inclose a copy."
+
+That very evening, as the Fates would have it, Lady Honoria and her
+husband had a quarrel. As usual, it was about Effie, for on most other
+subjects they preserved an armed neutrality. Its details need not
+be entered into, but at last Geoffrey, who was in a sadly irritable
+condition of mind, fairly lost his temper.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "that you are not fit to look after the child.
+You only think of yourself, Honoria."
+
+She turned on him with a dangerous look upon her cold and handsome face.
+
+"Be careful what you say, Geoffrey. It is you who are not fit to have
+charge of Effie. Be careful lest I take her away from you altogether, as
+I can if I like."
+
+"What do you mean by that threat?" he asked.
+
+"Do you want to know? Then I will tell you. I understand enough law to
+be aware that a wife can get a separation from an unfaithful husband,
+and what is more, can take away his children."
+
+"Again I ask what you mean," said Geoffrey, turning cold with anger.
+
+"I mean this, Geoffrey. That Welsh girl is your mistress. She passed
+the night of Whit-Sunday in your room, and was carried from it in your
+arms."
+
+"It is a lie," he said; "she is nothing of the sort. I do not know who
+gave you this information, but it is a slanderous lie, and somebody
+shall suffer for it."
+
+"Nobody will suffer for it, Geoffrey, because you will not dare to stir
+the matter up--for the girl's sake if not for your own. Can you
+deny that you were seen carrying her in your arms from your room on
+Whit-Sunday night? Can you deny that you are in love with her?"
+
+"And supposing that I am in love with her, is it to be wondered at,
+seeing how you treat me and have treated me for years?" he answered
+furiously. "It is utterly false to say that she is my mistress."
+
+"You have not answered my question," said Lady Honoria with a smile of
+triumph. "Were you seen carrying that woman in your arms and from your
+room at the dead of night? Of course it meant nothing, nothing at all.
+Who would dare to asperse the character of this perfect, lovely, and
+intellectual schoolmistress? I am not jealous, Geoffrey----"
+
+"I should think not, Honoria, seeing how things are."
+
+"I am not jealous, I repeat, but please understand that I will not have
+this go on, in your own interests and mine. Why, what a fool you must
+be. Don't you know that a man who has risen, as you have, has a hundred
+enemies ready to spring on him like a pack of wolves and tear him to
+pieces? Why many even of those who fawn upon you and flatter you to your
+face, hate you bitterly in secret, because you have succeeded where they
+have failed. Don't you know also that there are papers here in London
+which would give hundreds of pounds for the chance of publishing such a
+scandal as this, especially against a powerful political opponent. Let
+it once come out that this obscure girl is your mistress----"
+
+"Honoria, I tell you she is nothing of the sort. It is true I carried
+her from my room in a fainting fit, but she came there in her sleep."
+
+Lady Honoria laughed. "Really, Geoffrey, I wonder that you think it
+worth while to tell me such nonsense. Keep it for the divorce court,
+if ever we get there, and see what a jury says to it. Look here; be
+sensible. I am not a moralist, and I am not going to play the outraged
+wife unless you force me to it. I do not mean to take any further notice
+of this interesting little tale as against you. But if you go on with
+it, beware! I will not be made to look a fool. If you are going to be
+ruined you can be ruined by yourself. I warn you frankly, that at
+the first sign of it, I shall put myself in the right by commencing
+proceedings against you. Now, of course, I know this, that in the event
+of a smash, you would be glad enough to be rid of me in order that you
+might welcome your dear Beatrice in my place. But there are two things
+to remember: first, that you could not marry her, supposing you to be
+idiot enough to wish to do so, because I should only get a judicial
+separation, and you would still have to support me. Secondly, if I go,
+Effie goes with me, for I have a right to claim her at law; and that
+fact, my dear Geoffrey, makes me mistress of the situation, because I
+do not suppose that you would part with Effie even for the sake of Miss
+Beatrice. And now I will leave you to think it over."
+
+And with a little nod she sailed out of the room, completely victorious.
+She was indeed, reflected Geoffrey, "mistress of the situation."
+Supposing that she brought a suit against him where would he be? She
+must have evidence, or she would not have known the story. The whole
+drama had clearly been witnessed by someone, probably either by
+Elizabeth or the servant girl, and that some one had betrayed it to
+Honoria and possibly to others. The thought made him sick. He was a
+man of the world, and a practical lawyer, and though, indeed, they were
+innocent, he knew that under the circumstances few would be found to
+believe it. At the very best there must be a terrible and shocking
+scandal, and Beatrice would lose her good name. He placed himself in the
+position of counsel for the petitioner in a like case, and thought how
+he would crush and crumple such a defence in his address to the jury. A
+probable tale forsooth!
+
+Undoubtedly, too, Honoria would be acting wisely from her point of view.
+Public sympathy would be with her throughout. He knew that, as it was,
+he was believed generally to owe much of his success to his handsome and
+high-born wife. Now it would be said that he had used her as a ladder
+and then thrown her over. With all this, however, he might cope; he
+could even bear with the vulgar attacks of a vulgar press, and the gibes
+and jeers of his political and personal enemies, but to lose Effie
+he could not bear. And if such a case were brought against him it was
+almost certain that he would lose her, for, if he was worsted, custody
+of the child would be given to the injured wife.
+
+Then there was Beatrice to be considered. The same malicious tongue that
+had revealed this matter to Honoria would probably reveal it to the rest
+of the world, and even if he escaped the worst penalties of outraged
+morality, they would certainly be wreaked upon her. Beatrice's
+reputation would be blasted, her employment lost, and her life made a
+burden to her. Yes, decidedly, Honoria had the best of the position;
+decidedly, also, she spoke words of weight and common sense.
+
+What was to be done? Was there no way out of it? All that night as
+Geoffrey sat in the House, his arms folded on his breast, and to
+appearance intently listening to the long harangues of the Opposition,
+this question haunted him. He argued the situation out this way and that
+way, till at the last he came to a conclusion. Either he must wait for
+the scandal to leak out, let Beatrice be ruined, and direct his efforts
+to the softening of Honoria, and generally to self-preservation, or he
+must take the bull by the horns, must abandon his great career and his
+country and seek refuge in another land, say America, taking Beatrice
+and Effie with him. Once the child was out of the jurisdiction, of
+course no court could force her from him.
+
+Of the two courses, even in so far as he himself was concerned, what
+between the urgency of the matter and the unceasing pressure of his
+passion, Geoffrey inclined to the latter. The relations between himself
+and Honoria had for years been so strained, so totally different
+from those which should exist between man and wife, that they greatly
+mitigated in his mind the apparent iniquity of such a step. Nor would he
+feel much compunction at removing the child from her mother, for
+there was no love lost between the two, and as time went on he guessed
+shrewdly there would be less and less. For the rest, he had some
+seventeen thousand pounds in hand; he would take half and leave Honoria
+half. He knew that he could always earn a living wherever he went, and
+probably much more than a living, and of whatever he earned a strict
+moiety should be paid to Honoria. But first and above everything, there
+was Beatrice to be considered. She must be saved, even if he ruined
+himself to save her.
+
+Lady Honoria, it is scarcely necessary to say, had little idea that she
+was driving her husband to such dangerous and determined councils. She
+wanted to frighten Geoffrey, not to lose him and all he meant to her;
+this was the last thing that she would wish to do. She did not greatly
+care about the Beatrice incident, but her shrewd common sense told her
+that it might well be used as an engine to ruin them all. Therefore she
+spoke as she did speak, though in reality matters would have to be bad
+indeed before she sought the aid of a court of law, where many things
+concerning herself might come to the light of day which she would prefer
+to leave in darkness.
+
+Nor did she stop here; she determined to attack Geoffrey's position in
+another way, namely, through Beatrice herself. For a long time Honoria
+hesitated as to the method of this attack. She had some knowledge of the
+world and of character, and from what she knew of Beatrice she came
+to the sound conclusion that she was not a woman to be threatened, but
+rather one to be appealed to. So after much thought she wrote to her
+thus:--
+
+"A story, which I still hesitate to believe, has come to me by means of
+anonymous letters, as to your conduct with my husband. I do not wish
+to repeat it now, further than to say that, if true, it establishes
+circumstances which leave no doubt as to the existence of relations so
+intimate between you as to amount to guilt. It may not be true or it
+may, in which latter event I wish to say this: With your morality I have
+nothing to do; it is your affair. Nor do I wish to plead to you as an
+injured wife or to reproach you, for there are things too wicked for
+mere reproach. But I will say this: if the story is true, I must presume
+that you have some affection for the partner of your shame. I put myself
+out of the question, and in the name of that affection, however guilty
+it may be, I ask you to push matters no further. To do so will be
+to bring its object to utter ruin. _If you care for him, sever all
+connection with him utterly and for ever._ Otherwise he will live to
+curse and hate you. Should you neglect this advice, and should the facts
+that I have heard become public property, I warn you, as I have already
+warned him, that in self-preservation and for the sake of self-respect,
+I shall be forced to appeal to the law for my remedy. Remember that his
+career is at stake, and that in losing it and me he will lose also his
+child. Remember that if this comes about it will be through _you_. Do
+not answer this, it will do no good, for I shall naturally put no faith
+in your protestations, but if you are in any way or measure guilty of
+this offence, appealing to you as one woman to another, and for the sake
+of the man who is dear to both, I say do your best to redeem the
+evil, _by making all further communication between yourself and him an
+impossibility_. H.B."
+
+It was a clever letter; Lady Honoria could not have devised one more
+powerful to work on a woman like Beatrice. The same post that took it to
+her took another from Geoffrey himself. It was long, though guarded, and
+need not be quoted in its entirety, but it put the whole position before
+her in somewhat veiled language, and ended by saying, "Marriage I cannot
+give you, only life-long love. In other circumstances to offer this
+would be an insult, but if things should be as a I fear, it is worth
+your consideration. I do not say to you _come_, I say come _if you
+wish_. No, Beatrice, I will not put this cruel burden of decision upon
+you. I say _come!_ I do not command you to come, because I promised to
+leave you uninfluenced. But I pray you to do so. Let us put an end to
+this wretchedness, and count the world well lost as our price of love.
+Come, dearest Beatrice--to leave me no more till death. I put my life
+in your hands; if you take it up, whatever trouble you may have to face,
+you will never lose my affection or esteem. Do not think of me, think of
+yourself. You have given me your love as you once gave me my life. I
+owe something in return; I cannot see you shamed and make no offer of
+reparation. Indeed, so far as I am concerned, I shall think all I lose
+as nothing compared to what I gain in gaining you. Will you come? If
+so, we will leave this country and begin afresh elsewhere. After all, it
+matters little, and will matter less when everything is said and done.
+My life has for years been but as an unwholesome dream. The one real
+thing, the one happy thing that I have found in it has been our love. Do
+not let us throw it away, Beatrice."
+
+By return of post he received this answer written in pencil.
+
+"No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+That was all.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+ELIZABETH SHOWS HER TEETH
+
+Hard had been Beatrice's hours since that grey morning of separation.
+She must bear all the inner wretchedness of her lot; she must conceal
+her grief, must suffer the slings and arrows of Elizabeth's sharp
+tongue, and strive to keep Owen Davies at a distance. Indeed, as the
+days went on, this last task grew more and more portentous. The man was
+quite unmanageable; his passion, which was humiliating and hateful to
+Beatrice, became the talk of the place. Everybody knew of it, except her
+father, and even his eyes began to be opened.
+
+One night--it was the same upon which Geoffrey and Honoria respectively
+had posted their letters to Beatrice--anybody looking into the little
+room at Bryngelly Castle, which served its owner for all purposes except
+that of sleeping, would have witnessed a very strange sight. Owen Davies
+was walking to and fro--walking rapidly with wild eyes and dishevelled
+hair. At the turn of each length of the apartment he would halt, and
+throwing his arms into the air ejaculate:
+
+"Oh, God, hear me, and give me my desire! Oh, God, answer me!"
+
+For two long hours thus he walked and thus cried aloud, till at length
+he sank panting and exhausted into a chair. Suddenly he raised his head,
+and appeared to listen intently.
+
+"The Voice," he said aloud; "the Voice again. What does it say?
+To-morrow, to-morrow I must speak; and I shall win her."
+
+He sprang up with a shout, and once more began his wild march. "Oh,
+Beatrice!" he said, "to-morrow you will promise to marry me; the Voice
+says so, and soon, soon, perhaps in one short month, you will be my
+own--mine only! Geoffrey Bingham shall not come between us then, for
+I will watch you day and night. You shall be my very, very own--my own
+beautiful Beatrice," and he stretched out his arms and clasped at the
+empty air--a crazy and unpleasant sight to see.
+
+And so he walked and spoke till the dawn was grey in the east. This
+occurred on the Friday night. It was on the following morning that
+Beatrice, the unfortunate and innocent object of these amorous
+invocations, received the two letters. She had gone to the post-office
+on her way to the school, on the chance of there being a note from
+Geoffrey. Poor woman, his letters were the one bright thing in her life.
+From motives of prudence they were written in the usual semi-formal
+style, but she was quick to read between the lines, and, moreover, they
+came from his dear hand.
+
+There was the letter sure enough, and another in a woman's writing. She
+recognised the hand as that of Lady Honoria, which she had often seen on
+envelopes directed to Geoffrey, and a thrill of fear shot through her.
+She took the letters, and walking as quickly as she could to the school,
+locked herself in her own little room, for it was not yet nine o'clock,
+and looked at them with a gathering terror. What was in them? Why did
+Lady Honoria write to her? Which should she read first? In a moment
+Beatrice had made up her mind. She would face the worst at once. With
+a set face she opened Lady Honoria's letter, unfolded it, and read. We
+already know its contents. As her mind grasped them her lips grew ashy
+white, and by the time that the horrible thing was done she was nigh to
+fainting.
+
+Anonymous letters! oh, who could have done this cruel thing? Elizabeth,
+it must be Elizabeth, who saw everything, and thus stabbed her in the
+back. Was it possible that her own sister could treat her so? She knew
+that Elizabeth disliked her; she could never fathom the cause, still she
+knew the fact. But if this were her doing, then she must hate her, and
+most bitterly; and what had she done to earn such hate? And now Geoffrey
+was in danger on her account, danger of ruin, and how could she prevent
+it? This was her first idea. Most people might have turned to their own
+position and been content to leave their lover to fight his own battle.
+But Beatrice thought little of herself. He was in danger, and how could
+she protect him? Why here in the letter was the answer! "If you care for
+him sever all connection with him utterly, and for ever. Otherwise, he
+will live to curse and hate you." No, no! Geoffrey would never do that.
+But Lady Honoria was quite right; in his interest, for his sake, she
+must sever all connection with him--sever it utterly and for ever. But
+how--how?
+
+She thrust the letter into her dress--a viper would have been a more
+welcome guest--and opened Geoffrey's.
+
+It told the same tale, but offered a different solution. The tears
+started to her eyes as she read his offer to take her to him for
+good and all, and go away with her to begin life afresh. It seemed a
+wonderful thing to Beatrice that he should be willing to sacrifice
+so much upon such a worthless altar as her love--a wonderful and most
+generous thing. She pressed the senseless paper to her heart, then
+kissed it again and again. But she never thought of yielding to this
+great temptation, never for one second. He prayed her to come, but that
+she would not do while her will remained. What, _she_ bring Geoffrey
+to ruin? No, she had rather starve in the streets or perish by slow
+torture. How could he ever think that she would consent to such a
+scheme? Indeed she never would; she had brought enough trouble on him
+already. But oh, she blessed him for that letter. How deeply must he
+love her when he could offer to do this for her sake!
+
+Hark! the children were waiting; she must go and teach. The letter,
+Geoffrey's dear letter, could be answered in the afternoon. So she
+thrust it in her breast with the other, but closer to her heart, and
+went.
+
+
+
+That afternoon as Mr. Granger, in a happy frame of mind--for were not
+his debts paid, and had he not found a most convenient way of providing
+against future embarrassment?--was engaged peaceably in contemplating
+his stock over the gate of his little farm buildings, he was much
+astonished suddenly to discover Owen Davies at his elbow.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" he said; "how quietly you must have come."
+
+"Yes," answered Owen absently. "The fact is, I have followed you because
+I want to speak to you alone--quite alone."
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Davies--well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You
+don't look very well."
+
+"Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there's nothing
+wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, I know that
+full surely."
+
+"Indeed," said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air,
+"and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at your
+service, as you know," he added apologetically.
+
+"This," he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a way
+that made him start.
+
+"What--my coat, do you mean?"
+
+"Don't be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice."
+
+"Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think
+that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though I
+admit that the arithmetic----"
+
+"No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don't wish her to go to the
+school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I want
+to marry her."
+
+The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear aright?
+Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to marry
+his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too good to be
+true!
+
+"I am indeed flattered," he said. "It is more than she could expect--not
+but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever," he added
+hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter's market
+value.
+
+"Good-looking--clever; she is an angel," murmured Owen.
+
+"Oh, yes, of course she is," said her father, "that is, if a woman--yes,
+of course--and what is more, I think she's very fond of you. I think she
+is pining for you. I've though so for a long time."
+
+"Is she?" said Owen anxiously. "Then all I have to say is that she takes
+a very curious way of showing it. She won't say a word to me; she puts
+me off on every occasion. But it will be all right now--all right now."
+
+"Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are wives.
+We know about all that," said Mr. Granger sententiously.
+
+His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it
+indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
+
+"Mr. Granger," he said, seizing his hand, "I want to make Beatrice my
+wife--I do indeed."
+
+"Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies."
+
+"If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money matters
+and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a settlement
+as any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a father, and I
+shall raise no difficulties."
+
+"Very right and proper, I am sure," said Mr. Granger, adopting a loftier
+tone as he discovered the advantages of his position. "But of course
+on such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer. I daresay that
+Mr. Bingham would advise me," he added, "as a friend of the family,
+you know. He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn't charge
+anything."
+
+"Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham," answered Owen anxiously. "I will do anything
+you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I'll pay the bill myself. But
+never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice first. Come
+along at once."
+
+"Eh, but hadn't you better arrange that part of the business privately?"
+
+"No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had
+better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won't speak to
+her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God
+directed me to do, and then it will be all right--I know it will."
+
+Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort,
+and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies's
+matrimonial intentions.
+
+"Ah, well," he said, "I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven;
+yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay
+that we shall find Beatrice in."
+
+So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet
+perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about
+the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to
+himself.
+
+In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
+
+"Where is Beatrice?" asked her father.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and
+troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
+
+"Ah, Beatrice," said her father, "we were just asking for you."
+
+She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly
+perceived that some new danger threatened her.
+
+"Indeed," she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born
+of fear. "What is it, father?"
+
+Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door.
+It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two
+persons principally concerned.
+
+"Don't go," said Owen Davies excitedly, "don't go, either of you; what I
+have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say it
+before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops."
+
+Elizabeth glared at him fiercely--glared first at him and then at the
+innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why
+had she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before?
+But the heart of Beatrice, who sat momentarily expecting to be publicly
+denounced, grew ever fainter. The waters of desolation were closing in
+over her soul.
+
+Mr. Granger sat down firmly and worked himself into the seat of his
+chair, as though to secure an additional fixedness of tenure. Elizabeth
+set her teeth, and leaned her elbow on the table, holding her hand so as
+to shade her face. Beatrice drooped upon her seat like a fading lily, or
+a prisoner in the dock. She was opposite to them, and Owen Davies, his
+face alight with wild enthusiasm, stood up and addressed them all like
+the counsel for the prosecution.
+
+"Last autumn," he began, speaking to Mr. Granger, who might have been
+a judge uncertain as to the merits of the case, "I asked your daughter
+Beatrice to marry me."
+
+Beatrice gave a sigh, and collected her scattered energies. The storm
+had burst at last, and she must face it.
+
+"I asked her to marry me, and she told me to wait a year. I have waited
+as long as I could, but I could not wait the whole year. I have prayed a
+great deal, and I am bidden to speak."
+
+Elizabeth made a gesture of impatience. She was a person of strong
+common sense, and this mixture of religion and eroticism disgusted her.
+She also know that the storm had burst, and that _she_ must face it.
+
+"So I come to tell you that I love your daughter Beatrice, and want to
+make her my wife. I have never loved anybody else, but I have loved her
+for years; and I ask your consent."
+
+"Very flattering, very flattering, I am sure, especially in these hard
+times," said Mr. Granger apologetically, shaking his thin hair down over
+his forehead, and then rumpling it up again. "But you see, Mr. Davies,
+you don't want to marry me" (here Beatrice smiled faintly)--"you want to
+marry my daughter, so you had better ask her direct--at least I suppose
+so."
+
+Elizabeth made a movement as though to speak, then changed her mind and
+listened.
+
+"Beatrice," said Owen Davies, "you hear. I ask you to marry me."
+
+There was a pause. Beatrice, who had sat quite silent, was gathering up
+her strength to answer. Elizabeth, watching her from beneath her
+hand, thought that she read upon her face irresolution, softening into
+consent. What she really saw was but doubt as to the fittest and most
+certain manner of refusal. Like lightning it flashed into Elizabeth's
+mind that she must strike now, or hold her hand for ever. If once
+Beatrice spoke that fatal "yes," her revelations might be of no avail.
+And Beatrice would speak it; she was sure she would. It was a golden
+road out of her troubles.
+
+"Stop!" said Elizabeth in a shrill, hard voice. "Stop! I must speak;
+it is my duty as a Christian. I must tell the truth. I cannot allow an
+honest man to be deceived."
+
+There was an awful pause. Beatrice broke it. Now she saw all the truth,
+and knew what was at hand. She placed her hand upon her heart to still
+its beating.
+
+"Oh, Elizabeth," she said, "in our dead mother's name----" and she
+stopped.
+
+"Yes," answered her sister, "in our dead mother's name, which you have
+dishonoured, I will do it. Listen, Owen Davies, and father: Beatrice,
+who sits there"--and she pointed at her with her thin hand--"_Beatrice
+is a scarlet woman!_"
+
+"I really don't understand," gasped Mr. Granger, while Owen looked round
+wildly, and Beatrice sunk her head upon her breast.
+
+"Then I will explain," said Elizabeth, still pointing at her sister.
+"She is Geoffrey Bingham's _mistress_. On the night of Whit-Sunday last
+she rose from bed and went into his room at one in the morning. I saw
+her with my own eyes. Afterwards she was brought back to her bed in his
+arms--I saw it with my own eyes, and I heard him kiss her." (This was
+a piece of embroidery on Elizabeth's part.) "She is his lover, and has
+been in love with him for months. I tell you this, Owen Davies, because,
+though I cannot bear to bring disgrace upon our name and to defile my
+lips with such a tale, neither can I bear that you should marry a girl,
+believing her to be good, when she is what Beatrice is."
+
+"Then I wish to God that you had held your wicked tongue," said Mr.
+Granger fiercely.
+
+"No, father. I have a duty to perform, and I will perform it at any
+cost, and however much it pains me. You know that what I say is true.
+You heard the noise on the night of Whit-Sunday, and got up to see what
+it was. You saw the white figure in the passage--it was Geoffrey Bingham
+with Beatrice in his arms. Ah! well may she hang her head. Let her deny
+if it she can. Let her deny that she loves him to her shame, and that
+she was alone in his room on that night."
+
+Then Beatrice rose and spoke. She was pale as death and more beautiful
+in her shame and her despair than ever she had been before; her glorious
+eyes shone, and there were deep black lines beneath them.
+
+"My heart is my own," she said, "and I will make no answer to you about
+it. Think what you will. For the rest, it is not true. I am not what
+Elizabeth tells you that I am. I am _not_ Geoffrey Bingham's mistress.
+It is true that I was in his room that night, and it is true that he
+carried me back to my own. But it was in my sleep that I went there, not
+of my own free will. I awoke there, and fainted when I woke, and then at
+once he bore me back."
+
+Elizabeth laughed shrill and loud--it sounded like the cackle of a
+fiend.
+
+"In her sleep," she said; "oh, she went there in her sleep!"
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, in my sleep. You do not believe me, but it is true. You
+do not wish to believe me. You wish to bring the sister whom you should
+love, who has never offended against you by act or word, to utter
+disgrace and ruin. In your cowardly spite you have written anonymous
+letters to Lady Honoria Bingham, to prevail upon her to strike the blow
+that should destroy her husband and myself, and when you fear that this
+has failed, you come forward and openly accuse us. You do this in the
+name of Christian duty; in the name of love and charity, you believe the
+worst, and seek to ruin us. Shame on you, Elizabeth! shame on you! and
+may the same measure that you have meted out to me never be paid back to
+you. We are no longer sisters. Whatever happens, I have done with you.
+Go your ways."
+
+Elizabeth shrank and quailed beneath her sister's scorn. Even her
+venomous hatred could not bear up against the flash of those royal eyes,
+and the majesty of that outraged innocence. She gasped and bit her lip
+till the blood started, but she said nothing.
+
+Then Beatrice turned to her father, and spoke in another and a pleading
+voice, stretching out her arms towards him.
+
+"Oh, father," she said, "at least tell me that _you_ believe me. Though
+you may think that I might love to all extremes, surely, having known
+me so many years, you cannot think that I would lie even for my love's
+sake."
+
+The old man looked wildly round, and shook his head.
+
+"In his room and in his arms," he said. "I saw it, it seems. You, too,
+who have never been known to walk in your sleep from a child; and you
+will not say that you do not love him--the scoundrel. It is wicked of
+Elizabeth--jealousy bitter as the grave. It is wicked of her to tell the
+tale; but as it is told, how can I say that I do not believe it?"
+
+Then Beatrice, her cup being full, once more dropped her head, and
+turned to go.
+
+"Stop," said Owen Davies in a hoarse voice, and speaking for the first
+time. "Hear what _I_ have to say."
+
+She lifted her eyes. "With you, Mr. Davies, I have nothing to do; I am
+not answerable to you. Go and help your accomplice," and she pointed to
+Elizabeth, "to cry this scandal over the whole world."
+
+"Stop," he said again. "I will speak. I believe that it is true. I
+believe that you are Geoffrey Bingham's mistress, curse him! but I do
+not care. I am still willing to marry you."
+
+Elizabeth gasped. Was this to be the end of her scheming? Would the
+blind passion of this madman prevail over her revelations, and Beatrice
+still become his rich and honoured wife, while she was left poor and
+disgraced? Oh, it was monstrous! Oh, she had never dreamed of this!
+
+"Noble, noble!" murmured Mr. Granger; "noble! God bless you!"
+
+So the position was not altogether beyond recovery. His erring daughter
+might still be splendidly married; he might still look forward to peace
+and wealth in his old age.
+
+Only Beatrice smiled faintly.
+
+"I thank you," she said. "I am much honoured, but I could never have
+married you because I do not love you. You must understand me very
+little if you think that I should be the more ready to do so on account
+of the danger in which I stand," and she ceased.
+
+"Listen, Beatrice," Owen went on, an evil light shining on his heavy
+face, while Elizabeth sat astounded, scarcely able to believe her ears.
+"I want you, and I mean to marry you; you are more to me than all the
+world. I can give you everything, and you had better yield to me, and
+you shall hear no more of this. But if you won't, then this is what I
+will do. I will be revenged upon you--terribly revenged."
+
+Beatrice shook her head and smiled again, as though to bid him do his
+worst.
+
+"And look, Beatrice," he went on, waxing almost eloquent in his jealous
+despair, "I have another argument to urge on you. I will not only be
+revenged on you, I will be revenged upon your lover--on this Geoffrey
+Bingham."
+
+"_Oh!_" said Beatrice sharply, like one in pain. He had found the way
+to move her now, and with the cunning of semi-madness he drove the point
+home.
+
+"Yes, you may start--I will. I tell you that I will never rest till I
+have ruined him, and I am rich and can do it. I have a hundred thousand
+pounds, that I will spend on doing it. I have nothing to fear, except
+an action for libel. Oh, I am not a fool, though you think I am, I know.
+Well, I can pay for a dozen actions. There are papers in London that
+will be glad to publish all this--yes, the whole story--with plans
+and pictures too. Just think, Beatrice, what it will be when all
+England--yes, and all the world--is gloating over your shame, and
+half-a-dozen prints are using the thing for party purposes, clamouring
+for the disgrace of the man who ruined you, and whom you will ruin. He
+has a fine career; it shall be utterly destroyed. By God! I will hunt
+him to his grave, unless you promise to marry me, Beatrice. Do that, and
+not a word of this shall be said. Now answer."
+
+Mr. Granger sank back in his chair; this savage play of human passions
+was altogether beyond his experience--it overwhelmed him. As for
+Elizabeth, she bit her thin fingers, and glared from one to the other.
+"He reckons without me," she thought. "He reckons without me--I will
+marry him yet."
+
+But Beatrice leant for a moment against the wall and shut her eyes
+to think. Oh, she saw it all--the great posters with her name and
+Geoffrey's on them, the shameless pictures of her in his arms, the
+sickening details, the letters of the outraged matrons, the "Mothers of
+ten," and the moral-minded colonels--all, all! She heard the prurient
+scream of every male Elizabeth in England; the allusions in the
+House--the jeers, the bitter attacks of enemies and rivals. Then Lady
+Honoria would begin her suit, and it would all be dragged up afresh,
+and Geoffrey's fault would be on every lip, till he was _ruined_. For
+herself she did not care; but could she bring this on one whose only
+crime was that she had learned to love him? No, no; but neither could
+she marry this hateful man. And yet what escape was there? She flung
+herself upon her woman's wit, and it did not fail her. In a few seconds
+she had thought it all out and made up her mind.
+
+"How can I answer you at a moment's notice, Mr. Davies?" she said. "I
+must have time to think it over. To threaten such revenge upon me is not
+manly, but I know that you love me, and therefore I excuse it. Still, I
+must have time. I am confused."
+
+"What, another year? No, no," he said. "You must answer."
+
+"I do not ask a year or a month. I only ask for one week. If you will
+not give me that, then I will defy you, and you may do your worst. I
+cannot answer now."
+
+This was a bold stroke, but it told. Mr. Davies hesitated.
+
+"Give the girl a week," said her father to him. "She is not herself."
+
+"Very well; one week, no more," said he.
+
+"I have another stipulation to make," said Beatrice, "You are all to
+swear to me that for that week no word of this will pass your mouths;
+that for that week I shall not be annoyed or interfered with, or spoken
+to on the subject, not by one of you. If at the end of it I still refuse
+to accept your terms, you can do your worst, but till then you must hold
+your hand."
+
+Owen Davies hesitated; he was suspicious.
+
+"Remember," Beatrice went on, raising her voice, "I am a desperate
+woman. I may turn at bay, and do something which you do not expect, and
+that will be very little to the advantage of any of you. Do you swear?"
+
+"Yes," said Owen Davies.
+
+Then Beatrice looked at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked at her. She saw
+that the matter had taken a new form. She saw what her jealous folly
+had hitherto hidden from her--that Beatrice did not mean to marry Owen
+Davies, that she was merely gaining time to execute some purpose of
+her own. What this might be Elizabeth cared little so that it did not
+utterly extinguish chances that at the moment seemed faint enough. She
+did not want to push matters against her sister, or her lover Geoffrey,
+beyond the boundary of her own interests. Beatrice should have her
+week, and be free from all interference so far as she was concerned. She
+realised now that it was too late how great had been her error. Oh, if
+only she had sought Beatrice's confidence at first! But it had seemed to
+her impossible that she would really throw away such an opportunity in
+life.
+
+"Certainly I promise, Beatrice," she said mildly. "I do not swear,
+for 'swear not at all,' you know. I only did what I thought my duty in
+warning Mr. Davies. If he chooses to go on with the matter, it is no
+affair of mine. I had no wish to hurt you, or Mr. Bingham. I acted
+solely from my religious convictions."
+
+"Oh, stop talking religion, Elizabeth, and practise it a little
+more!" said her father, for once in his life stirred out of his feeble
+selfishness. "We have all undertaken to keep our mouths sealed for this
+week."
+
+Then Beatrice left the room, and after her went Owen Davies without
+another word.
+
+"Elizabeth," said her father, rising, "you are a wicked woman! What did
+you do this for?"
+
+"Do you want to know, father?" she said coolly; "then I will tell you.
+Because I mean to marry Owen Davies myself. We must all look after
+ourselves in this world, you know; and that is a maxim which you never
+forget, for one. I mean to marry him; and though I seem to have failed,
+marry him I will, yet! And now you know all about it; and if you are
+not a fool, you will hold your tongue and let me be!" and she went also,
+leaving him alone.
+
+Mr. Granger held up his hands in astonishment. He was a selfish,
+money-seeking old man, but he felt that he did not deserve to have such
+a daughter as this.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+WHAT BEATRICE SWORE
+
+Beatrice went to her room, but the atmosphere of the place seemed to
+stifle her. Her brain was reeling, she must go out into the air--away
+from her tormentors. She had not yet answered Geoffrey's letter, and
+it must be answered by this post, for there was none on Sunday. It was
+half-past four--the post went out at five; if she was going to write,
+she should do so at once, but she could not do so here. Besides, she
+must find time for thought. Ah, she had it; she would take her canoe and
+paddle across the bay to the little town of Coed and write her letter
+there. The post did not leave Coed till half-past six. She put on her
+hat and jacket, and taking a stamp, a sheet of paper, and an envelope
+with her, slipped quietly from the house down to old Edward's boat-house
+where the canoe was kept. Old Edward was not there himself, but his
+son was, a boy of fourteen, and by his help Beatrice was soon safely
+launched. The sea glittered like glass, and turning southwards,
+presently she was paddling round the shore of the island on which the
+Castle stood towards the open bay.
+
+As she paddled her mind cleared, and she was able to consider the
+position. It was bad enough. She saw no light, darkness hemmed her in.
+But at least she had a week before her, and meanwhile what should she
+write to Geoffrey?
+
+Then, as she thought, a great temptation assailed Beatrice, and for the
+first time her resolution wavered. Why should she not accept Geoffrey's
+offer and go away with him--far away from all this misery? Gladly would
+she give her life to spend one short year at his dear side. She had but
+to say the word, and he would take her to him, and in a month from now
+they would be together in some foreign land, counting the world well
+lost, as he had said. Doubtless in time Lady Honoria would get a
+divorce, and they might be married. A day might even come when all this
+would seem like a forgotten night of storm and fear; when, surrounded by
+the children of their love, they would wend peaceably, happily, through
+the evening of their days towards a bourne robbed of half its terrors by
+the fact that they would cross it hand-in-hand.
+
+Oh, that would be well for her; but would it be well for him? When the
+first months of passion had passed by, would he not begin to think of
+all that he had thrown away for the sake of a woman's love? Would not
+the burst of shame and obloquy which would follow him to the remotest
+corners of the earth wear away his affection, till at last, as Lady
+Honoria said, he learned to curse and hate her. And if it did not--if
+he still loved her through it all--as, being what he was, he well might
+do--could she be the one to bring this ruin on him? Oh, it would have
+been more kind to let him drown on that night of the storm, when fate
+first brought them together to their undoing.
+
+No, no; once and for all, once and for ever, she would _not_ do it.
+Cruel as was her strait, heavy as was her burden, not one feather's
+weight of it should he carry, if by any means in her poor power she
+could hold it from his back. She would not even tell him of what had
+happened--at any rate, not now. It would distress him; he might take
+some desperate step; it was almost certain that he would do so. Her
+answer must be very short.
+
+She was quite close to Coed now, and the water lay calm as a pond. So
+calm was it that she drew the sheet of paper and the envelope from her
+pocket, and leaning forward, rested them on the arched covering of the
+canoe, and pencilled those words which we have already read.
+
+"No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+Thus she wrote. Then she paddled to the shore. A fisherman standing on
+the beach caught her canoe and pulled it up. Leaving it in his charge,
+she went into the quaint little town, directed and posted her letter,
+and bought some wool. It was an excuse for having been there should any
+one ask questions. After that she returned to her canoe. The fisherman
+was standing by it. She offered him sixpence for his trouble, but he
+would not take it.
+
+"No, miss," he said, "thanking you kindly--but we don't often get a peep
+at such sweet looks. It's worth sixpence to see you, it is. But, miss,
+if I may make so bold as to say so, it isn't safe for you to cruise
+about in that craft, any ways not alone."
+
+Beatrice thanked him and blushed a little. Vaguely it occurred to her
+that she must have more than a common share of beauty, when a rough man
+could be so impressed with it. That was what men loved women for, their
+beauty, as Owen Davies loved and desired her for this same cause and
+this only.
+
+Perhaps it was the same with Geoffrey--no, she did not believe it. He
+loved her for other things besides her looks. Only if she had not been
+beautiful, perhaps he would not have begun to love her, so she was
+thankful for her eyes and hair, and form.
+
+Could folly and infatuation go further? This woman in the darkest hour
+of her bottomless and unhorizoned despair, with conscience gnawing at
+her heart, with present misery pressing on her breast, and shame to come
+hanging over her like a thunder cloud, could yet feel thankful that she
+had won this barren love, the spring of all her woe. Or was her folly
+deep wisdom in disguise?--is there something divine in a passion that
+can so override and defy the worst agonies of life?
+
+She was at sea again now, and evening was falling on the waters softly
+as a dream. Well, the letter was posted. Would it be the last, she
+wondered? It seemed as though she must write no more letters. And what
+was to be done? She would _not_ marry Owen Davies--never would she do
+it. She could not so shamelessly violate her feelings, for Beatrice was
+a woman to whom death would be preferable to dishonour, however legal.
+No, for her own sake she would not be soiled with that disgrace. Did she
+do this, she would hold herself the vilest of the vile. And still less
+would she do it for Geoffrey's sake. Her instinct told her what he would
+feel at such a thing, though he might never say a word. Surely he would
+loathe and despise her. No, that idea was done with--utterly done with.
+
+Then what remained to her? She would not fly with Geoffrey, since to
+do so would be to ruin him. She would not marry Owen, and not to do so
+would still be to ruin Geoffrey. She was no fool, she was innocent in
+act, but she knew that her innocence would indeed be hard to prove--even
+her own father did not believe in it, and her sister would openly accuse
+her to the world. What then should she do? Should she hide herself in
+some remote half-civilised place, or in London? It was impossible; she
+had no money, and no means of getting any. Besides, they would hunt
+her out, both Owen Davies and Geoffrey would track her to the furthest
+limits of the earth. And would not the former think that Geoffrey had
+spirited her away, and at once put his threats into execution? Obviously
+he would. There was no hope in that direction. Some other plan must be
+found or her lover would still be ruined.
+
+So argued Beatrice, still thinking not of herself, but of Geoffrey,
+of that beloved one who was more to her than all the world, more, a
+thousand times, than her own safety or well-being. Perhaps she overrated
+the matter. Owen Davies, Lady Honoria, and even Elizabeth might have
+done all they threatened; the first of them, perhaps the first two
+of them, certainly would have done so. But still Geoffrey might have
+escaped destruction. Public opinion, or the sounder part of it, is
+sensibly enough hard to move in such a matter, especially when the
+person said to have been wronged is heart and soul on the side of him
+who is said to have wronged her.
+
+Moreover there might have been ways out of it, of which she knew
+nothing. But surrounded as she was by threatening powers--by Lady
+Honoria threatening actions in the Courts on one side, by Owen Davies
+threatening exposure on another, by Elizabeth ready and willing to
+give the most damning evidence on the third, to Beatrice the worst
+consequences seemed an absolutely necessary sequence. Then there was her
+own conscience arrayed against her. This particular charge was a lie,
+but it was not a lie that she loved Geoffrey, and to her the two things
+seemed very much the same thing. Hers was not a mind to draw fine
+distinctions in such matters. _Se posuit ut culpabilem_: she "placed
+herself as guilty," as the old Court rolls put it in miserable Latin,
+and this sense of guilt disarmed her. She did not realise the enormous
+difference recognised by the whole civilised world between thought and
+act, between disposing mind and inculpating deed. Beatrice looked at the
+question more from the scriptural point of view, remembering that in
+the Bible such fine divisions are expressly stated to be distinctions
+without a difference.
+
+Had she gone to Geoffrey and told him her whole story it is probable
+that he would have defied the conspiracy, faced it out, and possibly
+come off victorious. But, with that deadly reticence of which women
+alone are capable, this she did not and would not do. Sweet loving woman
+that she was, she would not burden him with her sorrows, she would bear
+them alone--little reckoning that thereby she was laying up a far, far
+heavier load for him to carry through all his days.
+
+So Beatrice accepted the statements of the plaintiff's attorney for
+gospel truth, and from that false standpoint she drew her auguries.
+
+
+
+Oh, she was weary! How lovely was the falling night, see how it brooded
+on the seas! and how clear were the waters--there a fish passed by her
+paddle--and there the first start sprang into the sky! If only Geoffrey
+were here to see it with her. Geoffrey! she had lost him; she was alone
+in the world now--alone with the sea and the stars. Well, they were
+better than men--better than all men except one. Theirs was a divine
+companionship, and it soothed her. Ah, how hateful had been Elizabeth's
+face, more hateful even than the half-crazed cunning of Owen Davies,
+when she stretched her hand towards her and called her "a scarlet
+woman." It was so like Elizabeth, this mixing up of Bible terms with her
+accusation. And after all perhaps it was true.--What was it, "Though thy
+sins be as scarlet, yet shall they be white as snow." But that was only
+if one repented. She did not repent, not in the least. Conscience, it
+is true, reproached her with a breach of temporal and human law, but her
+heart cried that such love as she had given was immortal and divine, and
+therefore set beyond the little bounds of time and man. At any rate,
+she loved Geoffrey and was proud and glad to love him. The circumstances
+were unfortunate, but she did not make the world or its social
+arrangements any more than she had made herself, and she could not help
+that. The fact remained, right or wrong--she loved him, loved him!
+
+How clear were the waters! What was that wild dream which she had
+dreamt about herself sitting at the bottom of the sea, and waiting for
+him--till at last he came. Sitting at the bottom of the sea--why did
+it strike her so strangely--what unfamiliar thought did it waken in her
+mind? Well, and why not? It would be pleasant there, better at any rate
+than on the earth. But things cannot be ended so; one is burdened with
+the flesh, and one must wear it till it fails. Why must she wear it?
+Was not the sea large enough to hide her bones? Look now, she had but
+to slip over the edge of the canoe, slip without a struggle into those
+mighty arms, and in a few short minutes it would all be done and gone!
+
+She gasped as the thought struck home. _Here_ was the answer to her
+questionings, the same answer that is given to every human troubling,
+to all earthly hopes and fears and strivings. One stroke of that black
+knife and everything would be lost or found. Would it be so great a
+thing to give her life for Geoffrey?--why she had well nigh done as much
+when she had known him but an hour, and now that he was all in all,
+oh, would it be so great a thing? If she died--died secretly, swiftly,
+surely--Geoffrey would be saved; they would not trouble him then, there
+would be no one to trouble about: Owen Davies could not marry her then,
+Geoffrey could not ruin himself over her, Elizabeth could pursue her no
+further. It would be well to do this thing for Geoffrey, and he would
+always love her, and beyond that black curtain there might be something
+better.
+
+They said that it was sin. Yes, it might be sin to act thus for oneself
+alone. But to do it for another--how of that! Was not the Saviour whom
+they preached a Man of Sacrifice? Would it be a sin in her to die for
+Geoffrey, to sacrifice herself that Geoffrey might go free?
+
+Oh, it would be no great merit. Her life was not so easy that she should
+fear this pure embrace. It would be better, far better, than to marry
+Owen Davies, than to desecrate their love and teach Geoffrey to despise
+her. And how else could she ward this trouble from him except by her
+death, or by a marriage that in her eyes was more dreadful than any
+death?
+
+
+
+She could not do it yet. She could not die until she had once more seen
+his face, even though he did not see hers. No, not to-night would
+she seek this swift solution. She had words to say--or words to
+write--before the end. Already they rushed in upon her mind!
+
+But if no better plan presented itself she would do it, she was sure
+that she would. It was a sin--well, let it be a sin; what did she care
+if she sinned for Geoffrey? He would not think the worse of her for it.
+And she had hope, yes, Geoffrey had taught her to hope. If there was a
+Hell, why it was here. And yet not all a Hell, for in it she had found
+her love!
+
+
+
+It grew dark; she could hear the whisper of the waves upon Bryngelly
+beach. It grew dark; the night was closing round. She paddled to within
+a few fathoms of the shore, and called in her clear voice.
+
+"Ay, ay, miss," answered old Edward from the beach. "Come in on the next
+wave."
+
+She came in accordingly and her canoe was caught and dragged high and
+dry.
+
+"What, Miss Beatrice," said the old man shaking his head and grumbling,
+"at it again! Out all alone in that thing," and he gave the canoe a
+contemptuous kick, "and in the dark, too. You want a husband to look
+after you, you do. You'll never rest till you're drowned."
+
+"No, Edward," she answered with a little laugh. "I don't suppose that I
+shall. There is no peace for the wicked above seas, you know. Now do not
+scold. The canoe is as safe as church in this weather and in the bay."
+
+"Oh, yes, it's safe enough in the calm and the bay," he answered, "but
+supposing it should come on to blow and supposing you should drift
+beyond the shelter of Rumball Point there, and get the rollers down on
+you--why you would be drowned in five minutes. It's wicked, miss, that's
+what it is."
+
+Beatrice laughed again and went.
+
+"She's a funny one she is," said the old man scratching his head as he
+looked after her, "of all the woman folk as ever I knowed she is the
+rummest. I sometimes thinks she wants to get drowned. Dash me if I
+haven't half a mind to stave a hole in the bottom of that there damned
+canoe, and finish it."
+
+Beatrice reached home a little before supper time. Her first act was
+to call Betty the servant and with her assistance to shift her bed and
+things into the spare room. With Elizabeth she would have nothing more
+to do. They had slept together since they were children, now she had
+done with her. Then she went in to supper, and sat through it like a
+statue, speaking no word. Her father and Elizabeth kept up a strained
+conversation, but they did not speak to her, nor she to them. Elizabeth
+did not even ask where she had been, nor take any notice of her change
+of room.
+
+One thing, however, Beatrice learnt. Her father was going on the Monday
+to Hereford by an early train to attend a meeting of clergymen collected
+to discuss the tithe question. He was to return by the last train on
+the Tuesday night, that is, about midnight. Beatrice now discovered
+that Elizabeth proposed to accompany him. Evidently she wished to see as
+little as possible of her sister during this week of truce--possibly she
+was a little afraid of her. Even Elizabeth might have a conscience.
+
+So she should be left alone from Monday morning till Tuesday night. One
+can do a good deal in forty hours.
+
+After supper Beatrice rose and left the room, without a word, and they
+were glad when she went. She frightened them with her set face and
+great calm eyes. But neither spoke to the other on the subject. They had
+entered into a conspiracy of silence.
+
+Beatrice locked her door and then sat at the window lost in thought.
+When once the idea of suicide has entered the mind it is apt to grow
+with startling rapidity. She reviewed the whole position; she went
+over all the arguments and searched the moral horizon for some feasible
+avenue of escape. But she could find none that would save Geoffrey,
+except this. Yes, she would do it, as many another wretched woman had
+done before her, not from cowardice indeed, for had she alone been
+concerned she would have faced the thing out, fighting to the bitter
+end--but for this reason only, it would cut off the dangers which
+threatened Geoffrey at their very root and source. Of course there must
+be no scandal; it must never be known that she had killed herself, or
+she might defeat her own object, for the story would be raked up. But
+she well knew how to avoid such a possibility; in her extremity Beatrice
+grew cunning as a fox. Yes, and there might be an inquest at which
+awkward questions would be asked. But, as she well knew also, before
+an inquest can be held there must be something to hold it on, and that
+something would not be there.
+
+
+
+And so in the utter silence of the night and in the loneliness of her
+chamber did Beatrice dedicate herself to sacrifice upon the altar of
+her immeasurable love. She would face the last agonies of death when the
+bloom of her youthful strength and beauty was but opening as a rose in
+June. She would do more, she would brave the threatened vengeance of the
+most High, coming before Him a self murderess, and with but one plea for
+pity--that she loved so well: _quia multum amavit_. Yes, she would do
+all this, would leave the warm world in the dawning summer of her days,
+and alone go out into the dark--alone would face those visions which
+might come--those Shapes of terror, and those Things of fear, that
+perchance may wait for sinful human kind. Alone she would go--oh, hand
+in hand with him it had been easy, but this must not be. The door of
+utter darkness would swing to behind her, and who could say if in time
+to come it should open to Geoffrey's following feet, or if he might ever
+find the path that she had trod. It must be done, it should be done!
+Beatrice rose from her seat with bright eyes and quick-coming breath,
+and swore before God, if God there were, that she would do it, trusting
+to Him for pardon and for pity, or failing these--for sleep.
+
+Yes, but first she must once more look upon Geoffrey's dear face--and
+then farewell!
+
+Pity her! poor mistaken woman, making of her will a Providence, rushing
+to doom. Pity her, but do not blame her overmuch, or if you do, then
+blame Judith and Jephtha's daughter and Charlotte Corday, and all the
+glorious women who from time to time have risen on this sordid world of
+self, and given themselves as an offering upon the altars of their love,
+their religion, their honour or their country!
+
+
+
+It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was
+to come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been,
+Beatrice lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
+
+Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
+feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class as
+usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she was
+with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of
+the Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
+father's oath.
+
+Nearly all the rest of the day and evening she spent in writing that
+which we shall read in time--only in the late afternoon she went out for
+a little while in her canoe. Another thing Beatrice did also: she called
+at the lodging of her assistant, the head school teacher, and told
+her it was possible that she would not be in her place on the Tuesday
+(Monday was, as it chanced, a holiday). If anybody inquired as to her
+absence, perhaps she would kindly tell them that Miss Granger had an
+appointment to keep, and had taken a morning's holiday in order to do
+so. She should, however, be back that afternoon. The teacher assented
+without suspicion, remarking that if Beatrice could not take a morning's
+holiday, she was sure she did not know who could.
+
+Next morning they breakfasted very early, because Mr. Granger and
+Elizabeth had to catch the train. Beatrice sat through the meal in
+silence, her calm eyes looking straight before her, and the others,
+gazing on them, and at the lovely inscrutable face, felt an indefinable
+fear creep into their hearts. What did this woman mean to do? That was
+the question they asked of themselves, though not of each other. That
+she meant to do something they were sure, for there was purpose written
+on every line of her cold face.
+
+Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
+flashed like an arrow into Beatrice's heart, and pierced it. This was
+the last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last time
+that she could ever see her father's and her sister's faces. For her
+sister, well, it might pass--for there are some things which even a
+woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive--but she loved her father.
+She loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-seeking had
+become endeared to her by long and wondering contemplation. Besides, he
+was her father; he gave her the life she was about to cast away. And she
+should never see him more. Not on that account did she hesitate in her
+purpose, which was now set in her mind, like Bryngelly Castle on its
+rock, but at the thought tears rushed unbidden to her eyes.
+
+Just then breakfast came to an end, and Elizabeth hurried from the room
+to fetch her bonnet.
+
+"Father," said Beatrice, "if you can before you go, I should like
+to hear you say that you do not believe that I told you what was
+false--about that story."
+
+"Eh, eh!" answered the old man nervously, "I thought that we had agreed
+to say nothing about the matter at present."
+
+"Yes, but I should like to hear you say it, father. It cuts me that
+you should think that I would lie to you, for in my life I have never
+wilfully told you what was not true;" and she clasped her hands about
+his arms, and looked into his face.
+
+He gazed at her doubtfully. Was it possible after all she was speaking
+the truth? No; it was not possible.
+
+"I can't, Beatrice," he said--"not that I blame you overmuch for trying
+to defend yourself; a cornered rat will show fight."
+
+"May you never regret those words," she said; "and now good-bye," and
+she kissed him on the forehead.
+
+At this moment Elizabeth entered, saying that it was time to start, and
+he did not return the kiss.
+
+"Good-bye, Elizabeth," said Beatrice, stretching out her hand. But
+Elizabeth affected not to see it, and in another moment they were gone.
+She followed them to the gate and watched them till they vanished down
+the road. Then she returned, her heart strained almost to bursting. But
+she wept no tear.
+
+Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to her father and her sister.
+
+"Elizabeth," said Mr. Granger, as they drew near to the station, "I am
+not easy in my thoughts about Beatrice. There was such a strange look in
+her eyes; it--in short, it frightens me. I have half a mind to give up
+Hereford, and go back," and he stopped upon the road, hesitating.
+
+"As you like," said Elizabeth with a sneer, "but I should think that
+Beatrice is big enough and bad enough to look after herself."
+
+"Before the God who made us," said the old man furiously, and striking
+the ground with his stick, "she may be bad, but she is not so bad as you
+who betrayed her. If Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman Judas; and
+I believe that you hate her, and would be glad to see her dead."
+
+Elizabeth made no answer. They were nearing the station, for her father
+had started on again, and there were people about. But she looked at
+him, and he never forgot the look. It was quite enough to chill him into
+silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.
+
+
+
+When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations. Her wild
+purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey's face
+in the House of Commons, if possible, and then return. She put on her
+bonnet and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple grey
+cloth, but on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it she
+thrust the letter which she had written on the previous day. A small
+hand-bag, with some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a cloak,
+made up the total of her baggage.
+
+The train, which did not stop at Bryngelly, left Coed at ten, and Coed
+was an hour and a half's walk. She must be starting. Of course, she
+would have to be absent for the night, and she was sorely puzzled how
+to account for her absence to Betty, the servant girl; the others
+being gone there was no need to do so to anybody else. But here fortune
+befriended her. While she was thinking the matter over, who should come
+in but Betty herself, crying. She had just heard, she said, that her
+little sister, who lived with their mother at a village about ten miles
+away, had been knocked down by a cart and badly hurt. Might she go home
+for the night? She could come back on the morrow, and Miss Beatrice
+could get somebody in to sleep if she was lonesome.
+
+Beatrice sympathised, demurred, and consented, and Betty started at
+once. As soon as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the house, put the
+key in her pocket, and started on her five miles' tramp. Nobody saw her
+leave the house, and she passed by a path at the back of the village, so
+that nobody saw her on the road. Reaching Coed Station quite unobserved,
+and just before the train was due, she let down her veil, and took a
+third-class ticket to London. This she was obliged to do, for her
+stock of money was very small; it amounted, altogether, to thirty-six
+shillings, of which the fare to London and back would cost her
+twenty-eight and fourpence.
+
+In another minute she had entered an empty carriage, and the train had
+steamed away.
+
+She reached Paddington about eight that night, and going to the
+refreshment room, dined on some tea and bread and butter. Then she
+washed her hands, brushed her hair, and started.
+
+Beatrice had never been in London before, and as soon as she left
+the station the rush and roar of the huge city took hold of her, and
+confused her. Her idea was to walk to the Houses of Parliament at
+Westminster. She would, she thought, be sure to see Geoffrey there,
+because she had bought a daily paper in which she had read that he was
+to be one of the speakers in a great debate on the Irish Question, which
+was to be brought to a close that night. She had been told by a friendly
+porter to follow Praed Street till she reached the Edgware Road, then to
+walk on to the Marble Arch, and ask again. Beatrice followed the first
+part of this programme--that is, she walked as far as the Edgware Road.
+Then it was that confusion seized her and she stood hesitating. At this
+juncture, a coarse brute of a man came up and made some remark to her.
+It was impossible for a woman like Beatrice to walk alone in the streets
+of London at night, without running the risk of such attentions. She
+turned from him, and as she did so, heard him say something about her
+beauty to a fellow Arcadian. Close to where she was stood two hansom
+cabs. She went to the first and asked the driver for how much he would
+take her to the House of Commons.
+
+"Two bob, miss," he answered.
+
+Beatrice shook her head, and turned to go again. She was afraid to spend
+so much on cabs, for she must get back to Bryngelly.
+
+"I'll take yer for eighteenpence, miss," called out the other driver.
+This offer she was about to accept when the first man interposed.
+
+"You leave my fare alone, will yer? Tell yer what, miss, I'm a
+gentleman, I am, and I'll take yer for a bob."
+
+She smiled and entered the cab. Then came a whirl of great gas-lit
+thoroughfares, and in a quarter of an hour they pulled up at the
+entrance to the House. Beatrice paid the cabman his shilling, thanked
+him, and entered, only once more to find herself confused with a vision
+of white statues, marble floors, high arching roofs, and hurrying
+people. An automatic policeman asked her what she wanted. Beatrice
+answered that she wished to get into the House.
+
+"Pass this way, then, miss--pass this way," said the automatic officer
+in a voice of brass. She passed, and passed, and finally found herself
+in a lobby, among a crowd of people of all sorts--seedy political touts,
+Irish priests and hurrying press-men. At one side of the lobby were more
+policemen and messengers, who were continually taking cards into the
+House, then returning and calling out names. Insensibly she drifted
+towards these policemen.
+
+"Ladies' Gallery, miss?" said a voice; "your order, please, though I
+think it's full."
+
+Here was a fresh complication. Beatrice had no order. She had no idea
+that one was necessary.
+
+"I haven't got an order," she said faintly. "I did not know that I must
+have one. Can I not get in without?"
+
+"Most certainly _not_, miss," answered the voice, while its owner,
+suspecting dynamite, surveyed her with a cold official eye. "Now make
+way, make way, please."
+
+Beatrice's grey eyes filled with tears, as she turned to go in
+bitterness of heart. So all her labour was in vain, and that which would
+be done must be done without the mute farewell she sought. Well, when
+sorrow was so much, what mattered a little more? She turned to go, but
+not unobserved. A certain rather youthful Member of Parliament, with an
+eye for beauty in distress, had been standing close to her, talking to
+a constituent. The constituent had departed to wherever constituents
+go--and many representatives, if asked, would cheerfully point out a
+locality suitable to the genus, at least in their judgment--and the
+member had overheard the conversation and seen Beatrice's eyes fill with
+tears. "What a lovely woman!" he had said to himself, and then did what
+he should have done, namely, lifted his hat and inquired if, as a member
+of the House, he could be of any service to her. Beatrice listened,
+and explained that she was particularly anxious to get into the Ladies'
+Gallery.
+
+"I think that I can help you, then," he said. "As it happens a lady, for
+whom I got an order, has telegraphed to say that she cannot come. Will
+you follow me? Might I ask you to give me your name?"
+
+"Mrs. Everston," answered Beatrice, taking the first that came into her
+head. The member looked a little disappointed. He had vaguely hoped that
+this lovely creature was unappropriated. Surely her marriage could not
+be satisfactory, or she would not look so sad.
+
+Then came more stairs and passages, and formalities, till presently
+Beatrice found herself in a kind of bird-cage, crowded to suffocation
+with every sort of lady.
+
+"I'm afraid--I am very much afraid----" began her new-found friend,
+surveying the mass with dismay.
+
+But at that moment, a stout lady in front feeling faint with the heat,
+was forced to leave the Gallery, and almost before she knew where she
+was, Beatrice was installed in her place. Her friend had bowed and
+vanished, and she was left to all purposes alone, for she never
+heeded those about her, though some of them looked at her hard enough,
+wondering at her form and beauty, and who she might be.
+
+She cast her eye down over the crowded House, and saw a vision of hats,
+collars, and legs, and heard a tumult of sounds: the sharp voice of
+a speaker who was rapidly losing his temper, the plaudits of the
+Government benches, the interruptions from the Opposition--yes, even
+yells, and hoots, and noises, that reminded her remotely of the crowing
+of cocks. Possibly had she thought of it, Beatrice would not have been
+greatly impressed with the dignity of an assembly, at the doors of
+which so many of its members seemed to leave their manners, with their
+overcoats and sticks; it might even have suggested the idea of a bear
+garden to her mind. But she simply did not think about it. She searched
+the House keenly enough, but it was to find one face, and one only--Ah!
+there he was.
+
+And now the House of Commons might vanish into the bottomless abyss,
+and take with it the House of Lords, and what remained of the British
+Constitution, and she would never miss them. For, at the best of times,
+Beatrice--in common with most of her sex--in all gratitude be it said,
+was _not_ an ardent politician.
+
+There Geoffrey sat, his arms folded--the hat pushed slightly from his
+forehead, so that she could see his face. There was her own beloved,
+whom she had come so far to see, and whom to-morrow she would dare
+so much to save. How sad he looked--he did not seem to be paying
+much attention to what was going on. She knew well enough that he was
+thinking of her; she could feel it in her head as she had often felt it
+before. But she dared not let her mind go out to him in answer, for, if
+once she did so, she knew also that he would discover her. So she sat,
+and fed her eyes upon his face, taking her farewell of it, while round
+her, and beneath her, the hum of the House went on, as ever present and
+as unnoticed as the hum of bees upon a summer noon.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had been so kind to her, sat down in
+the next seat to Geoffrey, and began to whisper to him, as he did so
+glancing once or twice towards the grating behind which she was.
+She guessed that he was telling him the story of the lady who was so
+unaccountably anxious to hear the debate, and how pretty she was. But it
+did not seem to interest Geoffrey much, and Beatrice was feminine enough
+to notice it, and to be glad of it. In her gentle jealousy, she did not
+like to think of Geoffrey as being interested in accounts of mysterious
+ladies, however pretty.
+
+At length a speaker rose--she understood from the murmur of those around
+her that he was one of the leaders of the Opposition, and commenced a
+powerful and bitter speech. She noticed that Geoffrey roused himself at
+this point, and began to listen with attention.
+
+"Look," said one of the ladies near her, "Mr. Bingham is taking notes.
+He is going to speak next--he speaks wonderfully, you know. They say
+that he is as good as anybody in the House, except Gladstone, and Lord
+Randolph."
+
+"Oh!" answered another lady. "Lady Honoria is not here, is she? I don't
+see her."
+
+"No," replied the first; "she is a dear creature, and so handsome
+too--just the wife for a rising man--but I don't think that she takes
+much interest in politics. Are not her dinners charming?"
+
+At this moment, a volley of applause from the Opposition benches drowned
+the murmured conversation.
+
+This speaker spoke for about three-quarters of an hour, and then at last
+Geoffrey stood up. One or two other members rose at the same time, but
+ultimately they gave way.
+
+He began slowly--and somewhat tamely, as it seemed to Beatrice, whose
+heart was in her mouth--but when he had been speaking for about five
+minutes, he warmed up. And then began one of the most remarkable
+oratorical displays of that Parliament. Geoffrey had spoken well before,
+and would speak well again, but perhaps he never spoke so well as he
+did upon that night. For nearly an hour and a half he held the House in
+chains, even the hoots and interruptions died away towards the end of
+his oration. His powerful presence seemed to tower in the place, like
+that of a giant among pigmies, and his dark, handsome face, lit with the
+fires of eloquence, shone like a lamp. He leaned forward with a slight
+stoop of his broad shoulders, and addressed himself, nominally to the
+Speaker, but really to the Opposition. He took their facts one by one,
+and with convincing logic showed that they were no facts; amid a hiss of
+anger he pulverised their arguments and demonstrated their motives. Then
+suddenly he dropped them altogether, and addressing himself to the House
+at large, and the country beyond the House, he struck another note, and
+broke out into that storm of patriotic eloquence which confirmed his
+growing reputation, both in Parliament and in the constituencies.
+
+Beatrice shut her eyes and listened to the deep, rich voice as it rose
+from height to height and power to power, till the whole place seemed
+full of it, and every contending sound was hushed.
+
+Suddenly, after an invocation that would have been passionate had it
+not been so restrained and strong, he stopped. She opened her eyes and
+looked. Geoffrey was seated as before, with his hat on. He had been
+speaking for an hour and a half, and yet, to her, it seemed but a few
+minutes since he rose. Then broke out a volley of cheers, in the midst
+of which a leader of the Opposition rose to reply, not in the very best
+of tempers, for Geoffrey's speech had hit them hard.
+
+He began, however, by complimenting the honourable member on his
+speech, "as fine a speech as he had listened to for many years, though,
+unfortunately, made from a mistaken standpoint and the wrong side of
+the House." Then he twitted the Government with not having secured
+the services of a man so infinitely abler than the majority of their
+"items," and excited a good deal of amusement by stating, with some
+sarcastic humour, that, should it ever be his lot to occupy the front
+Treasury bench, he should certainly make a certain proposal to the
+honourable member. After this good-natured badinage, he drifted off into
+the consideration of the question under discussion, and Beatrice paid no
+further attention to him, but occupied herself in watching Geoffrey drop
+back into the same apparent state of cold indifference, from which the
+necessity of action had aroused him.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had found her the seat came up and spoke to
+her, asking her how she was getting on. Very soon he began to speak of
+Geoffrey's speech, saying that it was one of the most brilliant of the
+session, if not the most brilliant.
+
+"Then Mr. Bingham is a rising man, I suppose?" Beatrice said.
+
+"Rising? I should think so," he answered. "They will get him into
+the Government on the first opportunity after this; he's too good to
+neglect. Very few men can come to the fore like Mr. Bingham. We call him
+the comet, and if only he does not make a mess of his chances by
+doing something foolish, there is no reason why he should not be
+Attorney-General in a few years."
+
+"Why should he do anything foolish?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, for no reason on earth, that I know of; only, as I daresay you have
+noticed, men of this sort are very apt to do ridiculous things, throw
+up their career, get into a public scandal, run away with somebody or
+something. Not that there should be any fear of such a thing where Mr.
+Bingham is concerned, for he has a charming wife, and they say that she
+is a great help to him. Why, there is the division bell. Good-bye, Mrs.
+Everston, I will come back to see you out."
+
+"Good-bye," Beatrice answered, "and in case I should miss you, I wish
+to say something--to thank you for your kindness in helping me to get in
+here to-night. You have done me a great service, a very great service,
+and I am most grateful to you."
+
+"It is nothing--nothing," he answered. "It has been a pleasure to help
+you. If," he added with some confusion, "you would allow me to call some
+day, the pleasure will be all the greater. I will bring Mr. Bingham with
+me, if you would like to know him--that is, if I can."
+
+Beatrice shook her head. "I cannot," she answered, smiling sadly. "I
+am going on a long journey to-morrow, and I shall not return here.
+Good-bye."
+
+In another second he was gone, more piqued and interested about this
+fair unknown than he had been about any woman for years. Who could she
+be? and why was she so anxious to hear the debate? There was a mystery
+in it somewhere, and he determined to solve it if he could.
+
+Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked
+back, and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition
+cheers, the victory of the Government was announced. Then came the usual
+formalities, and the members began to melt away. Beatrice saw the leader
+of the House and several members of the Government go up to Geoffrey,
+shake his hand, and congratulate him. Then, with one long look, she
+turned and went, leaving him in the moment of his triumph, that seemed
+to interest him so little, but which made Beatrice more proud at heart
+than if she had been declared empress of the world.
+
+Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over
+his fellow men--and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable
+existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never!
+There should be no "public scandal" on her account.
+
+She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.
+Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of
+its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past
+her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught
+the sound of Geoffrey's name, coupled with such words as "splendid
+speech," and other terms of admiration.
+
+"Move on, move on," said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice
+turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself,
+leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who
+had been so kind to her walking along together. They came through the
+gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her.
+Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow.
+Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar. The light of
+the match flared upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so
+well. How tired he looked. A great longing took possession of her to
+step forward and speak to him, but she restrained herself almost by
+force.
+
+Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
+
+"Such a lovely woman," he was saying, "with the clearest and most
+beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I
+can't find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business."
+
+"You are falling in love, Tom," answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw
+away the match and walked on. "Don't do that; it is an unhappy thing to
+do," and he sighed.
+
+He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold
+horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She trembled
+so much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she looked after
+him, with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who had repented
+him of his forbearance, and was returning to send her away, stood
+astonished. The two men had gone about ten yards, when something
+induced Beatrice's friend to look back. His eye fell upon the white,
+agony-stricken face, now in the full glare of the gas lamp.
+
+Beatrice saw him turn, and understood her danger. "Oh, good-bye,
+Geoffrey!" she murmured, for a second allowing her heart to go forth
+towards him. Then realising what she had done, she dropped her veil,
+and went swiftly. The gentleman called "Tom"--she never learnt his
+name--stood for a moment dumbfounded, and at that instant Geoffrey
+staggered, as though he had been struck by a shot, turned quite white,
+and halted.
+
+"Why," said his companion, "there is that lady again; we must have
+passed quite close to her. She was looking after us, I saw her face in
+the gaslight--and I never want to see such another."
+
+Geoffrey seized him by the arm. "Where is she?" he asked, "and what was
+she like?"
+
+"She was there a second ago," he said, pointing to the pillar, "but I've
+lost her now--I fancy she went towards the railway station, but I could
+not see. Stop, is that she?" and he pointed to a tall person walking
+towards the Abbey.
+
+Quickly they moved to intercept her, but the result was not
+satisfactory, and they retreated hastily from the object of their
+attentions.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice found herself opposite the entrance to the
+Westminster Bridge Station. A hansom was standing there; she got into it
+and told the man to drive to Paddington.
+
+Before the pair had retraced their steps she was gone. "She has
+vanished again," said "Tom," and went on to give a description of her to
+Geoffrey. Of her dress he had unfortunately taken little note. It might
+be one of Beatrice's, or it might not. It seemed almost inconceivable to
+Geoffrey that she should be masquerading about London, under the name of
+Mrs. Everston. And yet--and yet--he could have sworn--but it was folly!
+
+Suddenly he bade his friend good-night, and took a hansom. "The mystery
+thickens," said the astonished "Tom," as he watched him drive away.
+"I would give a hundred pounds to find out what it all means. Oh! that
+woman's face--it haunts me. It looked like the face of an angel bidding
+farewell to Heaven."
+
+But he never did find out any more about it, though the despairing eyes
+of Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still sometimes haunt his
+sleep.
+
+Geoffrey reflected rapidly. The thing was ridiculous, and yet it was
+possible. Beyond that brief line in answer to his letter, he had heard
+nothing from Beatrice. Indeed he was waiting to hear from her before
+taking any further step. But even supposing she were in London, where
+was he to look for her? He knew that she had no money, he could not
+stay there long. It occurred to him there was a train leaving Euston for
+Wales about four in the morning. It was just possible that she might
+be in town, and returning by this train. He told the cabman to drive to
+Euston Station, and on arrival, closely questioned a sleepy porter, but
+without satisfactory results.
+
+Then he searched the station; there were no traces of Beatrice. He did
+more; he sat down, weary as he was, and waited for an hour and a
+half, till it was time for the train to start. There were but three
+passengers, and none of them in the least resembled Beatrice.
+
+"It is very strange," Geoffrey said to himself, as he walked away. "I
+could have sworn that I felt her presence just for one second. It must
+have been nonsense. This is what comes of occult influences, and that
+kind of thing. The occult is a nuisance."
+
+If he had only gone to Paddington!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+I WILL WAIT FOR YOU
+
+Beatrice drove back to Paddington, and as she drove, though her face did
+not change from its marble cast of woe the great tears rolled down it,
+one by one.
+
+They reached the deserted-looking station, and she paid the man out of
+her few remaining shillings--seeing that she was a stranger, he insisted
+upon receiving half-a-crown. Then, disregarding the astonished stare
+of a night porter, she found her way to the waiting room, and sat down.
+First she took the letter from her breast, and added some lines to it
+in pencil, but she did not post it yet; she knew that if she did so
+it would reach its destination too soon. Then she laid her head back
+against the wall, and utterly outworn, dropped to sleep--her last sleep
+upon this earth, before the longest sleep of all.
+
+And thus Beatrice waited and slept at Paddington, while her lover waited
+and watched at Euston.
+
+At five she woke, and the heavy cloud of sorrow, past, present, and to
+come, rushed in upon her heart. Taking her bag, she made herself as tidy
+as she could. Then she stepped outside the station into the deserted
+street, and finding a space between the houses, watched the sun rise
+over the waking world. It was her last sunrise, Beatrice remembered.
+
+She came back filled with such thoughts as might well strike the heart
+of a woman about to do the thing she had decreed. The refreshment bar
+was open now, and she went to it, and bought a cup of coffee and some
+bread and butter. Then she took her ticket, not to Bryngelly or to Coed,
+but to the station on this side of Bryngelly, and three miles from it.
+She would run less risk of being noticed there. The train was shunted
+up; she took her seat in it. Just as it was starting, an early newspaper
+boy came along, yawning. Beatrice bought a copy of the _Standard_, out
+of the one and threepence that was left of her money, and opened it at
+the sheet containing the leading articles. The first one began, "The
+most powerful, closely reasoned, and eloquent speech made last night by
+Mr. Bingham, the Member for Pillham, will, we feel certain, produce as
+great an effect on the country as it did in the House of Commons. We
+welcome it, not only on account of its value as a contribution to the
+polemics of the Irish Question, but as a positive proof of what has
+already been suspected, that the Unionist party has in Mr. Bingham a
+young statesman of a very high order indeed, and one whom remarkable and
+rapid success at the Bar has not hampered, as is too often the case, in
+the larger and less technical field of politics."
+
+And so on. Beatrice put the paper down with a smile of triumph.
+Geoffrey's success was splendid and unquestioned. Nothing could stop
+him now. During all the long journey she pleased her imagination by
+conjuring up picture after picture of that great future of his, in which
+she would have no share. And yet he would not forget her; she was sure
+of this. Her shadow would go with him from year to year, even to the
+end, and at times he might think how proud she would have been could she
+be present to record his triumphs. Alas! she did not remember that when
+all is lost which can make life beautiful, when the sun has set, and
+the spirit gone out of the day, the poor garish lights of our little
+victories can but ill atone for the glories that have been. Happiness
+and content are frail plants which can only flourish under fair
+conditions if at all. Certainly they will not thrive beneath the gloom
+and shadow of a pall, and when the heart is dead no triumphs, however
+splendid, and no rewards, however great, can compensate for an utter and
+irredeemable loss. She never guessed, poor girl, that time upon time, in
+the decades to be, Geoffrey would gladly have laid his honours down in
+payment for one year of her dear and unforgotten presence. She was too
+unselfish; she did not think that a man could thus prize a woman's
+love, and took it for an axiom that to succeed in life was his one real
+object--a thing to which so divine a gift as she had given Geoffrey is
+as nothing. It was therefore this Juggernaut of her lover's career that
+Beatrice would cast down her life, little knowing that thereby she must
+turn the worldly and temporal success, which he already held so cheap,
+to bitterness and ashes.
+
+At Chester Beatrice got out of the train and posted her letter to
+Geoffrey. She would not do so till then because it might have reached
+him too soon--before all was finished! Now it would be delivered to him
+in the House after everything had been accomplished in its order. She
+looked at the letter; it was, she thought, the last token that could
+ever pass between them on this earth. Once she pressed it to her heart,
+once she touched it with her lips, and then put it from her beyond
+recall. It was done; there was no going back now. And even as she stood
+the postman came up, whistling, and opening the box carelessly swept its
+contents into his canvas bag. Could he have known what lay among them he
+would have whistled no more that day.
+
+Beatrice continued her journey, and by three o'clock arrived safely at
+the little station next to Bryngelly. There was a fair at Coed that day,
+and many people of the peasant class got in here. Amidst the confusion
+she gave up her ticket to a small boy, who was looking the other way at
+the time, and escaped without being noticed by a soul. Indeed, things
+happened so that nobody in the neighbourhood of Bryngelly ever knew that
+Beatrice had been to London and back upon those dreadful days.
+
+Beatrice walked along the cliff, and in an hour was at the door of
+the Vicarage, from which she seemed to have been away for years. She
+unlocked it and entered. In the letter-box was a post-card from her
+father stating that he and Elizabeth had changed their plans and would
+not be back till the train which arrived at half-past eight on the
+following morning. So much the better, she thought. Then she disarranged
+the clothes upon her bed to make it seem as though it had been slept it,
+lit the kitchen fire, and put the kettle on to boil, and as soon as it
+was ready she took some food. She wanted all her nerve, and that could
+not be kept up without food.
+
+Shortly after this the girl Betty returned, and went about her duties in
+the house quite unconscious that Beatrice had been away from it for
+the whole night. Her sister was much better, she said, in answer to
+Beatrice's inquiries.
+
+When she had eaten what she could--it was not much--Beatrice went to her
+room, undressed herself, bathed, and put on clean, fresh things. Then
+she unbound her lovely hair, and did it up in a coronet upon her head.
+It was a fashion that she did not often adopt, because it took too much
+time, but on this day, of all days, she had a strange fancy to look
+her best. Also her hair had been done like this on the afternoon when
+Geoffrey first met her. Next she put on the grey dress once more which
+she had worn on her journey to London, and taking the silver Roman ring
+that Geoffrey had given her from the string by which she wore it about
+her neck, placed it on the third finger of her left hand.
+
+All this being done, Beatrice visited the kitchen and ordered the
+supper. She went further in her innocent cunning. Betty asked her what
+she would like for breakfast on the following morning, and she told her
+to cook some bacon, and to be careful how she cut it, as she did not
+like thick bacon. Then, after one long last look at the Vicarage, she
+started for the lodging of the head teacher of the school, and, having
+found her, inquired as to the day's work.
+
+Further, Beatrice told her assistant that she had determined to alter
+the course of certain lessons in the school. The Wednesday arithmetic
+class had hitherto been taken before the grammar class. On the morrow
+she had determined to change this; she would take the grammar class
+at ten and the arithmetic class at eleven, and gave her reasons for so
+doing. The teacher assented, and Beatrice shook hands with her and bade
+her good-night. She would have wished to say how much she felt indebted
+to her for her help in the school, but did not like to do so, fearing
+lest, in the light of pending events, the remark might be viewed with
+suspicion.
+
+Poor Beatrice, these were the only lies she ever told!
+
+She left the teacher's lodgings, and was about to go down to the beach
+and sit there till it was time, when she was met by the father of the
+crazed child, Jane Llewellyn.
+
+"Oh, Miss Beatrice," he said, "I have been looking for you everywhere.
+We are in sad trouble, miss. Poor Jane is in a raving fit, and talking
+about hell and that, and the doctor says she's dying. Can you come,
+miss, and see if you can do anything to quiet her? It's a matter of life
+and death, the doctor says, miss."
+
+Beatrice smiled sadly; matters of life and death were in the air. "I
+will come," she said, "but I shall not be able to stay long."
+
+How could she better spend her last hour?
+
+She accompanied the man to his cottage. The child, dressed only in a
+night-shirt, was raving furiously, and evidently in the last stage of
+exhaustion, nor could the doctor or her mother do anything to quiet her.
+
+"Don't you see," she screamed, pointing to the wall, "there's the Devil
+waiting for me? And, oh, there's the mouth of hell where the minister
+said I should go! Oh, hold me, hold me, hold me!"
+
+Beatrice walked up to her, took the thin little hands in hers, and
+looked her fixedly in the eyes.
+
+"Jane," she said. "Jane, don't you know me?"
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," she said, "I know the lesson; I will say it
+presently."
+
+Beatrice took her in her arms, and sat down on the bed. Quieter and
+quieter grew the child till suddenly an awful change passed over her
+face.
+
+"She is dying," whispered the doctor.
+
+"Hold me close, hold me close!" said the child, whose senses returned
+before the last eclipse. "Oh, Miss Granger, I shan't go to hell, shall
+I? I am afraid of hell."
+
+"No, love, no; you will go to heaven."
+
+Jane lay still awhile. Then seeing the pale lips move, Beatrice put her
+ear to the child's mouth.
+
+"Will you come with me?" she murmured; "I am afraid to go alone."
+
+And Beatrice, her great grey eyes fixed steadily on the closing eyes
+beneath, whispered back so that no other soul could hear except the
+dying child:
+
+"Yes, I will come presently." But Jane heard and understood.
+
+"Promise," said the child.
+
+"Yes, I promise," answered Beatrice in the same inaudible whisper.
+"Sleep, dear, sleep; I will join you very soon."
+
+And the child looked up, shivered, smiled--and slept.
+
+Beatrice gave it back to the weeping parents and went her way. "What a
+splendid creature," said the doctor to himself as he looked after her.
+"She has eyes like Fate, and the face of Motherhood Incarnate. A great
+woman, if ever I saw one, but different from other women."
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice made her way to old Edward's boat-shed. As she
+expected, there was nobody there, and nobody on the beach. Old Edward
+and his son were at tea, with the rest of Bryngelly. They would come
+back after dark and lock up the boat-house.
+
+She looked at the sea. There were no waves, but the breeze freshened
+every minute, and there was a long slow swell upon the water. The
+rollers would be running beyond the shelter of Rumball Point, five miles
+away.
+
+The tide was high; it mounted to within ten yards of the end of the
+boat-house. She opened the door, and dragged out her canoe, closing
+the door again after her. The craft was light, and she was strong for a
+woman. Close to the boat-house one of the timber breakwaters, which
+are common at sea-side places, ran down into the water. She dragged the
+canoe to its side, and then pushed it down the beach till its bow was
+afloat. Next, mounting on the breakwater, she caught hold of the little
+chain in the bow, and walking along the timber baulks, pulled with all
+her force till the canoe was quite afloat. On she went, dragging it
+after her, till the waves washing over the breakwater wetted her shoes.
+
+Then she brought the canoe quite close, and, watching her opportunity,
+stepped into it, nearly falling into the water as she did so. But she
+recovered her balance, and sat down. In another minute she was paddling
+out to sea with all her strength.
+
+For twenty minutes or more she paddled unceasingly. Then she rested
+awhile, only keeping the canoe head on to the sea, which, without being
+rough, was running more and more freshly. There, some miles away, was
+the dark mass of Rumball Point. She must be off it before the night
+closed in. There would be sea enough there; no such craft as hers could
+live in it for five minutes, and the tide was on the turn. Anything
+sinking in those waters would be carried far away, and never come back
+to the shore of Wales.
+
+She turned her head and looked at Bryngelly, and the long familiar
+stretch of cliff. How fair it seemed, bathed in the quiet lights of
+summer afternoon. Oh! was there any afternoon where the child had gone,
+and where she was following fast?--or was it all night, black, eternal
+night, unbroken by the dram of dear remembered things?
+
+There were the Dog Rocks, where she had stood on that misty autumn
+day, and seen the vision of her coffined mother's face. Surely it was a
+presage of her fate. There beyond was the Bell Rock, where in that same
+hour Geoffrey and she had met, and behind it was the Amphitheatre, where
+they had told their love. Hark! what was that sound pealing faintly at
+intervals across the deep? It was the great ship's bell that, stirred
+from time to time by the wash of the high tide, solemnly tolled her
+passing soul.
+
+She paddled on; the sound of that death-knell shook her nerves, and made
+her feel faint and weak. Oh, it would have been easier had she been as
+she was a year ago, before she learned to love, and hand in hand had
+seen faith and hope re-arise from the depths of her stirred soul. Then
+being but a heathen, she could have met her end with all a heathen's
+strength, knowing what she lost, and believing, too, that she would
+find but sleep. And now it was otherwise, for in her heart she did not
+believe that she was about utterly to perish. What, could the body live
+on in a thousand forms, changed indeed but indestructible and immortal,
+while the spiritual part, with all its hopes and loves and fears, melted
+into nothingness? It could not be; surely on some new shore she should
+once again greet her love. And if it was not, how would they meet her
+in that under world, coming self-murdered, her life-blood on her hands?
+Would her mother turn away from her? and the little brother, whom she
+had loved, would he reject her? And what Voice of Doom might strike her
+into everlasting hopelessness?
+
+But, be the sin what it might, yet would she sin it for the sake of
+Geoffrey; ay, even if she must reap a harvest of eternal woe. She bent
+her head and prayed. "Oh, Power, that art above, from whom I come, to
+whom I go, have mercy on me! Oh, Spirit, if indeed thy name is Love,
+weigh my love in thy balance, and let it lift the scale of sin. Oh, God
+of Sacrifice, be not wroth at my deed of sacrifice and give me pardon,
+give me life and peace, that in a time to come I may win the sight of
+him for whom I die."
+
+A somewhat heathenish prayer indeed, and far too full of human passion
+for one about to leave the human shores. But, then--well, it was
+Beatrice who prayed--Beatrice, who could realise no heaven beyond the
+limits of her passion, who still thought more of her love than of saving
+her own soul alive. Perhaps it found a home--perhaps, like her who
+prayed it, it was lost upon the pitiless deep.
+
+Then Beatrice prayed no more. Short was her time. See, there sank the
+sun in glory; and there the great rollers swept along past the sullen
+headland, where the undertow met wind and tide. She would think no more
+of self; it was, it seemed to her, so small, this mendicant calling on
+the Unseen, not for others, but for self: aid for self, well-being for
+self, salvation for self--this doing of good that good might come to
+self. She had made her prayer, and if she prayed again it should be for
+Geoffrey, that he might prosper and be happy--that he might forgive the
+trouble her love had brought into his life. That he might forget her she
+could not pray. She had prayed her prayer and said her say, and it was
+done with. Let her be judged as it seemed good to Those who judge! Now
+she would fix her thoughts upon her love, and by its strength would she
+triumph over the bitterness of death. Her eyes flashed and her breast
+heaved: further out to sea, further yet--she would meet those rollers
+a knot or more from the point of the headland, that no record might
+remain.
+
+Was it her wrong if she loved him? She could not help it, and she was
+proud to love him. Even now, she would not undo the past. What were
+the lines that Geoffrey had read to her. They haunted her mind with a
+strange persistence--they took time to the beat of her falling paddle,
+and would not leave her:
+
+     "Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
+     Alas, my love, Love's eyes are very blind!
+     What would they have us do? Sunflowers and poppies
+     Stoop to the wind----"[*]
+
+     [*] Oliver Madox Brown.
+
+Yes, yes, Love's eyes are very blind, but in their blindness there was
+more light than in all other earthly things. Oh, she could not live for
+him, and with him--it was denied to her--but she still could die for
+him, her darling, her darling!
+
+
+
+"Geoffrey, hear me--I die for you; accept my sacrifice, and forget me
+not." So!--she is in the rollers--how solemn they are with their hoary
+heads of foam, as one by one they move down upon her.
+
+The first! it towers high, but the canoe rides it like a cork. Look! the
+day is dying on the distant land, but still his glory shines across the
+sea. Presently all will be finished. Here the breeze is strong; it tears
+the bonnet from her head, it unwinds the coronet of braided locks,
+and her bright hair streams out behind her. Feel how the spray stings,
+striking like a whip. No, not this wave, she rides that also; she
+will die as she has lived--fighting to the last; and once more, never
+faltering, she sets her face towards the rollers and consigns her soul
+to doom.
+
+Ah! that struck her full. Oh, see! Geoffrey's ring has slipped from her
+wet hand, falling into the bottom of the boat. Can she regain it? she
+would die with that ring upon her finger--it is her marriage-ring,
+wedding her through death to Geoffrey, upon the altar of the sea. She
+stoops! oh, what a shock of water at her breast! What was it--what was
+it?--_Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?_ She must soon
+learn now!
+
+"Geoffrey! hear me, Geoffrey!--I die, I die for you! I will wait for you
+at the foundations of the sea, on the topmost heights of heaven, in the
+lowest deeps of hell--wherever I am I will always wait for you!"
+
+It sinks--it has sunk--she is alone with God, and the cruel waters.
+The sun goes out! Look on that great white wave seething through the
+deepening gloom; hear it rushing towards her, big with fate.
+
+"Geoffrey, my darling--I will wait----"
+
+
+
+Farewell to Beatrice! The light went out of the sky and darkness
+gathered on the weltering sea. Farewell to Beatrice, and all her love
+and all her sin.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A WOMAN'S LAST WORD
+
+Geoffrey came down to breakfast about eleven o'clock on the morning of
+that day the first hours of which he had spent at Euston Station. Not
+seeing Effie, he asked Lady Honoria where she was, and was informed that
+Anne, the French _bonne_, said the child was not well and that she had
+kept her in bed to breakfast.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the matter
+with her?" asked Geoffrey.
+
+"No, not yet," answered his wife. "I have had the dressmaker here with
+my new dress for the duchess's ball to-morrow; it's lovely, but I think
+that there is a little too much of that creamy lace about it."
+
+With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He
+found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide open,
+and her little hands quite hot.
+
+"Send for the doctor at once," he said.
+
+The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her
+feet lately.
+
+"Yes, I did, two days ago. I wet my feet in a puddle in the street," she
+answered. "But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, if I held
+them to the fire, because my other boots was not clean. Oh, my head does
+ache, daddie."
+
+"Ah," said the doctor, and then covering the child up, took Geoffrey
+aside and told him that his daughter had a mild attack of inflammation
+of the lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked
+after and guarded from chills.
+
+Geoffrey asked if he should send for a trained nurse.
+
+"Oh, no," said the doctor. "I do not think it is necessary, at any rate
+at present. I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubtless your wife
+will keep an eye on her."
+
+So Anne was called up, and vowed that she would guard the cherished
+child like the apple of her eye. Indeed, no, the boots were not
+wet--there was a little, a very little mud on them, that was all.
+
+"Well, don't talk so much, but see that you attend to her properly,"
+said Geoffrey, feeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust Anne.
+However, he thought he would see himself that there was no neglect. When
+she heard what was the matter, Lady Honoria was much put out.
+
+"Really," she said, "children are the most vexatious creatures in
+the world. The idea of her getting inflammation of the lungs in this
+unprovoked fashion. The end of it will be that I shall not be able to go
+to the duchess's ball to-morrow night, and she was so kind about it, she
+made quite a point of my coming. Besides I have bought that lovely
+new dress on purpose. I should never have dreamed of going to so much
+expense for anything else."
+
+"Don't trouble yourself," said Geoffrey. "The House does not sit
+to-morrow; I will look after her. Unless Effie dies in the interval, you
+will certainly be able to go to the ball."
+
+"Dies--what nonsense! The doctor says that it is a very slight attack.
+Why should she die?"
+
+"I am sure I hope that there is no fear of anything of the sort,
+Honoria. Only she must be properly looked after. I do not trust this
+woman Anne. I have half a mind to get in a trained nurse after all."
+
+"Well, if you do, she will have to sleep out of the house, that's
+all. Amelia (Lady Garsington) is coming up to-night, and I must have
+somewhere to put her maid, and there is no room for another bed in
+Effie's room."
+
+"Oh, very well, very well," said Geoffrey, "I daresay that it will be
+all right, but if Effie gets any worse, you will please understand that
+room must be made."
+
+But Effie did not get worse. She remained much about the same. Geoffrey
+sat at home all day and employed himself in reading briefs; fortunately
+he had not to go to court. About six o'clock he went down to the House,
+and having dined very simply and quietly, took his seat and listened
+to some dreary talk, which was being carried on for the benefit of the
+reporters, about the adoption of the Welsh language in the law courts of
+Wales.
+
+Suddenly he became aware of a most extraordinary sense of oppression.
+An indefinite dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with
+terrible apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knock at
+the portals of his sense, a horror which he could not grasp. His mind
+was confused, but little by little it grew clearer, and he began to
+understand that a danger threatened Beatrice, that she was in great
+peril. He was sure of it. Her agonised dying cries reached him where he
+was, though in no form which he could understand; once more her thought
+beat on his thought--once more and for the last time her spirit spoke to
+his.
+
+Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his
+hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he
+heard the dreary orator and saw the members slipping away to dinner. The
+conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had been.
+Nor was this strange! For the link was broken. Beatrice was _dead_. She
+had passed into the domains of impenetrable silence.
+
+
+
+Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in his
+hand. It was addressed in Beatrice's handwriting and bore the Chester
+postmark. A chill fear seized him. What did it contain? He hurried with
+it into a private room and opened it. It was dated from Bryngelly on the
+previous Sunday and had several inclosures.
+
+"My dearest Geoffrey," it began, "I have never before addressed you thus
+on paper, nor should I do so now, knowing to what risks such written
+words might put you, were it not that occasions may arise (as in this
+case) which seem to justify the risk. For when all things are ended
+between a man and a woman who are to each other what we have been, then
+it is well that the one who goes should speak plainly before speech
+becomes impossible, if only that the one who is left should not
+misunderstand that which has been done.
+
+"Geoffrey, it is probable--it is almost certain--that before your eyes
+read these words I shall be where in the body they can never see me
+more. I write to you from the brink of the grave; when you read it, it
+will have closed over me.
+
+"Geoffrey, I shall be dead.
+
+"I received your dear letter (it is destroyed now) in which you
+expressed a wish that I should come away with you to some other country,
+and I answered it in eight brief words. I dared not trust myself to
+write more, nor had I any time. How could you think that I should ever
+accept such an offer for my own sake, when to do so would have been to
+ruin you? But first I will tell you all that has happened here." (Here
+followed a long and exact description of those events with which we
+are already acquainted, including the denunciation of Beatrice by her
+sister, the threats of Owen Davies as regards Geoffrey himself, and the
+measures which she had adopted to gain time.)
+
+"Further," the letter continued, "I inclose you your wife's letter to
+me. And here I wish to state that I have not one word to say against
+Lady Honoria or her letter. I think that she was perfectly justified in
+writing as she did, for after all, dear Geoffrey, you are her husband,
+and in loving each other we have offended against her. She tells me
+truly that it is my duty to make all further communications between us
+impossible. There is only one way to do this, and I take it.
+
+"And now I have spoken enough about myself, nor do I wish to enter into
+details that could only give you pain. There will be no scandal, dear,
+and if any word should be raised against you after I am gone, I have
+provided an answer in the second letter which I have inclosed. You can
+print it if necessary; it will be a sufficient reply to any talk. Nobody
+after reading it can believe that you were in any way connected with the
+accident which will happen. Dear, one word more--still about myself, you
+see! Do not blame yourself in this matter, for you are not to blame; of
+my own free will I do it, because in the extremity of the circumstances
+I think it best that one should go and the other be saved, rather than
+that both should be involved in a common ruin.
+
+"Dear, do you remember how in that strange vision of mine, I dreamed
+that you came and touched me on the breast and showed me light? So it
+has come to pass, for you have given me love--that is light; and now in
+death I shall seek for wisdom. And this being fulfilled, shall not the
+rest be fulfilled in its season? Shall I not sit in those cloudy halls
+till I see you come to seek me, the word of wisdom on your lips? And
+since I cannot have you to myself, and be all in all to you, why I am
+glad to go. For here on the world is neither rest nor happiness; as in
+my dream, too often does 'Hope seem to rend her starry robes.'
+
+"I am glad to go from such a world, in which but one happy thing has
+found me--the blessing of your love. I am worn out with the weariness
+and struggle, and now that I have lost you I long for rest. I do not
+know if I sin in what I do; if so, may I be forgiven. If forgiveness is
+impossible, so be it! You will forgive me, Geoffrey, and you will always
+love me, however wicked I may be; even if, at the last, you go where I
+am not, you will remember and love the erring woman to whom, being
+so little, you still were all in all. We are not married, Geoffrey,
+according to the customs of the world, but two short days hence I shall
+celebrate a service that is greater and more solemn than any of the
+earth. For Death will be the Priest and that oath which I shall take
+will be to all eternity. Who can prophesy of that whereof man has no
+sure knowledge? Yet I do believe that in a time to come we shall look
+again into each other's eyes, and kiss each other's lips, and be one for
+evermore. If this is so, it is worth while to have lived and died; if
+not, then, Geoffrey, farewell!
+
+"If I may I will always be near you. Listen to the night wind and you
+shall hear my voice; look on the stars, you will see my eyes; and my
+love shall be as the air you breathe. And when at last the end comes,
+remember me, for if I live at all I shall be about you then. What have
+I more to say? So much, my dear, that words cannot convey it. Let it be
+untold; but whenever you hear or read that which is beautiful or tender,
+think 'this is what Beatrice would have said to me and could not!'
+
+"You will be a great man, dear, the foremost or one of the foremost of
+your age. You have already promised me to persevere to this end: I will
+not ask you to promise afresh. Do not be content to accept the world as
+women must. Great men do not accept the world; they reform it--and you
+are of their number. And when you are great, Geoffrey, you will use your
+power, not for self-interest, but to large and worthy ends; you will
+always strive to help the poor, to break down oppression from those who
+have to bar it, and to advance the honour of your country. You will
+do all this from your own heart and not because I ask it of you, but
+remember that your fame will be my best monument--though none shall ever
+know the grave it covers.
+
+"Farewell, farewell, farewell! Oh, Geoffrey, my darling, to whom I have
+never been a wife, to whom I am more than any wife--do not forget me in
+the long years which are to come. Remember me when others forsake you.
+Do not forget me when others flatter you and try to win your love, for
+none can be to you what I have been--none can ever love you more than
+that lost Beatrice who writes these heavy words to-night, and who will
+pass away blessing you with her last breath, to await you, if she may,
+in the land to which your feet also draw daily on."
+
+Then came a tear-stained postscript in pencil dated from Paddington
+Station on that very morning.
+
+"I journeyed to London to see you, Geoffrey. I could not die without
+looking on your face once more. I was in the gallery of the House and
+heard your great speech. Your friend found me a place. Afterwards I
+touched your coat as you passed by the pillar of the gateway. Then I ran
+away because I saw your friend turn and look at me. I shall kiss this
+letter--just here before I close it--kiss it there too--it is our last
+cold embrace. Before the end I shall put on the ring you gave me--on my
+hand, I mean. I have always worn it upon my breast. When I touched you
+as you passed through the gateway I thought that I should have broken
+down and called to you--but I found strength not to do so. My heart is
+breaking and my eyes are blind with tears; I can write no more; I
+have no more to say. Now once again good-bye. _Ave atque vale_--oh, my
+love!--B."
+
+The second letter was a dummy. That is to say it purported to be such an
+epistle as any young lady might have written to a gentleman friend.
+It began, "Dear Mr. Bingham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Beatrice
+Granger," was filled with chit-chat, and expressed hopes that he would
+be able to come down to Bryngelly again later in the summer, when they
+would go canoeing.
+
+It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if Geoffrey was accused by Owen
+Davies or anybody else of being concerned with her mysterious end, the
+production of such a frank epistle written two days previously would
+demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she was full of
+precautions!
+
+
+
+Let him who may imagine the effect produced upon Geoffrey by this
+heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face
+when he had finished reading it she would never have committed suicide.
+In a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole truth sank
+into his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, of unavailing woe
+and hopelessness swept across his soul, that for a moment he thought his
+vital forces must give way beneath it, and that he should die, as indeed
+in this dark hour he would have rejoiced to do. Oh, how pitiful it
+was--how pitiful and how awful! To think of this love, so passionately
+pure, wasted on his own unworthiness. To think of this divine woman
+going down to lonely death for him--a strong man; to picture her
+crouching behind that gateway pillar and touching him as he passed,
+while he, the thrice accursed fool, knew nothing till too late; to
+know that he had gone to Euston and not to Paddington; to remember the
+matchless strength and beauty of the love which he had lost, and that
+face which he should never see again! Surely his heart would break. No
+man could bear it!
+
+And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was already
+dead! Oh, he would kill Owen Davies--yes, and Elizabeth too, were it not
+that she was a woman; and as for Honoria he had done with her. Scandal,
+what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there should be a
+scandal indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this reptile, who
+did not hesitate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the fulfilling of
+his lust--yes, and then drag him to the Continent and kill him there.
+Only vengeance was left to him!
+
+Stop, he must not give way--perhaps she was not dead--perhaps that
+horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm was but a
+dream. Could he telegraph? No, it was too late; the office at Bryngelly
+would be closed--it was past eight now. But he could go. There was a
+train leaving a little after nine--he should be there by half-past six
+to-morrow. And Effie was ill--well, surely they could look after her for
+twenty-four hours; she was in no danger, and he must go--he could not
+bear this torturing suspense. Great God! how had she done the deed!
+
+Geoffrey snatched a sheet of paper and tried to write. He could not, his
+hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshment room
+swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit took
+effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a sheet of
+paper:
+
+"I have been called away upon important business and shall probably not
+be back till Thursday morning. See that Effie is properly attended
+to. If I am not back you must not go to the duchess's ball.--Geoffrey
+Bingham."
+
+Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoria and dispatched a
+commissionaire with it. This done, he called a cab and bade the cabman
+drive to Euston as fast as his horse could go.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+AVE ATQUE VALE
+
+That frightful journey--no nightmare was ever half so awful! But it came
+to an end at last--there was the Bryngelly Station. Geoffrey sprang from
+the train, and gave his ticket to the porter, glancing in his face as he
+did so. Surely if there had been a tragedy the man would know of it, and
+show signs of half-joyous emotion as is the fashion of such people when
+something awful and mysterious has happened to somebody else. But
+he showed no such symptoms, and a glimmer of hope found its way into
+Geoffrey's tormented breast.
+
+He left the station and walked rapidly towards the Vicarage. Those who
+know what a pitch of horror suspense can reach may imagine his feelings
+as he did so. But it was soon to be put an end to now. As he drew
+near the Vicarage gate he met the fat Welsh servant girl Betty running
+towards him. Then hope left Geoffrey.
+
+The girl recognised him, and in her confusion did not seem in the least
+astonished to see him walking there at a quarter to seven on a summer
+morning. Indeed, even she vaguely connected Geoffrey with Beatrice in
+her mind, for she at once said in her thick English:
+
+"Oh, sir, do you know where Miss Beatrice is?"
+
+"No," he answered, catching at a railing for support. "Why do you ask? I
+have not seen her for weeks."
+
+Then the girl plunged into a long story. Mr. Granger and Miss Granger
+were away from home, and would not be back for another two hours. Miss
+Beatrice had gone out yesterday afternoon, and had not come back to tea.
+She, Betty, had not thought much of it, believing that she had stopped
+to spend the evening somewhere, and, being very tired, had gone to bed
+about eight, leaving the door unlocked. This morning, when she woke, it
+was to find that Miss Beatrice had not slept in the house that night,
+and she came out to see if she could find her.
+
+"Where was she going when she went out?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+She did not know, but she thought that Miss Beatrice was going out in
+the canoe. Leastways she had put on her tennis shoes, which she always
+wore when she went out boating.
+
+Geoffrey understood it all now. "Come to the boat-house," he said.
+
+They went down to the beach, where as yet none were about except a few
+working people. Near the boat-house Geoffrey met old Edward walking
+along with a key in his hand.
+
+"Lord, sir!" he said. "You here, sir! and in that there queer hat, too.
+What is it, sir?"
+
+"Did Miss Beatrice go out in her canoe yesterday evening, Edward?"
+Geoffrey asked hoarsely.
+
+"No, sir; not as I know on. My boy locked up the boat-house last
+night, and I suppose he looked in it first. What! You don't mean to
+say----Stop; we'll soon know. Oh, Goad! the canoe's gone!"
+
+There was a silence, an awful silence. Old Edward broke it.
+
+"She's drowned, sir--that's what she is--drowned at last; and she the
+finest woman in Wales. I knewed she would be one day, poor dear! and
+she the beauty that she was; and all along of that damned unlucky little
+craft. Goad help her! She's drowned, I say----"
+
+Betty burst out into loud weeping at his words.
+
+"Stop that noise, girl," said Geoffrey, turning his pale face towards
+her. "Go back to the Vicarage, and if Mr. Granger comes home before I
+get back, tell him what we fear. Edward, send some men to search the
+shore towards Coed, and some more in a sailing boat. I will walk towards
+the Bell Rock--you can follow me."
+
+He started and swiftly tramped along the sands, searching the sea with
+his eye. On he walked sullenly, desperately striving to hope against
+hope. On, past the Dog Rocks, round the long curve of beach till he came
+to the Amphitheatre. The tide was high again; he could barely pass the
+projecting point. He was round it, and his heart stood still. For there,
+bottom upwards, and gently swaying to and fro as the spent waves rocked
+it, was Beatrice's canoe.
+
+Sadly, hopelessly, heavily, Geoffrey waded knee deep into the water, and
+catching the bow of the canoe, dragged it ashore. There was, or appeared
+to be, nothing in it; of course he could not expect anything else. Its
+occupant had sunk and been carried out to sea by the ebb, whereas the
+canoe had drifted back to shore with the morning tide.
+
+He reared it upon its end to let the water drain out of it, and from the
+hollow of the bow arch something came rolling down, something bright and
+heavy, followed by a brown object. Hastily he lowered the canoe again,
+and picked up the bright trinket. It was his own ring come back to
+him--the Roman ring he had given Beatrice, and which she told him in the
+letter she would wear in her hour of death. He touched it with his lips
+and placed it back upon his hand, this token from the beloved dead,
+vowing that it should never leave his hand in life, and that after death
+it should be buried on him. And so it will be, perhaps to be dug up
+again thousands of years hence, and once more to play a part in the
+romance of unborn ages.
+
+_Ave atque vale_--that was the inscription rudely cut within its
+round. Greeting and farewell--her own last words to him. Oh, Beatrice,
+Beatrice! to you also _ave atque vale_. You could not have sent a fitter
+message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all? Within the circle
+of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life: here were the
+beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and fear, of Joy and
+Sorrow.
+
+Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
+earthward shall cry "_Greeting_," in another tongue, and Death,
+descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
+shall answer "_Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!_"
+
+And what was this other relic? He lifted it--it was Beatrice's tennis
+shoe, washed from her foot--Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied it.
+
+Then Geoffrey broke down--it was too much. He threw himself upon the
+great rock and sobbed--that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
+had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions of
+emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He could not
+have borne it for long.
+
+He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old Edward
+and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up the
+little shoe.
+
+"Ah," said the old man, "as I thought. Goad help her! She's gone; she'll
+never come ashore no more, she won't. She's twenty miles away by now,
+she is, breast up, with the gulls a-screaming over her. It's that there
+damned canoe, that's what it is. I wish to Goad I had broke it up long
+ago. I'd rather have built her a boat for nothing, I would. Damn the
+unlucky craft!" screamed the old man at the top of his voice, and
+turning his head to hide the tears that were streaming down his rugged
+face. "And her that I nursed and pulled out of the waters once all but
+dead. Damn it, I say! There, take that, you Sea Witch, you!" and he
+picked up a great boulder and crashed it through the bottom of the
+canoe with all his strength. "You shan't never drown no more. But it has
+brought you good luck, it has, sir; you'll be a fortunit man all your
+life now. It has brought you the _Drowned One's shoe_."
+
+"Don't break it any more," said Geoffrey. "She used to value it. You had
+better bring it along between you--it may be wanted. I am going to the
+Vicarage."
+
+He walked back. Mr. Granger and Elizabeth had not yet arrived, but they
+were expected every minute. He went into the sitting-room. It was full
+of memories and tokens of Beatrice. There lay a novel which he had given
+her, and there was yesterday's paper that she had brought from town, the
+_Standard_, with his speech in it.
+
+Geoffrey covered his eyes with his hand, and thought. None knew that she
+had committed suicide except himself. If he revealed it things might be
+said of her; he did not care what was said of him, but he was jealous of
+her dead name. It might be said, for instance, that the whole tale
+was true, and that Beatrice died because she could no longer face life
+without being put to an open shame. Yes, he had better hold his tongue
+as to how and why she died. She was dead--nothing could bring her back.
+But how then should he account for his presence there? Easily enough.
+He would say frankly that he came because Beatrice had written to him
+of the charges made against her and the threats against himself--came
+to find her dead. And on that point he would still have a word with Owen
+Davies and Elizabeth.
+
+Scarcely had he made up his mind when Elizabeth and her father entered.
+Clearly from their faces they had as yet heard nothing.
+
+Geoffrey rose, and Elizabeth caught sight of him standing with glowing
+eyes and a face like that of Death himself. She recoiled in alarm.
+
+"What brings you here, Mr. Bingham?" she said, in her hard voice.
+
+"Cannot you guess, Miss Granger?" he said sternly. "A few days back you
+made certain charges against your sister and myself in the presence of
+your father and Mr. Owen Davies. These charges have been communicated to
+me, and I have come to answer them and to demand satisfaction for them."
+
+Mr. Granger fidgeted nervously and looked as though he would like to
+escape, but Elizabeth, with characteristic courage, shut the door and
+faced the storm.
+
+"Yes, I did make those charges, Mr. Bingham," she said, "and they are
+true charges. But stop, we had better send for Beatrice first."
+
+"You may send, but you will not find her."
+
+"What do you mean?--what do you mean?" asked her father apprehensively.
+
+"It means that he has hidden her away, I suppose," said Elizabeth with a
+sneer.
+
+"I mean, Mr. Granger, that your daughter Beatrice is _dead_."
+
+For once startled out of her self-command, Elizabeth gave a little cry,
+while her father staggered back against the wall.
+
+"Dead! dead! What do you mean? How did she die?" he asked.
+
+"That is known to God and her alone," answered Geoffrey. "She went out
+last evening in her canoe. When I arrived here this morning she was
+missed for the first time. I walked along the beach and found the canoe
+and this inside of it," and he placed the sodden shoe upon the table.
+
+There was a silence. In the midst of it, Owen Davies burst into the room
+with wild eyes and dishevelled hair.
+
+"Is it true?" he cried, "tell me--it cannot be true that Beatrice is
+drowned. She cannot have been taken from me just when I was going to
+marry her. Say that it is not true!"
+
+A great fury filled Geoffrey's heart. He walked down the room and shut
+the door, a red light swimming before his eyes. Then he turned and
+gripped Owen Davies's shoulder like a vice.
+
+"You accursed blackguard--you unmanly cur!" he said; "you and that
+wicked woman," and he shook his hand at Elizabeth, "conspired together
+to bring a slur upon Beatrice. You did more: you threatened to attack
+me, to try and ruin me if she would not give herself up to you. You
+loathsome hypocrite, you tortured her and frightened her; now I am here
+to frighten _you_. You said that you would make the country ring with
+your tales. I tell you this--are you listening to me? If you dare to
+mention her name in such a sense, or if that woman dares, I will break
+every bone in your wretched body--by Heaven I will kill you!" and he
+cast Davies from him, and as he did so, struck him heavily across the
+face with the back of his hand.
+
+The man took no notice either of his words or of the deadly insult of
+the blow.
+
+"Is it true?" he screamed, "is it true that she is dead?"
+
+"Yes," said Geoffrey, following him, and bending his tall square frame
+over him, for Davies had fallen against the wall, "yes, it is true--she
+is dead--and beyond your reach for ever. Pray to God that you may not
+one day be called her murderers, all of you--you shameless cowards."
+
+Owen Davies gave one shrill cry and sank in a huddled heap upon the
+ground.
+
+"There is no God," he moaned; "God promised her to me, to be my own--you
+have killed her; you--you seduced her first and then you killed her. I
+believe you killed her. Oh, I shall go mad!"
+
+"Mad or sane," said Geoffrey, "say those words once more and I will
+stamp the life out of you where you are. You say that God promised her
+to you--promised that woman to a hound like you. Ah, be careful!"
+
+Owen Davies made no answer. Crouched there upon the ground he rocked
+himself to and fro, and moaned in the madness of his baulked desire.
+
+"This man," said Geoffrey, turning towards and pointing to Elizabeth,
+who was glaring at him like a wild cat from the corner of the room,
+"said that there is no God. I say that there is a God, and that one day,
+soon or late, vengeance will find you out--you murderess, you writer
+of anonymous letters; you who, to advance your own wicked ends whatever
+they may be, were not ashamed to try to drag your innocent sister's name
+into the dirt. I never believed in a hell till now, but there must be
+a hell for such as you, Elizabeth Granger. Go your ways; live out your
+time; but live every hour of it in terror of the vengeance that shall
+come so surely as you shall die.
+
+"Now for you, sir," he went on, addressing the trembling father. "I do
+not blame you so much, because I believe that this viper poisoned your
+mind. You might have thought that the tale was true. It is not true; it
+was a lie. Beatrice, who now is dead, came into my room in her sleep,
+and was carried from it as she came. And you, her father, allowed this
+villain and your daughter to use her distress against her; you allowed
+him to make a lever of it, with which to force her into a marriage that
+she loathed. Yes, cover up your face--you may well do so. Do your worst,
+one and all of you, but remember that this time you have to deal with a
+man who can and will strike back, not a poor friendless girl."
+
+"Before Heaven, it was not my fault, Mr. Bingham," gasped the old man.
+"I am innocent of it. That Judas-woman Elizabeth betrayed her sister
+because she wanted to marry him herself," and he pointed to the Heap
+upon the floor. "She thought that it would prejudice him against
+Beatrice, and he--he believed that she was attached to you, and tried to
+work upon her attachment."
+
+"So," said Geoffrey, "now we have it all. And you, sir, stood by and
+saw this done. You stood by thinking that you would make a profit of
+her agony. Now I will tell you what I meant to hide from you. I did love
+her. I do love her--as she loved me. I believe that between you, you
+drove her to her grave. Her blood be on your heads for ever and for
+ever!"
+
+"Oh, take me home," groaned the Heap upon the floor--"take me home,
+Elizabeth! I daren't go alone. Beatrice will haunt me. My brain goes
+round and round. Take me away, Elizabeth, and stop with me. You are not
+afraid of her, you are afraid of nothing."
+
+Elizabeth sidled up to him, keeping her fierce eyes on Geoffrey all
+the time. She was utterly cowed and terrified, but she could still look
+fierce. She took the Heap by the hand and drew him thence still moaning
+and quite crazed. She led him away to his castle and his wealth. Six
+months afterwards she came forth with him to marry him, half-witted as
+he was. A year and eight months afterwards she came out again to bury
+him, and found herself the richest widow in Wales.
+
+
+
+They went forth, leaving Geoffrey and Mr. Granger alone. The old man
+rested his head upon the table and wept bitterly.
+
+"Be merciful," he said, "do not say such words to me. I loved her,
+indeed I did, but Elizabeth was too much for me, and I am so poor. Oh,
+if you loved her also, be merciful! I do not reproach you because you
+loved her, although you had no right to love her. If you had not loved
+her, and made her love you, all this would never have happened. Why do
+you say such dreadful things to me, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"I loved her, sir," answered Geoffrey, humbly enough now that his fury
+had passed, "because being what she was all who looked on her must love
+her. There is no woman left like her in the world. But who am I that I
+should blame you? God forgive us all! I only live henceforth in the hope
+that I may one day rejoin her where she has gone."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Mr. Granger," said Geoffrey presently, "never trouble yourself about
+money. You were her father; anything you want and what I have is yours.
+Let us shake hands and say good-bye, and let us never meet again. As I
+said, God forgive us all!"
+
+"Thank you--thank you," said the old man, looking up through the white
+hair that fell about his eyes. "It is a strange world and we are all
+miserable sinners. I hope there is a better somewhere. I'm well-nigh
+tired of this, especially now that Beatrice has gone. Poor girl, she was
+a good daughter and a fine woman. Good-bye. Good-bye!"
+
+Then Geoffrey went.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+THE DUCHESS'S BALL
+
+Geoffrey reached Town a little before eleven o'clock that night--a
+haunted man--haunted for life by a vision of that face still lovely
+in death, floating alone upon the deep, and companioned only by the
+screaming mews--or perchance now sinking or sunk to an unfathomable
+grave. Well might such a vision haunt a man, the man whom alone of all
+men those cold lips had kissed, and for whose dear sake this dreadful
+thing was done.
+
+He took a cab directing the driver to go to Bolton Street and to stop
+at his club as he passed. There might be letters for him there, he
+thought--something which would distract his mind a little. As it chanced
+there was a letter, marked "private," and a telegram; both had been
+delivered that evening, the porter said, the former about an hour ago by
+hand.
+
+Idly he opened the telegram--it was from his lawyers: "Your cousin, the
+child George Bingham, is, as we have just heard, dead. Please call on us
+early to-morrow morning."
+
+He started a little, for this meant a good deal to Geoffrey. It meant a
+baronetcy and eight thousand a year, more or less. How delighted Honoria
+would be, he thought with a sad smile; the loss of that large income had
+always been a bitter pill to her, and one which she had made him swallow
+again and again. Well, there it was. Poor boy, he had always been
+ailing--an old man's child!
+
+He put the telegram in his pocket and got into the hansom again. There
+was a lamp in it and by its light he read the letter. It was from the
+Prime Minister and ran thus:
+
+"My dear Bingham,--I have not seen you since Monday to thank you for
+the magnificent speech you made on that night. Allow me to add my
+congratulations to those of everybody else. As you know, the Under
+Secretaryship of the Home Office is vacant. On behalf of my colleagues
+and myself I write to ask if you will consent to fill it for a time,
+for we do not in any way consider that the post is one commensurate with
+your abilities. It will, however, serve to give you practical experience
+of administration, and us the advantage of your great talents to an even
+larger extent than we now enjoy. For the future, it must of course take
+care of itself; but, as you know, Sir ----'s health is not all that
+could be desired, and the other day he told me that it was doubtful if
+he would be able to carry on the duties of the Attorney-Generalship for
+very much longer. In view of this contingency I venture to suggest that
+you would do well to apply for silk as soon as possible. I have spoken
+to the Lord Chancellor about it, and he says that there will be no
+difficulty, as although you have only been in active practice for so
+short a while, you have a good many years' standing as a barrister. Or
+if this prospect does not please doubtless some other opening to the
+Cabinet can be found in time. The fact is, that we cannot in our own
+interest overlook you for long."
+
+Geoffrey smiled again as he finished this letter. Who could have
+believed a year ago that he would have been to-day in a position to
+receive such an epistle from the Prime Minister of England? Ah, here was
+the luck of the Drowned One's shoe with a vengeance. And what was it all
+worth to him now?
+
+He put the letter in his pocket with the telegram and looked out. They
+were turning into Bolton Street. How was little Effie, he wondered? The
+child seemed all that was left him to care for. If anything happened to
+her--bah, he would not think of it!
+
+He was there now. "How is Miss Effie?" he asked of the servant who
+opened the door. At that moment his attention was attracted by the dim
+forms of two people, a man and a woman, who were standing not far from
+the area gate, the man with his arm round the woman's waist. Suddenly
+the woman appeared to catch sight of the cab and retired swiftly down
+the area. It crossed his mind that her figure was very like that of
+Anne, the French nurse.
+
+"Miss Effie is doing nicely, sir, I'm told," answered the man.
+
+Geoffrey breathed more freely. "Where is her ladyship?" he asked. "In
+Effie's room?"
+
+"No, sir," answered the man, "her ladyship has gone to a ball. She left
+this note for you in case you should come in."
+
+He took the note from the hall table and opened it.
+
+"Dear Geoffrey," it ran, "Effie is so much better that I have made up my
+mind to go to the duchess's ball after all. She would be so disappointed
+if I did not come, and my dress is quite _lovely_. Had your mysterious
+business anything to do with _Bryngelly_?--
+
+"Yours, Honoria."
+
+"She would go on to a ball from her mother's funeral," said Geoffrey to
+himself, as he walked up to Effie's room; "well, it is her nature and
+there's an end of it."
+
+He knocked at the door of Effie's room. There was no answer, so he
+walked in. The room was lit but empty--no, not quite! On the floor,
+clothed only in her white night-shirt, lay his little daughter, to all
+appearance dead.
+
+With something like an oath he sprang to her and lifted her. The face
+was pale and the small hands were cold, but the breast was still hot and
+fevered, and the heart beat. A glance showed him what had happened. The
+child being left alone, and feeling thirsty, had got out of bed and gone
+to the water bottle--there was the tumbler on the floor. Then weakness
+had overcome her and she had fainted--fainted upon the cold floor with
+the inflammation still on her.
+
+At that moment Anne entered the room sweetly murmuring, "Ca va bien,
+cherie?"
+
+"Help me to put the child into bed," said Geoffrey sternly. "Now ring
+the bell--ring it again.
+
+"And now, woman--go. Leave this house at once, this very night. Do you
+hear me? No, don't stop to argue. Look here! If that child dies I will
+prosecute you for manslaughter; yes, I saw you in the street," and he
+took a step towards her. Then Anne fled, and her face was seen no more
+in Bolton Street or indeed in this country.
+
+"James," said Geoffrey to the servant, "send the cook up here--she is
+a sensible woman; and do you take a hansom and drive to the doctor, and
+tell him to come here at once, and if you cannot find him go for another
+doctor. Then go to the Nurses' Home, near St. James' Station, and get a
+trained nurse--tell them one must be had from somewhere instantly."
+
+"Yes, sir. And shall I call for her ladyship at the duchess's, sir?"
+
+"No," he answered, frowning heavily, "do not disturb her ladyship. Go
+now."
+
+"That settles it," said Geoffrey, as the man went. "Whatever happens,
+Honoria and I must part. I have done with her."
+
+He had indeed, though not in the way he meant. It would have been
+well for Honoria if her husband's contempt had not prevented him from
+summoning her from her pleasure.
+
+The cook came up, and between them they brought the child back to life.
+
+She opened her eyes and smiled. "Is that you, daddy," she whispered, "or
+do I dreams?"
+
+"Yes, dear, it is I."
+
+"Where has you been, daddy--to see Auntie Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, love," he said, with a gasp.
+
+"Oh, daddy, my head do feel funny; but I don't mind now you is come
+back. You won't go away no more, will you, daddy?"
+
+"No, dear, no more."
+
+After that she began to wander a little, and finally dropped into a
+troubled sleep.
+
+Within half an hour both the doctor and the nurse arrived. The former
+listened to Geoffrey's tale and examined the child.
+
+"She may pull through it," he said, "she has got a capital constitution;
+but I'll tell you what it is--if she had lain another five minutes in
+that draught there would have been an end of her. You came in the nick
+of time. And now if I were you I should go to bed. You can do no good
+here, and you look dreadfully ill yourself."
+
+But Geoffrey shook his head. He said he would go downstairs and smoke a
+pipe. He did not want to go to bed at present; he was too tired.
+
+
+
+Meanwhile the ball went merrily. Lady Honoria never enjoyed herself
+more in her life. She revelled in the luxurious gaiety around her like
+a butterfly in the sunshine. How good it all was--the flash of diamonds,
+the odour of costly flowers, the homage of well-bred men, the envy of
+other women. Oh! it was a delightful world after all--that is when one
+did not have to exist in a flat near the Edgware Road. But Heaven be
+praised! thanks to Geoffrey's talents, there was an end of flats and
+misery. After all, he was not a bad sort of husband, though in many ways
+a perfect mystery to her. As for his little weakness for the Welsh girl,
+really, provided that there was no scandal, she did not care twopence
+about it.
+
+"Yes, I am so glad you admire it. I think it is rather a nice dress,
+but then I always say that nobody in London can make a dress like Madame
+Jules. Oh, no, Geoffrey did not choose it; he thinks of other things."
+
+"Well, I'm sure you ought to be proud of him, Lady Honoria," said the
+handsome Guardsman to whom she was talking; "they say at mess that he is
+one of the cleverest men in England. I only wish I had a fiftieth part
+of his brains."
+
+"Oh, please do not become clever, Lord Atleigh; please don't, or I
+shall really give you up. Cleverness is all very well, but it isn't
+everything, you know. Yes, I will dance if you like, but you must go
+slowly; to be quite honest, I am afraid of tearing my lace in this
+crush. Why, I declare there is Garsington, my brother, you know," and
+she pointed to a small red-haired man who was elbowing his way towards
+them. "I wonder what he wants; it is not at all in his line to come to
+balls. You know him, don't you? he is always racing horses, like you."
+
+But the Guardsman had vanished. For reasons of his own he did not wish
+to meet Garsington. Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain club.
+
+"Oh, there you are, Honoria," said her brother, "I thought that I should
+be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash. Look here, I have
+something to tell you."
+
+"Good news or bad?" said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. "If it is
+bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don't want my
+evening spoilt."
+
+"Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it's jolly good, about as
+good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think?
+that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or
+some one, you know, is----"
+
+"Not dead, not dead?" said Honoria in deep agitation.
+
+"Dead as ditch-water," replied his lordship. "I heard it at the club.
+There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they
+got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, 'Oh, he's Sir Geoffrey
+Bingham now. Old Sir Robert's heir is dead. I saw the telegram myself.'"
+
+"Oh, this is almost too good to be true," said Honoria. "Why, it means
+eight thousand a year to us."
+
+"I told you it was pretty good," said her brother. "You ought to stand
+me a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let's go and drink to the
+news. Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must screw
+myself up."
+
+Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung
+stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.
+
+"Ah, Lady Honoria," said the great Person, "I have something to say that
+will please you, I think," and he bent towards her, and spoke very low,
+then, with a little bow, passed on.
+
+"What is the old boy talking about?" asked her brother.
+
+"Why, what do you think? We are in luck's way to-night. He says that
+they are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home Office."
+
+"He'll be a bigger prig than ever now," growled Lord Garsington. "Yes,
+it is luck though; let us hope it won't turn."
+
+They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been
+dining, helped himself pretty freely to champagne. Before them was a
+silver candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little painted
+paper shade. One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to reach over
+Lord Garsington's head to put it straight.
+
+"I'll do it," said he.
+
+"No, no; let the man," said Lady Honoria. "Look! it is going to catch
+fire!"
+
+"Nonsense," he answered, rising solemnly and reaching his arm towards
+the shade. As he touched it, it caught fire; indeed, by touching it he
+caused it to catch fire. He seized hold of it, and made an effort to put
+it out, but it burnt his fingers.
+
+"Curse the thing!" he said aloud, and threw it from him. It fell flaming
+in his sister's dress among the thickest of the filmy laces; they
+caught, and instantly two wreathing snakes of fire shot up her. She
+sprang from her seat and rushed screaming down the room, an awful mass
+of flame!
+
+
+
+In ten more minutes Lady Honoria had left this world and its pleasures
+to those who still lived to taste them.
+
+
+
+An hour passed. Geoffrey still sat brooding heavily over his pipe in the
+study in Bolton Street and waiting for Honoria, when a knock came to his
+door. The servants had all gone to bed, all except the sick nurse.
+He rose and opened it himself. A little red-haired, pale-faced man
+staggered in.
+
+"Why, Garsington, is it you? What do you want at this hour?"
+
+"Screw yourself up, Bingham, I've something to tell you," he answered in
+a thick voice.
+
+"What is it? another disaster, I suppose. Is somebody else dead?"
+
+"Yes; somebody is. Honoria's dead. Burnt to death at the ball."
+
+"Great God! Honoria burnt to death. I had better go----"
+
+"I advise you not, Bingham. I wouldn't go to the hospital if I were you.
+Screw yourself up, and if you can, give me something to drink--I'm about
+done--I must screw myself up."
+
+
+
+And here we may leave this most fortunate and gifted man. Farewell to
+Geoffrey Bingham.
+
+
+
+ENVOL
+
+Thus, then, did these human atoms work out their destinies, these little
+grains of animated dust, blown hither and thither by a breath which came
+they knew not whence.
+
+If there be any malicious Principle among the Powers around us that
+deigns to find amusement in the futile vagaries of man, well might it
+laugh, and laugh again, at the great results of all this scheming,
+of all these desires, loves and hates; and if there be any pitiful
+Principle, well might it sigh over the infinite pathos of human
+helplessness. Owen Davies lost in his own passion; Geoffrey crowned with
+prosperity and haunted by undying sorrow; Honoria perishing wretchedly
+in her hour of satisfied ambition; Beatrice sacrificing herself in love
+and blindness, and thereby casting out her joy.
+
+Oh, if she had been content to humbly trust in the Providence above her;
+if she had but left that deed undared for one short week!
+
+But Geoffrey still lived, and the child recovered, after hanging for
+a while between life and death, and was left to comfort him. May she
+survive to be a happy wife and mother, living under conditions more
+favourable to her well-being than those which trampled out the life of
+that mistaken woman, the ill-starred, great-souled Beatrice, and broke
+her father's heart.
+
+
+
+Say--what are we? We are but arrows winged with fears and shot from
+darkness into darkness; we are blind leaders of the blind, aimless
+beaters of this wintry air; lost travellers by many stony paths ending
+in one end. Tell us, you, who have outworn the common tragedy and passed
+the narrow way, what lies beyond its gate? You are dumb, or we cannot
+hear you speak.
+
+
+
+But Beatrice knows to-day!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
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+Author:  H. Rider Haggard
+
+Title:  Beatrice
+
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+**The Project Gutenberg Etext of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard**
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+Etext prepared by John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz
+and Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com
+
+
+
+
+
+BEATRICE
+
+by H. Rider Haggard
+
+
+
+
+First Published in 1893.
+
+
+
+
+                                  TO
+
+                               BEATRICE
+
+
+
+         "Oh, kind is Death that Life's long trouble closes,
+          Yet at Death's coming Life shrinks back affright;
+          It sees the dark hand,--not that it encloses
+              A cup of light.
+
+          So oft the Spirit seeing Love draw nigh
+          As 'neath the shadow of destruction, quakes,
+          For Self, dark tyrant of the Soul, must die,
+              When Love awakes.
+
+          Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,--
+          Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!"
+
+                              Rückert. Translated by F. W. B.
+
+
+
+
+
+                               BEATRICE
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER I
+
+                            A MIST WRAITH
+
+The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy
+weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost
+in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It
+seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide.
+The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon
+the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown
+weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took
+their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay
+like a woman's hair upon the green depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was
+growing dense and soft upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from
+the west, it simply grew like the twilight, making the silence yet
+more silent and blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave
+up studying the seaweed and watched the gathering of these fleecy
+hosts.
+
+"What a curious evening," she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low
+full voice. "I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that
+is seven years ago. I've grown since then, grown every way," and she
+laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet
+water.
+
+She could not have looked at anything more charming, for it would have
+been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as on
+this her twenty-second birthday, she stood and gazed into that misty
+sea.
+
+Of rather more than middle height, and modelled like a statue,
+strength and health seemed to radiate from her form. But it was her
+face with the stamp of intellect and power shadowing its woman's
+loveliness that must have made her remarkable among women even more
+beautiful than herself. There are many girls who have rich brown hair,
+like some autumn leaf here and there just yellowing into gold, girls
+whose deep grey eyes can grow tender as a dove's, or flash like the
+stirred waters of a northern sea, and whose bloom can bear comparison
+with the wilding rose. But few can show a face like that which upon
+this day first dawned on Geoffrey Bingham to his sorrow and his hope.
+It was strong and pure and sweet as the keen sea breath, and looking
+on it one must know that beneath this fair cloak lay a wit as fair.
+And yet it was all womanly; here was not the hard sexless stamp of the
+"cultured" female. She who owned it was capable of many things. She
+could love and she could suffer, and if need be, she could dare or
+die. It was to be read upon that lovely brow and face, and in the
+depths of those grey eyes--that is, by those to whom the book of
+character is open, and who wish to study it.
+
+But Beatrice was not thinking of her loveliness as she gazed into the
+water. She knew that she was beautiful of course; her beauty was too
+obvious to be overlooked, and besides it had been brought home to her
+in several more or less disagreeable ways.
+
+"Seven years," she was thinking, "since the night of the 'death fog;'
+that was what old Edward called it, and so it was. I was only so high
+then," and following her thoughts she touched herself upon the breast.
+"And I was happy too in my own way. Why can't one always be fifteen,
+and believe everything one is told?" and she sighed. "Seven years and
+nothing done yet. Work, work, and nothing coming out of the work, and
+everything fading away. I think that life is very dreary when one has
+lost everything, and found nothing, and loves nobody. I wonder what it
+will be like in another seven years."
+
+She covered her eyes with her hands, and then taking them away, once
+more looked at the water. Such light as struggled through the fog was
+behind her, and the mist was thickening. At first she had some
+difficulty in tracing her own likeness upon the glassy surface, but
+gradually she marked its outline. It stretched away from her, and its
+appearance was as though she herself were lying on her back in the
+water wrapped about with the fleecy mist. "How curious it seems," she
+thought; "what is it that reflection reminds me of with the white all
+round it?"
+
+Next instant she gave a little cry and turned sharply away. She knew
+now. It recalled her mother as she had last seen her seven years ago.
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II
+
+                           AT THE BELL ROCK
+
+A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and
+further up the coast-line, a second group of rocks, known from their
+colour as the Red Rocks, or sometimes, for another reason, as the Bell
+Rocks, juts out between half and three-quarters of a mile into the
+waters of the Welsh Bay that lies behind Rumball Point. At low tide
+these rocks are bare, so that a man may walk or wade to their
+extremity, but when the flood is full only one or two of the very
+largest can from time to time be seen projecting their weed-wreathed
+heads through the wash of the shore-bound waves. In certain sets of
+the wind and tide this is a terrible and most dangerous spot in rough
+weather, as more than one vessel have learnt to their cost. So long
+ago as 1780 a three-decker man-of-war went ashore there in a furious
+winter gale, and, with one exception, every living soul on board of
+her, to the number of seven hundred, was drowned. The one exception
+was a man in irons, who came safely and serenely ashore seated upon a
+piece of wreckage. Nobody ever knew how the shipwreck happened, least
+of all the survivor in irons, but the tradition of the terror of the
+scene yet lives in the district, and the spot where the bones of the
+drowned men still peep grimly through the sand is not unnaturally
+supposed to be haunted. Ever since this catastrophe a large bell (it
+was originally the bell of the ill-fated vessel itself, and still
+bears her name, "H.M.S. Thunder," stamped upon its metal) has been
+fixed upon the highest rock, and in times of storm and at high tide
+sends its solemn note of warning booming across the deep.
+
+But the bell was quiet now, and just beneath it, in the shadow of the
+rock whereon it was placed, a man half hidden in seaweed, with which
+he appeared to have purposely covered himself, was seated upon a piece
+of wreck. In appearance he was a very fine man, big-shouldered and
+broad limbed, and his age might have been thirty-five or a little
+more. Of his frame, however, what between the mist and the
+unpleasantly damp seaweed with which he was wreathed, not much was to
+be seen. But such light as there was fell upon his face as he peered
+eagerly over and round the rock, and glinted down the barrels of the
+double ten-bore gun which he held across his knee. It was a striking
+countenance, with its brownish eyes, dark peaked beard and strong
+features, very powerful and very able. And yet there was a certain
+softness in the face, which hovered round the region of the mouth like
+light at the edge of a dark cloud, hinting at gentle sunshine. But
+little of this was visible now. Geoffrey Bingham, barrister-at-law of
+the Inner Temple, M.A., was engaged with a very serious occupation. He
+was trying to shoot curlew as they passed over his hiding-place on
+their way to the mud banks where they feed further along the coast.
+
+Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of
+man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may
+wait for an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an
+oyster-catcher. Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call
+of curlew on the wing. He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but
+nothing can he see. At last, seventy yards or more to the right, he
+catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and, like a flash, they
+are gone. Again a call--the curlew are flighting. He looks and looks,
+in his excitement struggling to his feet and raising his head
+incautiously far above the sheltering rock. There they come, a great
+flock of thirty or more, bearing straight down on him, a hundred yards
+off--eighty--sixty--now. Up goes the gun, but alas and alas! they
+catch a glimpse of the light glinting on the barrels, and perhaps of
+the head behind them, and in another second they have broken and
+scattered this way and that way, twisting off like a wisp of gigantic
+snipe, to vanish with melancholy cries into the depth of mist.
+
+This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and
+waits, listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue
+is rewarded. First of all two wild duck come over, cleaving the air
+like arrows. The mallard is missed, but the left barrel reaches the
+duck, and down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have
+the cartridges been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once
+more heard--quite close this time. There they are, looming large
+against the fog. Bang! down goes the first and lies flapping among the
+rocks. Like a flash the second is away to the left. Bang! after him,
+and caught him too! Hark to the splash as he falls into the deep water
+fifty yards away. And then the mist closes in so densely that shooting
+is done with for the day. Well, that right and left has been worth
+three hours' wait in the wet seaweed and the violent cold that may
+follow--that is, to any man who has a soul for true sport.
+
+Just such an experience as this had befallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had
+bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew--that is, he had bagged
+one of them, for the other was floating in the sea--when a sudden
+increase in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations.
+He shook the wet seaweed off his rough clothes, and, having lit a
+short briar pipe, set to work to hunt for the duck and the first
+curfew. He found them easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of
+the rocks, up the sides of which the tide was gradually creeping,
+peered into the mist to see if he could find the other. Presently the
+fog lifted a little, and he discovered the bird floating on the oily
+water about fifty yards away. A little to the left the rocks ran out
+in a peak, and he knew from experience that the tide setting towards
+the shore would carry the curlew past this peak. So he went to its
+extremity, sat down upon a big stone and waited. All this while the
+tide was rising fast, though, intent as he was upon bringing the
+curlew to bag, he did not pay much heed to it, forgetting that it was
+cutting him off from the land. At last, after more than half-an-hour
+of waiting, he caught sight of the curlew again, but, as bad luck
+would have it, it was still twenty yards or more from him and in deep
+water. He was determined, however, to get the bird if he could, for
+Geoffrey hated leaving his game, so he pulled up his trousers and set
+to work to wade towards it. For the first few steps all went well, but
+the fourth or fifth landed him in a hole that wet his right leg nearly
+up to the thigh and gave his ankle a severe twist. Reflecting that it
+would be very awkward if he sprained his ankle in such a lonely place,
+he beat a retreat, and bethought him, unless the curlew was to become
+food for the dog-fish, that he had better strip bodily and swim for
+it. This--for Geoffrey was a man of determined mind--he decided to do,
+and had already taken off his coat and waistcoat to that end, when
+suddenly some sort of a boat--he judged it to be a canoe from the
+slightness of its shape--loomed up in the mist before him. An idea
+struck him: the canoe or its occupant, if anybody could be insane
+enough to come out canoeing in such water, might fetch the curlew and
+save him a swim.
+
+"Hi!" he shouted in stentorian tones. "Hullo there!"
+
+"Yes," answered a woman's gentle voice across the waters.
+
+"Oh," he replied, struggling to get into his waistcoat again, for the
+voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, "I'm sure
+I beg your pardon, but would you do me a favour? There is a dead
+curlew floating about, not ten yards from your boat. If you wouldn't
+mind----"
+
+A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on towards the
+bird. Presently the hand plunged downwards into the misty waters and
+the curlew was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with
+his waistcoat, the canoe sped towards him like a dream boat, and in
+another moment it was beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was
+looking up into his own.
+
+
+
+Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be
+peculiar to the recorder of things done), and see how it came about
+that Beatrice Granger was present to retrieve Geoffrey Bingham's dead
+curlew.
+
+Immediately after the unpleasant idea recorded in the last, or, to be
+more accurate, in the first chapter of this comedy, had impressed
+itself upon Beatrice's mind, she came to the conclusion that she had
+seen enough of the Dog Rocks for one afternoon. Thereon, like a
+sensible person, she set herself to quit them in the same way that she
+had reached them, namely by means of a canoe. She got into her canoe
+safely enough, and paddled a little way out to sea, with a view of
+returning to the place whence she came. But the further she went out,
+and it was necessary that she should go some way on account of the
+rocks and the currents, the denser grew the fog. Sounds came through
+it indeed, but she could not clearly distinguish whence they came,
+till at last, well as she knew the coast, she grew confused as to
+whither she was heading. In this dilemma, while she rested on her
+paddle staring into the dense surrounding mist and keeping her grey
+eyes as wide open as nature would allow, and that was very wide, she
+heard the report of a gun behind her to the right. Arguing to herself
+that some wild-fowler on the water must have fired it who would be
+able to direct her, she turned the canoe round and paddled swiftly in
+the direction whence the sound came. Presently she heard the gun
+again; both barrels were fired, in there to the right, but some way
+off. She paddled on vigorously, but now no more shots came to guide
+her, therefore for a while her search was fruitless. At last, however,
+she saw something looming through the mist ahead; it was the Red
+Rocks, though she did not know it, and she drew near with caution till
+Geoffrey's shout broke upon her ears.
+
+She picked up the dead bird and paddled towards the dim figure who was
+evidently wrestling with something, she could not see what.
+
+"Here is the curlew, sir," she said.
+
+"Oh, thank you," answered the figure on the rock. "I am infinitely
+obliged to you. I was just going to swim for it, I can't bear losing
+my game. It seems so cruel to shoot birds for nothing."
+
+"I dare say that you will not make much use of it now that you have
+got it," said the gentle voice in the canoe. "Curlew are not very good
+eating."
+
+"That is scarcely the point," replied the Crusoe on the rock. "The
+point is to bring them home. /Après cela----/"
+
+"The birdstuffer?" said the voice.
+
+"No," answered Crusoe, "the cook----"
+
+A laugh came back from the canoe--and then a question.
+
+"Pray, Mr. Bingham, can you tell me where I am? I have quite lost my
+reckoning in the mist."
+
+He started. How did this mysterious young lady in a boat know his
+name?
+
+"You are at the Red Rocks; there is the bell, that grey thing, Miss--
+Miss----"
+
+"Beatrice Granger," she put in hastily. "My father is the clergyman of
+Bryngelly. I saw you when you and Lady Honoria Bingham looked into the
+school yesterday. I teach in the school." She did not tell him,
+however, that his face had interested her so much that she had asked
+his name.
+
+Again he started. He had heard of this young lady. Somebody had told
+him that she was the prettiest girl in Wales, and the cleverest, but
+that her father was not a gentleman.
+
+"Oh," he said, taking off his hat in the direction of the canoe.
+"Isn't it a little risky, Miss Granger, for you to be canoeing alone
+in this mist?"
+
+"Yes," she answered frankly, "but I am used to it; I go out canoeing
+in all possible weathers. It is my amusement, and after all the risk
+does not matter much," she added, more to herself than to him.
+
+While he was wondering what she meant by that dark saying, she went on
+quickly:
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Bingham, I think that you are in more danger than I
+am. It must be getting near seven o'clock, and the tide is high at a
+quarter to eight. Unless I am mistaken there is by now nearly half a
+mile of deep water between you and the shore."
+
+"My word!" he said. "I forgot all about the tide. What between the
+shooting and looking for that curlew, and the mist, it never occurred
+to me that it was getting late. I suppose I must swim for it, that is
+all."
+
+"No, no," she answered earnestly, "it is very dangerous swimming here;
+the place is full of sharp rocks, and there is a tremendous current."
+
+"Well, then, what is to be done? Will your canoe carry two? If so,
+perhaps you would kindly put me ashore?"
+
+"Yes," she said, "it is a double canoe. But I dare not take you ashore
+here; there are too many rocks, and it is impossible to see the ripple
+on them in this mist. We should sink the canoe. No, you must get in
+and I must paddle you home to Bryngelly, that's all. Now that I know
+where I am I think that I can find the way."
+
+"Really," he said, "you are very good."
+
+"Not at all," she answered, "you see I must go myself anyhow, so I
+shall be glad of your help. It is nearly five miles by water, you
+know, and not a pleasant night."
+
+There was truth in this. Geoffrey was perfectly prepared to risk a
+swim to the shore on his own account, but he did not at all like the
+idea of leaving this young lady to find her own way back to Bryngelly
+through the mist and gathering darkness, and in that frail canoe. He
+would not have liked it if she had been a man, for he knew that there
+was great risk in such a voyage. So after making one more fruitless
+suggestion that they should try and reach the shore, taking the chance
+of rocks, sunken or otherwise, and then walk home, to which Beatrice
+would not consent, he accepted her offer.
+
+"At the least you will allow me to paddle," he said, as she skilfully
+brought the canoe right under his rock, which the tide was now high
+enough to allow her to do.
+
+"If you like," she answered doubtfully. "My hands are a little sore,
+and, of course," with a glance at his broad shoulders, "you are much
+stronger. But if you are not used to it I dare say that I should get
+on as well as you."
+
+"Nonsense," he said sharply. "I will not allow you to paddle me for
+five miles."
+
+She yielded without another word, and very gingerly shifted her seat
+so that her back was towards the bow of the canoe, leaving him to
+occupy the paddling place opposite to her.
+
+Then he handed her his gun, which, together with the dead birds, she
+carefully stowed in the bottom of the frail craft. Next, with great
+caution, he slid down the rock till his feet rested in the canoe.
+
+"Be careful or you will upset us," she said, leaning forward and
+stretching out her hand for him to support himself by.
+
+Then it was, as he took it, that he for the first time really saw her
+face, with the mist drops hanging to the bent eyelashes, and knew how
+beautiful it was.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER III
+
+                        A CONFESSION OF FAITH
+
+"Are you ready?" he said, recovering himself from the pleasing shock
+of this serge-draped vision of the mist.
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice. "You must head straight out to sea for a little
+--not too far, for if we get beyond the shelter of Rumball Point we
+might founder in the rollers--there are always rollers there--then
+steer to the left. I will tell you when. And, Mr. Bingham, please be
+careful of the paddle; it has been spliced, and won't bear rough
+usage."
+
+"All right," he answered, and they started gaily enough, the light
+canoe gliding swiftly forward beneath his sturdy strokes.
+
+Beatrice was leaning back with her head bent a little forward, so that
+he could only see her chin and the sweet curve of the lips above it.
+But she could see all his face as it swayed towards her with each
+motion of the paddle, and she watched it with interest. It was a new
+type of face to her, so strong and manly, and yet so gentle about the
+mouth--almost too gentle she thought. What made him marry Lady
+Honoria? Beatrice wondered; she did not look particularly gentle,
+though she was such a graceful woman.
+
+And thus they went on for some time, each wondering about the other
+and at heart admiring the other, which was not strange, for they were
+a very proper pair, but saying no word till at last, after about a
+quarter of an hour's hard paddling, Geoffrey paused to rest.
+
+"Do you do much of this kind of thing, Miss Granger?" he said with a
+gasp, "because it is rather hard work."
+
+She laughed. "Ah," she said, "I thought you would scarcely go on
+paddling at that rate. Yes, I canoe a great deal in the summer time.
+It is my way of taking exercise, and I can swim well, so I am not
+afraid of an upset. At least it has been my way for the last two years
+since a lady who was staying here gave me the canoe when she went
+away. Before that I used to row in a boat--that is, before I went to
+college."
+
+"College? What college? Girton?"
+
+"Oh, no, nothing half so grand. It was a college where you get
+certificates that you are qualified to be a mistress in a Board
+school. I wish it had been Girton."
+
+"Do you?"--you are too good for that, he was going to add, but changed
+it to--"I think you were as well away. I don't care about the Girton
+stamp; those of them whom I have known are so hard."
+
+"So much the better for them," she answered. "I should like to be hard
+as a stone; a stone cannot feel. Don't you think that women ought to
+learn, then?"
+
+"Do you?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, certainly."
+
+"Have you learnt anything?"
+
+"I have taught myself a little and picked up something at the college.
+But I have no real knowledge, only a smattering of things."
+
+"What do you know--French and German?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Latin?"
+
+"Yes, I know something of it."
+
+"Greek?"
+
+"I can read it fairly, but I am not a Greek scholar."
+
+"Mathematics?"
+
+"No, I gave them up. There is no human nature about mathematics. They
+work everything to a fixed conclusion that must result. Life is not
+like that; what ought to be a square comes out a right angle, and /x/
+always equals an unknown quantity, which is never ascertained till you
+are dead."
+
+"Good gracious!" thought Geoffrey to himself between the strokes of
+the paddle, "what an extraordinary girl. A flesh-and-blood blue-
+stocking, and a lovely one into the bargain. At any rate I will bowl
+her out this time."
+
+"Perhaps you have read law too?" he said with suppressed sarcasm.
+
+"I have read some," she answered calmly. "I like law, especially
+Equity law; it is so subtle, and there is such a mass of it built upon
+such a small foundation. It is like an overgrown mushroom, and the top
+will fall off one day, however hard the lawyers try to prop it up.
+Perhaps you can tell me----"
+
+"No, I'm sure I cannot," he answered. "I'm not a Chancery man. I am
+Common law, and /I/ don't take all knowledge for /my/ province. You
+positively alarm me, Miss Granger. I wonder that the canoe does not
+sink beneath so much learning."
+
+"Do I?" she answered sweetly. "I am glad that I have lived to frighten
+somebody. I meant that I like Equity to study; but if I were a
+barrister, I would be Common law, because there is so much more life
+and struggle about it. Existence is not worth having unless one is
+struggling with something and trying to overcome it."
+
+"Dear me, what a reposeful prospect," said Geoffrey, aghast. He had
+certainly never met such a woman as this before.
+
+"Repose is only good when it is earned," went on the fair philosopher,
+"and in order to fit one to earn some more, otherwise it becomes
+idleness, and that is misery. Fancy being idle when one has such a
+little time to live. The only thing to do is to work and stifle
+thought. I suppose that you have a large practice, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"You should not ask a barrister that question," he answered, laughing;
+"it is like looking at the pictures which an artist has turned to the
+wall. No, to be frank, I have not. I have only taken to practising in
+earnest during the last two years. Before I was a barrister in name,
+and that is all."
+
+"Then why did you suddenly begin to work?"
+
+"Because I lost my prospects, Miss Granger--from necessity, in short."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said, with a blush, which of course he
+could not see. "I did not mean to be rude. But it is very lucky for
+you, is it not?"
+
+"Indeed! Some people don't think so. Why is it lucky?"
+
+"Because you will now rise and become a great man, and that is more
+than being a rich man."
+
+"And why do you think that I shall become a great man?" he asked,
+stopping paddling in his astonishment and looking at the dim form
+before him.
+
+"Oh! because it is written on your face," she answered simply.
+
+Her words rang true; there was no flattery or artifice in them.
+Geoffrey felt that the girl was saying just what she thought.
+
+"So you study physiognomy as well," he said. "Well, Miss Granger, it
+is rather odd, considering all things, but I will say to you what I
+have never said to any one before. I believe that you are right. I
+shall rise. If I live I feel that I have it in me."
+
+At this point it possibly occurred to Beatrice that, considering the
+exceeding brevity of their acquaintance, they were drifting into
+somewhat confidential conversation. At any rate, she quickly changed
+the topic.
+
+"I am afraid you are growing tired," she said; "but we must be getting
+on. It will soon be quite dark and we have still a long way to go.
+Look there," and she pointed seaward.
+
+He looked. The whole bank of mist was breaking up and bearing down on
+them in enormous billows of vapour. Presently, these were rolling over
+them, so darkening the heavy air that, though the pair were within
+four feet of each other, they could scarcely see one another's faces.
+As yet they felt no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen,
+impelling air.
+
+"I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm," said
+Beatrice, a little anxiously.
+
+Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away
+from them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of
+it was left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their
+faces. Far in the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the
+foam. A great red ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the
+awakened waters, like a path of fire. The ominous light fell full upon
+the little boat and full upon Beatrice's lips. Then it passed on and
+lost itself in the deep mists which still swathed the coast.
+
+"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she cried, raising herself and pointing to
+the glory of the dying sun.
+
+"It is beautiful indeed!" he answered, but he looked, not at the
+sunset, but at the woman's face before him, glowing like a saint's in
+its golden aureole. For this also was most beautiful--so beautiful
+that it stirred him strangely.
+
+"It is like----" she began, and broke off suddenly.
+
+"What is it like?" he asked.
+
+"It is like finding truth at last," she answered, speaking as much to
+herself as to him. "Why, one might make an allegory out of it. We
+wander in mist and darkness shaping a vague course for home. And then
+suddenly the mists are blown away, glory fills the air, and there is
+no more doubt, only before us is a splendour making all things clear
+and lighting us over a deathless sea. It sounds rather too grand," she
+added, with a charming little laugh; "but there is something in it
+somewhere, if only I could express myself. Oh, look!"
+
+As she spoke a heavy storm-cloud rolled over the vanishing rim of the
+sun. For a moment the light struggled with the eclipsing cloud,
+turning its dull edge to the hue of copper, but the cloud was too
+strong and the light vanished, leaving the sea in darkness.
+
+"Well," he said, "your allegory would have a dismal end if you worked
+it out. It is getting as dark as pitch, and there's a good deal in
+/that/, if only /I/ could express myself."
+
+Beatrice dropped poetry, and came down to facts in a way that was very
+commendable.
+
+"There is a squall coming up, Mr. Bingham," she said; "you must paddle
+as hard as you can. I do not think we are more than two miles from
+Bryngelly, and if we are lucky we may get there before the weather
+breaks."
+
+"Yes, /if/ we are lucky," he said grimly, as he bent himself to the
+work. "But the question is where to paddle to--it's so dark. Had not
+we better run for the shore?"
+
+"We are in the middle of the bay now," she answered, "and almost as
+far from the nearest land as we are from Bryngelly, besides it is all
+rocks. No, you must go straight on. You will see the Poise light
+beyond Coed presently. You know Coed is four miles on the other side
+of Bryngelly, so when you see it head to the left."
+
+He obeyed her, and they neither of them spoke any more for some time.
+Indeed the rising wind made conversation difficult, and so far as
+Geoffrey was concerned he had little breath left to spare for words.
+He was a strong man, but the unaccustomed labour was beginning to tell
+on him, and his hands were blistering. For ten minutes or so he
+paddled on through a darkness which was now almost total, wondering
+where on earth he was wending, for it was quite impossible to see. For
+all he knew to the contrary, he might be circling round and round. He
+had only one thing to direct him, the sweep of the continually rising
+wind and the wash of the gathering waves. So long as these struck the
+canoe, which now began to roll ominously, on the starboard side, he
+must, he thought, be keeping a right course. But in the turmoil of the
+rising gale and the confusion of the night, this was no very
+satisfactory guide. At length, however, a broad and brilliant flash
+sprung out across the sea, almost straight ahead of him. It was the
+Poise light.
+
+He altered his course a little and paddled steadily on. And now the
+squall was breaking. Fortunately, it was not a very heavy one, or
+their frail craft must have sunk and they with it. But it was quite
+serious enough to put them in great danger. The canoe rose to the
+waves like a feather, but she was broadside on, and rise as she would
+they began to ship a little water. And they had not seen the worst of
+it. The weather was still thickening.
+
+Still he held on, though his heart sank within him, while Beatrice
+said nothing. Presently a big wave came; he could just see its white
+crest gleaming through the gloom, then it was on them. The canoe rose
+to it gallantly; it seemed to curl right over her, making the craft
+roll till Geoffrey thought that the end had come. But she rode it out,
+not, however, without shipping more than a bucket of water. Without
+saying a word, Beatrice took the cloth cap from her head and, leaning
+forward, began to bale as best she could, and that was not very well.
+
+"This will not do," he called. "I must keep her head to the sea or we
+shall be swamped."
+
+"Yes," she answered, "keep her head up. We are in great danger."
+
+He glanced to his right; another white sea was heaving down on him; he
+could just see its glittering crest. With all his force he dug the
+paddle into the water; the canoe answered to it; she came round just
+in time to ride out the wave with safety, but the paddle /snapped/. It
+was already sprung, and the weight he put upon it was more than it
+could bear. Right in two it broke, some nine inches above that blade
+which at the moment was buried in the water. He felt it go, and
+despair took hold of him.
+
+"Great heavens!" he cried, "the paddle is broken."
+
+Beatrice gasped.
+
+"You must use the other blade," she said; "paddle first one side and
+then on the other, and keep her head on."
+
+"Till we sink," he answered.
+
+"No, till we are saved--never talk of sinking."
+
+The girl's courage shamed him, and he obeyed her instructions as best
+he could. By dint of continually shifting what remained of the paddle
+from one side of the canoe to the other, he did manage to keep her
+head on to the waves that were now rolling in apace. But in their
+hearts they both wondered how long this would last.
+
+"Have you got any cartridges?" she asked presently.
+
+"Yes, in my coat pocket," he answered.
+
+"Give me two, if you can manage it," she said.
+
+In an interval between the coming of two seas he contrived to slip his
+hand into a pocket and transfer the cartridges. Apparently she knew
+something of the working of a gun, for presently there was a flash and
+a report, quickly followed by another.
+
+"Give me some more cartridges," she cried. He did so, but nothing
+followed.
+
+"It is no use," she said at length, "the cartridges are wet. I cannot
+get the empty cases out. But perhaps they may have seen or heard them.
+Old Edward is sure to be watching for me. You had better throw the
+rest into the sea if you can manage it," she added by way of an
+afterthought; "we may have to swim presently."
+
+To Geoffrey this seemed very probable, and whenever he got a chance he
+acted on the hint till at length he was rid of all his cartridges.
+Just then it began to rain in torrents. Though it was not warm the
+perspiration was streaming from him at every pore, and the rain
+beating on his face refreshed him somewhat; also with the rain the
+wind dropped a little.
+
+But he was becoming tired out and he knew it. Soon he would no longer
+be able to keep the canoe straight, and then they must be swamped, and
+in all human probability drowned. So this was to be the end of his
+life and its ambitions. Before another hour had run its course, he
+would be rolling to and fro in the arms of that angry sea. What would
+his wife Honoria say when she heard the news, he wondered? Perhaps it
+would shock her into some show of feeling. And Effie, his dear little
+six-year-old daughter? Well, thank God, she was too young to feel his
+loss for long. By the time that she was a woman she would almost have
+forgotten that she ever had a father. But how would she get on without
+him to guide her? Her mother did not love children, and a growing girl
+would continually remind her of her growing years. He could not tell;
+he could only hope for the best.
+
+And for himself! What would become of him after the short sharp
+struggle for life? Should he find endless sleep, or what? He was a
+Christian, and his life had not been worse than that of other men.
+Indeed, though he would have been the last to think it, he had some
+redeeming virtues. But now at the end the spiritual horizon was as
+dark as it had been at the beginning. There before him were the Gates
+of Death, but not yet would they roll aside and show the traveller
+what lay beyond their frowning face. How could he tell? Perhaps they
+would not open at all. Perhaps he now bade his last farewell to
+consciousness, to earth and sky and sea and love and all lovely
+things. Well, that might be better than some prospects. At that moment
+Geoffrey Bingham, in the last agony of doubt, would gladly have
+exchanged his hopes of life beyond for a certainty of eternal sleep.
+That faith which enables some of us to tread this awful way with an
+utter confidence is not a wide prerogative, and, as yet, at any rate,
+it was not his, though the time might come when he would attain it.
+There are not very many, even among those without reproach, who can
+lay them down in the arms of Death, knowing most certainly that when
+the veil is rent away the countenance that they shall see will be that
+of the blessed Guardian of Mankind. Alas! he could not be altogether
+sure, and where doubt exists, hope is but a pin-pricked bladder. He
+sighed heavily, murmured a little formula of prayer that had been on
+his lips most nights during thirty years--he had learnt it as a child
+at his mother's knee--and then, while the tempest roared around him,
+gathered up his strength to meet the end which seemed inevitable. At
+any rate he would die like a man.
+
+Then came a reaction. His vital forces rose again. He no longer felt
+fearful, he only wondered with a strange impersonal wonder, as a man
+wonders about the vital affairs of another. Then from wondering about
+himself he began to wonder about the girl who sat opposite to him.
+With the rain came a little lightning, and by the first flash he saw
+her clearly. Her beautiful face was set, and as she bent forward
+searching the darkness with her wide eyes, it wore, he thought, an
+almost defiant air.
+
+The canoe twisted round somewhat. He dug his broken paddle into the
+water and once more brought her head on to the sea. Then he spoke.
+
+"Are you afraid?" he asked of Beatrice.
+
+"No," she answered, "I am not afraid."
+
+"Do you know that we shall probably be drowned?"
+
+"Yes, I know it. They say the death is easy. I brought you here.
+Forgive me that. I should have tried to row you ashore as you said."
+
+"Never mind me; a man must meet his fate some day. Do not think of me.
+But I can't keep her head on much longer. You had better say your
+prayers."
+
+Beatrice bent forward till her head was quite near his own. The wind
+had blown some of her hair loose, and though he did not seem to notice
+it at the time, he remembered afterwards that a lock of it struck him
+on the face.
+
+"I cannot pray," she said; "I have nothing to pray to. I am not a
+Christian."
+
+The words struck him like a blow. It seemed so awful to think of this
+proud and brilliant woman, now balanced on the verge of what she
+believed to be utter annihilation. Even the courage that induced her
+at such a moment to confess her hopeless state seemed awful.
+
+"Try," he said with a gasp.
+
+"No," she answered, "I do not fear to die. Death cannot be worse than
+life is for most of us. I have not prayed for years, not since--well,
+never mind. I am not a coward. It would be cowardly to pray now
+because I may be wrong. If there is a God who knows all, He will
+understand that."
+
+Geoffrey said no more, but laboured at the broken paddle gallantly and
+with an ever-failing strength. The lightning had passed away and the
+darkness was very great, for the hurrying clouds hid the starlight.
+Presently a sound arose above the turmoil of the storm, a crashing
+thunderous sound towards which the send of the sea gradually bore
+them. The sound came from the waves that beat upon the Bryngelly reef.
+
+"Where are we drifting to?" he cried.
+
+"Into the breakers, where we shall be lost," she answered calmly.
+"Give up paddling, it is of no use, and try to take off your coat. I
+have loosened my skirt. Perhaps we can swim ashore."
+
+He thought to himself that in the dark and breakers such an event was
+not probable, but he said nothing, and addressed himself to the task
+of getting rid of his coat and waistcoat--no easy one in that confined
+space. Meanwhile the canoe was whirling round and round like a walnut
+shell upon a flooded gutter. For some distance before the waves broke
+upon the reef and rocks they swept in towards them with a steady
+foamless swell. On reaching the shallows, however, they pushed their
+white shoulders high into the air, curved up and fell in thunder on
+the reef.
+
+The canoe rode towards the breakers, sucked upon its course by a
+swelling sea.
+
+"Good-bye," called Geoffrey to Beatrice, as stretching out his wet
+hand he found her own and took it, for companionship makes death a
+little easier.
+
+"Good-bye," she cried, clinging to his hand. "Oh, why did I bring you
+into this?"
+
+For in their last extremity this woman thought rather of her companion
+in peril than of herself.
+
+One more turn, then suddenly the canoe beneath them was lifted like a
+straw and tossed high into the air. A mighty mass of water boiled up
+beneath it and around it. Then the foam rushed in, and vaguely
+Geoffrey knew that they were wrapped in the curve of a billow.
+
+A swift and mighty rush of water. Crash!--and his senses left him.
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV
+
+                       THE WATCHER AT THE DOOR
+
+This was what had happened. Just about the centre of the reef is a
+large flat-topped rock--it may be twenty feet in the square--known to
+the Bryngelly fishermen as Table Rock. In ordinary weather, even at
+high tide, the waters scarcely cover this rock, but when there is any
+sea they wash over it with great violence. On to this rock Geoffrey
+and Beatrice had been hurled by the breaker. Fortunately for them it
+was thickly overgrown with seaweed, which to some slight extent broke
+the violence of their fall. As it chanced, Geoffrey was knocked
+senseless by the shock; but Beatrice, whose hand he still held, fell
+on to him and, with the exception of a few bruises and a shake,
+escaped unhurt.
+
+She struggled to her knees, gasping. The water had run off the rock,
+and her companion lay quiet at her side. She put down her face and
+called into his ear, but no answer came, and then she knew that he was
+either dead or senseless.
+
+At this second Beatrice caught a glimpse of something white gleaming
+in the darkness. Instinctively she flung herself upon her face,
+gripping the long tough seaweed with one hand. The other she passed
+round the body of the helpless man beside her, straining him with all
+her strength against her side.
+
+Then came a wild long rush of foam. The water lifted her from the
+rock, but the seaweed held, and when at length the sea had gone
+boiling by, Beatrice found herself and the senseless form of Geoffrey
+once more lying side by side. She was half choked. Desperately she
+struggled up and round, looking shoreward through the darkness.
+Heavens! there, not a hundred yards away, a light shone upon the
+waters. It was a boat's light, for it moved up and down. She filled
+her lungs with air and sent one long cry for help ringing across the
+sea. A moment passed and she thought that she heard an answer, but
+because of the wind and the roar of the breakers she could not be
+sure. Then she turned and glanced seaward. Again the foaming terror
+was rushing down upon them; again she flung herself upon the rock and
+grasping the slippery seaweed twined her left arm about the helpless
+Geoffrey.
+
+It was on them.
+
+Oh, horror! Even in the turmoil of the boiling waters Beatrice felt
+the seaweed give. Now they were being swept along with the rushing
+wave, and Death drew very near. But still she clung to Geoffrey. Once
+more the air touched her face. She had risen to the surface and was
+floating on the stormy water. The wave had passed. Loosing her hold of
+Geoffrey she slipped her hand upwards, and as he began to sink
+clutched him by the hair. Then treading water with her feet, for
+happily for them both she was as good a swimmer as could be found upon
+that coast, she managed to open her eyes. There, not sixty yards away,
+was the boat's light. Oh, if only she could reach it. She spat the
+salt water from her mouth and once more cried aloud. The light seemed
+to move on.
+
+Then another wave rolled forward and once more she was pushed down
+into the cruel depths, for with that dead weight hanging to her she
+could not keep above them. It flashed into her mind that if she let
+him go she might even now save herself, but even in that last terror
+this Beatrice would not do. If he went, she would go with him.
+
+It would have been better if she had let him go.
+
+Down she went--down, down! "I will hold him," Beatrice said in her
+heart; "I will hold him till I die." Then came waves of light and a
+sound as of wind whispering through the trees, and--all grew dark.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I tell yer it ain't no good, Eddard," shouted a man in the boat to an
+old sailor who was leaning forward in the bows peering into the
+darkness. "We shall be right on to the Table Rocks in a minute and all
+drown together. Put about, mate--put about."
+
+"Damn yer," screamed the old man, turning so that the light from the
+lantern fell on his furrowed, fiercely anxious face and long white
+hair streaming in the wind. "Damn yer, ye cowards. I tells yer I heard
+her voice--I heard it twice screaming for help. If you put the boat
+about, by Goad when I get ashore I'll kill yer, ye lubbers--old man as
+I am I'll kill yer, if I swing for it!"
+
+This determined sentiment produced a marked effect upon the boat's
+crew; there were eight of them altogether. They did not put the boat
+about, they only lay upon their oars and kept her head to the seas.
+
+The old man in the bow peered out into the gloom. He was shaking, not
+with cold but with agitation.
+
+Presently he turned his head with a yell.
+
+"Give way--give way! there's something on the wave."
+
+The men obeyed with a will.
+
+"Back," he roared again--"back water!"
+
+They backed, and the boat answered, but nothing was to be seen.
+
+"She's gone! Oh, Goad, she's gone!" groaned the old man. "You may put
+about now, lads, and the Lord's will be done."
+
+The light from the lantern fell in a little ring upon the seething
+water. Suddenly something white appeared in the centre of this
+illuminated ring. Edward stared at it. It was floating upwards. It
+vanished--it appeared again. It was a woman's face. With a yell he
+plunged his arms into the sea.
+
+"I have her--lend an hand, lads."
+
+Another man scrambled forward and together they clutched the object in
+the water.
+
+"Look out, don't pull so hard, you fool. Blow me if there ain't
+another and she's got him by the hair. So, /steady, steady!/"
+
+A long heave from strong arms and the senseless form of Beatrice was
+on the gunwale. Then they pulled up Geoffrey beside her, for they
+could not loose her desperate grip of his dark hair, and together
+rolled them into the boat.
+
+"They're dead, I doubt," said the second man.
+
+"Help turn 'em on their faces over the seat, so--let the water drain
+from their innards. It's the only chance. Now give me that sail to
+cover them--so. You'll live yet, Miss Beatrice, you ain't dead, I
+swear. Old Eddard has saved you, Old Eddard and the good Goad
+together!"
+
+Meanwhile the boat had been got round, and the men were rowing for
+Bryngelly as warm-hearted sailors will when life is at stake. They all
+knew Beatrice and loved her, and they remembered it as they rowed. The
+gloom was little hindrance to them for they could almost have
+navigated the coast blindfold. Besides here they were sheltered by the
+reef and shore.
+
+In five minutes they were round a little headland, and the lights of
+Bryngelly were close before them. On the beach people were moving
+about with lanterns.
+
+Presently they were there, hanging on their oars for a favourable wave
+to beach with. At last it came, and they gave way together, running
+the large boat half out of the surf. A dozen men plunged into the
+water and dragged her on. They were safe ashore.
+
+"Have you got Miss Beatrice?" shouted a voice.
+
+"Ay, we've got her and another too, but I doubt they're gone. Where's
+doctor?"
+
+"Here, here!" answered a voice. "Bring the stretchers."
+
+A stout thick-set man, who had been listening, wrapped up in a dark
+cloak, turned his face away and uttered a groan. Then he followed the
+others as they went to work, not offering to help, but merely
+following.
+
+The stretchers were brought and the two bodies laid upon them, face
+downwards and covered over.
+
+"Where to?" said the bearers as they seized the poles.
+
+"The Vicarage," answered the doctor. "I told them to get things ready
+there in case they should find her. Run forward one of you and say
+that we are coming."
+
+The men started at a trot and the crowd ran after them.
+
+"Who is the other?" somebody asked.
+
+"Mr. Bingham--the tall lawyer who came down from London the other day.
+Tell policeman--run to his wife. She's at Mrs. Jones's, and thinks he
+has lost his way in the fog coming home from Bell Rock."
+
+The policeman departed on his melancholy errand and the procession
+moved swiftly across the sandy beach and up the stone-paved way by
+which boats were dragged down the cliff to the sea. The village of
+Bryngelly lay to the right. It had grown away from the church, which
+stood dangerously near the edge of the cliff. On the further side of
+the church, and a little behind it, partly sheltered from the sea
+gales by a group of stunted firs, was the Vicarage, a low single-
+storied stone-roofed building, tenanted for twenty-five years past and
+more by Beatrice's father, the Rev. Joseph Granger. The best approach
+to it from the Bryngelly side was by the churchyard, through which the
+men with the stretchers were now winding, followed by the crowd of
+sightseers.
+
+"Might as well leave them here at once," said one of the bearers to
+the other in Welsh. "I doubt they are both dead enough."
+
+The person addressed assented, and the thick-set man wrapped in a dark
+cloak, who was striding along by Beatrice's stretcher, groaned again.
+Clearly, he understood the Welsh tongue. A few seconds more and they
+were passing through the stunted firs up to the Vicarage door. In the
+doorway stood a group of people. The light from a lamp in the hall
+struck upon them, throwing them into strong relief. Foremost, holding
+a lantern in his hand, was a man of about sixty, with snow-white hair
+which fell in confusion over his rugged forehead. He was of middle
+height and carried himself with something of a stoop. The eyes were
+small and shifting, and the mouth hard. He wore short whiskers which,
+together with the eyebrows, were still tinged with yellow. The face
+was ruddy and healthy looking, indeed, had it not been for the dirty
+white tie and shabby black coat, one would have taken him to be what
+he was in heart, a farmer of the harder sort, somewhat weather-beaten
+and anxious about the times--a man who would take advantage of every
+drop in the rate of wages. In fact he was Beatrice's father, and a
+clergyman.
+
+By his side, and leaning over him, was Elizabeth, her elder sister.
+There was five years between them. She was a poor copy of Beatrice,
+or, to be more accurate, Beatrice was a grand development of
+Elizabeth. They both had brown hair, but Elizabeth's was straighter
+and faint-coloured, not rich and ruddying into gold. Elizabeth's eyes
+were also grey, but it was a cold washed-out grey like that of a
+February sky. And so with feature after feature, and with the
+expression also. Beatrice's was noble and open, if at times defiant.
+Looking at her you knew that she might be a mistaken woman, or a
+headstrong woman, or both, but she could never be a mean woman.
+Whichever of the ten commandments she might choose to break, it would
+not be that which forbids us to bear false witness against our
+neighbour. Anybody might read it in her eyes. But in her sister's, he
+might discern her father's shifty hardness watered by woman's weaker
+will into something like cunning. For the rest Elizabeth had a very
+fair figure, but lacked her sister's rounded loveliness, though the
+two were so curiously alike that at a distance you might well mistake
+the one for the other. One might almost fancy that nature had
+experimented upon Elizabeth before she made up her mind to produce
+Beatrice, just to get the lines and distances. The elder sister was to
+the other what the pale unfinished model of clay is to the polished
+statue in ivory and gold.
+
+"Oh, my God! my God!" groaned the old man; "look, they have got them
+on the stretchers. They are both dead. Oh, Beatrice! Beatrice! and
+only this morning I spoke harshly to her."
+
+"Don't be so foolish, father," said Elizabeth sharply. "They may only
+be insensible."
+
+"Ah, ah," he answered; "it does not matter to you, /you/ don't care
+about your sister. You are jealous of her. But I love her, though we
+do not understand each other. Here they come. Don't stand staring
+there. Go and see that the blankets and things are hot. Stop, doctor,
+tell me, is she dead?"
+
+"How can I tell till I have seen her?" the doctor answered, roughly
+shaking him off, and passing through the door.
+
+Bryngelly Vicarage was a very simply constructed house. On entering
+the visitor found himself in a passage with doors to the right and
+left. That to the right led to the sitting-room, that to the left to
+the dining-room, both of them long, low and narrow chambers. Following
+the passage down for some seven paces, it terminated in another which
+ran at right angles to it for the entire length of the house. On the
+further side of this passage were several bedroom doors and a room at
+each end. That at the end to the right was occupied by Beatrice and
+her sister, the next was empty, the third was Mr. Granger's, and the
+fourth the spare room. This, with the exception of the kitchens and
+servants' sleeping place, which were beyond the dining-room, made up
+the house.
+
+Fires had been lit in both of the principal rooms. Geoffrey was taken
+into the dining-room and attended by the doctor's assistant, and
+Beatrice into the sitting-room, and attended by the doctor himself. In
+a few seconds the place had been cleared of all except the helpers,
+and the work began. The doctor looked at Beatrice's cold shrunken
+form, and at the foam upon her lips. He lifted the eyelid, and held a
+light before the contracted pupil. Then he shook his head and set to
+work with a will. We need not follow him through the course of his
+dreadful labours, with which most people will have some acquaintance.
+Hopeless as they seemed, he continued them for hour after hour.
+
+Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service
+for Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man,
+occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how
+things were getting on. Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water
+the longer, his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed
+he was already insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard
+to drown. It is your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is
+soonest made an end of in deep waters. Therefore it came to pass that
+when the scrubbing with hot cloths and the artificial respiration had
+gone on for somewhere about twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked
+a finger. The doctor's assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the
+hospitals, gave a yell of exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away
+with ever-increasing energy. Presently the subject coughed, and a
+minute later, as the agony of returning life made itself felt, he
+swore most heartily.
+
+"He's all right now!" called the assistant to his employer. "He's
+swearing beautifully."
+
+Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the
+other room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the
+treatment, which he did with much vigour.
+
+Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments.
+The first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was
+standing over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half
+horrified air. Vaguely he wondered who it might be. The tall form and
+cold handsome face were so familiar to him, and yet he could not
+recall the name. It was not till she spoke that his numbed brain
+realized that he was looking on his own wife.
+
+"Well, dear," she said, "I am so glad that you are better. You
+frightened me out of my wits. I thought you were drowned."
+
+"Thank you, Honoria," he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh
+attack of tingling pain shook him through and through.
+
+"I hope nobody said anything to Effie," Geoffrey said presently.
+
+"Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and
+when the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were
+drowned, and she has been almost in a fit ever since. They had to hold
+her to prevent her from running here."
+
+Geoffrey's white face assumed an air of the deepest distress. "How
+could you frighten the child so?" he murmured. "Please go and tell her
+that I am all right."
+
+"It was not my fault," said Lady Honoria with a shrug of her shapely
+shoulders. "Besides, I can do nothing with Effie. She goes on like a
+wild thing about you."
+
+"Please go and tell her, Honoria," said her husband.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'll go," she answered. "Really I shall not be sorry to get
+out of this; I begin to feel as though I had been drowned myself;" and
+she looked at the steaming cloths and shuddered. "Good-bye, Geoffrey.
+It is an immense relief to find you all right. The policeman made me
+feel quite queer. I can't get down to give you a kiss or I would.
+Well, good-bye for the present, my dear."
+
+"Good-bye, Honoria," said her husband with a faint smile.
+
+The medical assistant looked a little surprised. He had never, it is
+true, happened to be present at a meeting between husband and wife,
+when one of the pair had just been rescued by a hair's-breadth from a
+violent and sudden death, and therefore wanted experience to go on.
+But it struck him that there was something missing. The lady did not
+seem to him quite to fill the part of the Heaven-thanking spouse. It
+puzzled him very much. Perhaps he showed this in his face. At any
+rate, Lady Honoria, who was quick enough, read something there.
+
+"He is safe now, is he not?" she asked. "It will not matter if I go
+away."
+
+"No, my lady," answered the assistant, "he is out of danger, I think;
+it will not matter at all."
+
+Lady Honoria hesitated a little; she was standing in the passage. Then
+she glanced through the door into the opposite room, and caught a
+glimpse of Beatrice's rigid form and of the doctor bending over it.
+Her head was thrown back and the beautiful brown hair, which was now
+almost dry again, streamed in masses to the ground, while on her face
+was stamped the terrifying seal of Death.
+
+Lady Honoria shuddered. She could not bear such sights. "Will it be
+necessary for me to come back to-night?" she said.
+
+"I do not think so," he answered, "unless you care to hear whether
+Miss Granger recovers?"
+
+"I shall hear that in the morning," she said. "Poor thing, I cannot
+help her."
+
+"No, Lady Honoria, you cannot help her. She saved your husband's life,
+they say."
+
+"She must be a brave girl. Will she recover?"
+
+The assistant shook his head. "She may, possibly. It is not likely
+now."
+
+"Poor thing, and so young and beautiful! What a lovely face, and what
+an arm! It is very awful for her," and Lady Honoria shuddered again
+and went.
+
+Outside the door a small knot of sympathisers was still gathered,
+notwithstanding the late hour and the badness of the weather.
+
+"That's his wife," said one, and they opened to let her pass.
+
+"Then why don't she stop with him?" asked a woman audibly. "If it had
+been my husband I'd have sat and hugged him for an hour."
+
+"Ay, you'd have killed him with your hugging, you would," somebody
+answered.
+
+Lady Honoria passed on. Suddenly a thick-set man emerged from the
+shadow of the pines. She could not see his face, but he was wrapped in
+a large cloak.
+
+"Forgive me," he said in the hoarse voice of one struggling with
+emotions which he was unable to conceal, "but you can tell me. Does
+she still live?"
+
+"Do you mean Miss Granger?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, of course. Beatrice--Miss Granger?"
+
+"They do not know, but they think----"
+
+"Yes, yes--they think----"
+
+"That she is dead."
+
+The man said never a word. He dropped his head upon his breast and,
+turning, vanished again into the shadow of the pines.
+
+"How very odd," thought Lady Honoria as she walked rapidly along the
+cliff towards her lodging. "I suppose that man must be in love with
+her. Well, I do not wonder at it. I never saw such a face and arm.
+What a picture that scene in the room would make! She saved Geoffrey
+and now she's dead. If he had saved her I should not have wondered. It
+is like a scene in a novel."
+
+From all of which it will be seen that Lady Honoria was not wanting in
+certain romantic and artistical perceptions.
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V
+
+                        ELIZABETH IS THANKFUL
+
+Geoffrey, lying before the fire, newly hatched from death, had caught
+some of the conversation between his wife and the assistant who had
+recovered him to life. So she was gone, that brave, beautiful atheist
+girl--gone to test the truth. And she had saved his life!
+
+For some minutes the assistant did not enter. He was helping in
+another room. At last he came.
+
+"What did you say to Lady Honoria?" Geoffrey asked feebly. "Did you
+say that Miss Granger had saved me?"
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham; at least they tell me so. At any rate, when they
+pulled her out of the water they pulled you after her. She had hold of
+your hair."
+
+"Great heavens!" he groaned, "and my weight must have dragged her
+down. Is she dead, then?"
+
+"We cannot quite say yet, not for certain. We think that she is."
+
+"Pray God she is not dead," he said more to himself than to the other.
+Then aloud--"Leave me; I am all right. Go and help with her. But stop,
+come and tell me sometimes how it goes with her."
+
+"Very well. I will send a woman to watch you," and he went.
+
+Meanwhile in the other room the treatment of the drowned went slowly
+on. Two hours had passed, and as yet Beatrice showed no signs of
+recovery. The heart did not beat, no pulse stirred; but, as the doctor
+knew, life might still linger in the tissues. Slowly, very slowly, the
+body was turned to and fro, the head swaying, and the long hair
+falling now this way and now that, but still no sign. Every resource
+known to medical skill, such as hot air, rubbing, artificial
+respiration, electricity, was applied and applied in vain, but still
+no sign!
+
+Elizabeth, pale and pinched, stood by handing what might be required.
+She did not greatly love her sister, they were antagonistic and their
+interests clashed, or she thought they did, but this sudden death was
+awful. In a corner, pitiful to see, offering groans and ejaculated
+prayers to heaven, sat the old clergymen, their father, his white hair
+about his eyes. He was a weak, coarse-grained man, but in his own way
+his clever and beautiful girl was dear to him, and this sight wrung
+his soul as it had not been wrung for years.
+
+"She's gone," he said continually, "she's gone; the Lord's will be
+done. There must be another mistress at the school now. Seventy pounds
+a year she will cost--seventy pounds a year!"
+
+"Do be quiet, father," said Elizabeth sharply.
+
+"Ay, ay, it is very well for you to tell me to be quiet. You are quiet
+because you don't care. You never loved your sister. But I have loved
+her since she was a little fair-haired child, and so did your poor
+mother. 'Beatrice' was the last word she spoke."
+
+"Be quiet, father!" said Elizabeth, still more sharply. The old man,
+making no reply, sank back into a semi-torpor, rocking himself to and
+fro upon his chair.
+
+Meanwhile without intermission the work went on.
+
+"It is no use," said the assistant at last, as he straightened his
+weary frame and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "She must be
+dead; we have been at it nearly three hours now."
+
+"Patience," said the doctor. "If necessary I shall go on for four--or
+till I drop," he added.
+
+Ten minutes more passed. Everybody knew that the task was hopeless,
+but still they hoped.
+
+"Great Heavens!" said the assistant presently, starting back from the
+body and pointing at its face. "Did you see that?"
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger sprang to their feet, crying, "What, what?"
+
+"Sit still, sir," said the doctor, waving them back. Then addressing
+his helper, and speaking in a constrained voice: "I thought I saw the
+right eyelid quiver, Williams. Pass the battery."
+
+"So did I," answered Williams as he obeyed.
+
+"Full power," said the doctor again. "It is kill or cure now."
+
+The shock was applied for some seconds without result. Then suddenly a
+long shudder ran up the limbs, and a hand stirred. Next moment the
+eyes were opened, and with pain and agony Beatrice drew a first breath
+of returning life. Ten minutes more and she had passed through the
+gates of Death back to this warm and living world.
+
+"Let me die," she gasped faintly. "I cannot bear it. Oh, let me die!"
+
+"Hush," said the doctor; "you will be better presently."
+
+Ten minutes more passed, when the doctor saw by her eyes that Beatrice
+wished to say something. He bent his head till it nearly touched her
+lips.
+
+"Dr. Chambers," she whispered, "was he drowned?"
+
+"No, he is safe; he has been brought round."
+
+She sighed--a long-drawn sigh, half of pain, half of relief. Then she
+spoke again.
+
+"Was he washed ashore?"
+
+"No, no. You saved his life. You had hold of him when they pulled you
+out. Now drink this and go to sleep."
+
+Beatrice smiled sweetly, but said nothing. Then she drank as much of
+the draught as she could, and shortly afterwards obeyed the last
+injunction also, and went to sleep.
+
+Meanwhile a rumour of this wonderful recovery had escaped to without
+the house--passing from one watcher to the other till at length it
+reached the ears of the solitary man crouched in the shadow of the
+pines. He heard, and starting as though he had been shot, strode to
+the door of the Vicarage. Here his courage seemed to desert him, for
+he hesitated.
+
+"Knock, squire, knock, and ask if it is true," said a woman, the same
+who had declared that she would have hugged her husband back to life.
+
+This remark seemed to encourage the man, at any rate he did knock.
+Presently the door was opened by Elizabeth.
+
+"Go away," she said in her sharp voice; "the house must be kept
+quiet."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," said the visitor, in a tone of deep
+humiliation. "I only wanted to know if it was true that Miss Beatrice
+lives."
+
+"Why," said Elizabeth with a start, "is it you, Mr. Davies? I am sure
+I had no idea. Step into the passage and I will shut the door. There!
+How long have you been outside?"
+
+"Oh, since they brought them up. But is it true?"
+
+"Yes, yes, it is true. She will recover now. And you have stood all
+this time in the wet night. I am sure that Beatrice ought to be
+flattered."
+
+"Not at all. It seemed so awful, and--I--I take such an interest----"
+and he broke off.
+
+"Such an interest in Beatrice," said Elizabeth drily, supplying the
+hiatus. "Yes, so it seems," and suddenly, as though by chance, she
+moved the candle which she held, in such fashion that the light fell
+full upon Owen Davies' face. It was a slow heavy countenance, but not
+without comeliness. The skin was fresh as a child's, the eyes were
+large, blue, and mild, and the brown hair grew in waves that many a
+woman might have envied. Indeed had it not been for a short but
+strongly growing beard, it would have been easy to believe that the
+countenance was that of a boy of nineteen rather than of a man over
+thirty. Neither time nor care had drawn a single line upon it; it told
+of perfect and robust health and yet bore the bloom of childhood. It
+was the face of a man who might live to a hundred and still look
+young, nor did the form belie it.
+
+Mr. Davies blushed up to his eyes, blushed like a girl beneath
+Elizabeth's scrutiny. "Naturally I take an interest in a neighbour's
+fate," he said, in his slow deliberate way. "She is quite safe, then?"
+
+"I believe so," answered Elizabeth.
+
+"Thank God!" he said, or rather it seemed to break from him in a sigh
+of relief. "How did the gentleman, Mr. Bingham, come to be found with
+her?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered with a shrug. "Beatrice saved his
+life somehow, clung fast to him even after she was insensible."
+
+"It is very wonderful. I never heard of such a thing. What is he
+like?"
+
+"He is one of the finest-looking men I ever saw," answered Elizabeth,
+always watching him.
+
+"Ah. But he is married, I think, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he is married to the daughter of a peer, very much married--
+and very little, I should say."
+
+"I do not quite understand, Miss Granger."
+
+"Don't you, Mr. Davies? then use your eyes when you see them
+together."
+
+"I should not see anything. I am not quick like you," he added.
+
+"How do you mean to get back to the Castle to-night, Mr. Davies? You
+cannot row back in this wind, and the seas will be breaking over the
+causeway."
+
+"Oh, I shall manage. I am wet already. An extra ducking won't hurt me,
+and I have had a chain put up to prevent anybody from being washed
+away. And now I must be going. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Davies."
+
+He hesitated a moment and then added: "Would you--would you mind
+telling your sister--of course I mean when she is stronger--that I
+came to inquire after her?"
+
+"I think that you can do that for yourself, Mr. Davies," Elizabeth
+said almost roughly. "I mean it will be more appreciated," and she
+turned upon her heel.
+
+Owen Davies ventured no further remarks. He felt that Elizabeth's
+manner was a little crushing, and he was afraid of her as well. "I
+suppose that she does not think I am good enough to pay attention to
+her sister," he thought to himself as he plunged into the night and
+rain. "Well, she is quite right--I am not fit to black her boots. Oh,
+God, I thank Thee that Thou hast saved her life. I thank Thee--I thank
+Thee!" he went on, speaking aloud to the wild winds as he made his way
+along the cliff. "If she had been dead, I think that I must have died
+too. Oh, God, I thank Thee--I thank Thee!"
+
+The idea that Owen Davies, Esq., J.P., D.L., of Bryngelly Castle,
+absolute owner of that rising little watering-place, and of one of the
+largest and most prosperous slate quarries in Wales, worth in all
+somewhere between seven and ten thousand a year, was unfit to black
+her beautiful sister's boots, was not an idea that had struck
+Elizabeth Granger. Had it struck her, indeed, it would have moved her
+to laughter, for Elizabeth had a practical mind.
+
+What did strike her, as she turned and watched the rich squire's
+sturdy form vanish through the doorway into the dark beyond, was a
+certain sense of wonder. Supposing she had never seen that shiver of
+returning life run up those white limbs, supposing that they had grown
+colder and colder, till at length it was evident that death was so
+firmly citadelled within the silent heart, that no human skill could
+beat his empire back? What then? Owen Davies loved her sister; this
+she knew and had known for years. But would he not have got over it in
+time? Would he not in time have been overpowered by the sense of his
+own utter loneliness and given his hand, if not his heart, to some
+other woman? And could not she who held his hand learn to reach his
+heart? And to whom would that hand have been given, the hand and all
+that went with it? What woman would this shy Welsh hermit, without
+friends or relations, have ever been thrown in with except herself--
+Elizabeth--who loved him as much as she could love anybody, which,
+perhaps, was not very much; who, at any rate, desired sorely to be his
+wife. Would not all this have come about if she had never seen that
+eyelid tremble, and that slight quiver run up her sister's limbs? It
+would--she knew it would.
+
+Elizabeth thought of it as for a moment she stood in the passage, and
+a cold hungry light came into her neutral tinted eyes and shone upon
+her pale face. But she choked back the thought; she was scarcely
+wicked enough to wish that her sister had not been brought back to
+life. She only speculated on what might have happened if this had come
+about, just as one works out a game of chess from a given hypothetical
+situation of the pieces.
+
+Perhaps, too, the same end might be gained in some other way. Perhaps
+Mr. Davies might still be weaned from his infatuation. The wall was
+difficult, but it would have to be very difficult if she could not
+find a way to climb it. It never occurred to Elizabeth that there
+might be an open gate. She could not conceive it possible that a woman
+might positively reject Owen Davies and his seven or ten thousand a
+year, and that woman a person in an unsatisfactory and uncongenial,
+almost in a menial position. Reject Bryngelly Castle with all its
+luxury and opportunities of wealth and leisure? No, the sun would set
+in the east before such a thing happened. The plan was to prevent the
+occasion from arising. The hungry light died on Elizabeth's face, and
+she turned to enter the sick room when suddenly she met her father
+coming out.
+
+"Who was that at the front?" he asked, carefully closing the door.
+
+"Mr. Davies of Bryngelly Castle, father."
+
+"And what did Mr. Davies want at this time of night? To know about
+Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes," she answered slowly, "he came to ask after Beatrice, or to be
+more correct he has been waiting outside for three hours in the rain
+to learn if she recovered."
+
+"Waiting outside for three hours in the rain," said the clergyman
+astonished--"Squire Davies standing outside the house! What for?"
+
+"Because he was so anxious about Beatrice and did not like to come in,
+I suppose."
+
+"So anxious about Beatrice--ah, so anxious about Beatrice! Do you
+think, Elizabeth--um--you know there is no doubt Beatrice is very well
+favoured--very handsome they say----"
+
+"I do not think anything about it, father," she answered, "and as for
+Beatrice's looks they are a matter of opinion. I have mine. And now
+don't you think we had better go to bed? The doctors and Betty are
+going to stop up all night with Mr. Bingham and Beatrice."
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, I suppose that we had better go. I am sure we have
+much to be thankful for to-night. What a merciful deliverance! And if
+poor Beatrice had gone the parish must have found another
+schoolmistress, and it would have meant that we lost the salary. We
+have a great deal to be thankful for, Elizabeth."
+
+"Yes," said Elizabeth, very deliberately, "we have."
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI
+
+                         OWEN DAVIES AT HOME
+
+Owen Davies tramped along the cliff with a light heart. The wild
+lashing of the rain and the roaring of the wind did not disturb him in
+the least. They were disagreeable, but he accepted them as he accepted
+existence and all its vanities, without remark or mental comment.
+There is a class of mind of which this is the prevailing attitude.
+Very early in their span of life, those endowed with such a mind come
+to the conclusion that the world is too much for them. They cannot
+understand it, so they abandon the attempt, and, as a consequence, in
+their own torpid way they are among the happiest and most contented of
+men. Problems, on which persons of keener intelligence and more
+aspiring soul fret and foam their lives away as rushing water round a
+rock, do not even break the placid surface of their days. Such men
+slip past them. They look out upon the stars and read of the mystery
+of the universe speeding on for ever through the limitless wastes of
+space, and are not astonished. In their childhood they were taught
+that God made the sun and the stars to give light on the earth; that
+is enough for them. And so it is with everything. Poverty and
+suffering; war, pestilence, and the inequalities of fate; madness,
+life and death, and the spiritual wonders that hedge in our being, are
+things not to be inquired into but accepted. So they accept them as
+they do their dinner or a tradesman's circular.
+
+In some cases this mental state has its root in deep and simple
+religious convictions, and in some it springs from a preponderance of
+healthful animal instincts over the higher but more troublesome
+spiritual parts. The ox chewing the cud in the fresh meadow does not
+muse upon the past and future, and the gull blown like a foam-flake
+out against the sunset, does not know the splendour of the sky and
+sea. Even the savage is not much troubled about the scheme of things.
+In the beginning he was "torn out of the reeds," and in the end he
+melts into the Unknown, and for the rest, there are beef and wives,
+and foes to conquer. But then oxen and gulls are not, so far as we
+know, troubled with any spiritual parts at all, and in the noble
+savage such things are not cultivated. They come with civilization.
+
+But perhaps in the majority this condition, so necessary to the more
+placid forms of happiness, is born of a conjunction of physical and
+religious developments. So it was, at least, with the rich and
+fortunate man whom we have seen trudging along the wind-swept cliff.
+By nature and education he was of a strongly and simply religious
+mind, as he was in body powerful, placid, and healthy to an
+exasperating degree. It may be said that it is easy to be religious
+and placid on ten thousand a year, but Owen Davies had not always
+enjoyed ten thousand a year and one of the most romantic and beautiful
+seats in Wales. From the time he was seventeen, when his mother's
+death left him an orphan, till he reached the age of thirty, some six
+years from the date of the opening of this history, he led about as
+hard a life as fate could find for any man. Some people may have heard
+of sugar drogers, or sailing brigs, which trade between this country
+and the West Indies, carrying coal outwards and sugar home.
+
+On board one of these, Owen Davies worked in various capacities for
+thirteen long years. He did his drudgery well; but he made no friends,
+and always remained the same shy, silent, and pious man. Then suddenly
+a relation died without a will, and he found himself heir-in-law to
+Bryngelly Castle and all its revenues. Owen expressed no surprise, and
+to all appearance felt none. He had never seen his relation, and never
+dreamed of this romantic devolution of great estates upon himself. But
+he accepted the good fortune as he had accepted the ill, and said
+nothing. The only people who knew him were his shipmates, and they
+could scarcely be held to know him. They were acquainted with his
+appearance and the sound of his voice, and his method of doing his
+duty. Also, they were aware, although he never spoke of religion, that
+he read a chapter of the Bible every evening, and went to church
+whenever they touched at a port. But of his internal self they were in
+total ignorance. This did not, however, prevent them from prophesying
+that Davies was a "deep one," who, now that he had got the cash, would
+"blue it" in a way which would astonish them.
+
+But Davies did not "excel in azure feats." The news of his good
+fortune reached him just as the brig, on which he was going to sail as
+first-mate, was taking in her cargo for the West Indies. He had signed
+his contract for the voyage, and, to the utter astonishment of the
+lawyer who managed the estates, he announced that he should carry it
+out. In vain did the man of affairs point out to his client that with
+the help of a cheque of £100 he could arrange the matter for him in
+ten minutes. Mr. Davies merely replied that the property could wait,
+he should go the voyage and retire afterwards. The lawyer held up his
+hands, and then suddenly remembered that there are women in the West
+Indies as in other parts of the world. Doubtless his queer client had
+an object in this voyage. As a matter of fact, he was totally wrong.
+Owen Davies had never interchanged a tender word with a woman in his
+life; he was a creature of routine, and it was part of his routine to
+carry out his agreements to the letter. That was all.
+
+As a last resource, the lawyer suggested that Mr. Davies should make a
+will.
+
+"I do not think it necessary," was the slow and measured answer. "The
+property has come to me by chance. If I die, it may as well go to
+somebody else in the same way."
+
+The lawyer stared. "Very well," he said; "it is against my advice, but
+you must please yourself. Do you want any money?"
+
+Owen thought for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I think I should like to
+have ten pounds. They are building a theatre there, and I want to
+subscribe to it."
+
+The lawyer gave him the ten pounds without a word; he was struck
+speechless, and in this condition he remained for some minutes after
+the door had closed behind his client. Then he sprung up with a single
+ejaculation, "Mad, mad! like his great uncle!"
+
+But Owen Davies was not in the least mad, at any rate not then; he was
+only a creature of habit. In due course, his agreement fulfilled, he
+sailed his brig home from the West Indies (for the captain was drowned
+in a gale). Then he took a second-class ticket to Bryngelly, where he
+had never been in his life before, and asked his way to the Castle. He
+was told to go to the beach, and he would see it. He did so, leaving
+his sea-chest behind him, and there, about two hundred paces from the
+land, and built upon a solitary mountain of rock, measuring half a
+mile or so round the base, he perceived a vast mediæval pile of
+fortified buildings, with turrets towering three hundred feet into the
+air, and edged with fire by the setting sun. He gazed on it with
+perplexity. Could it be that this enormous island fortress belonged to
+him, and, if so, how on earth did one get to it? For some little time
+he walked up and down, wondering, too shy to go to the village for
+information. Meanwhile, though he did not notice her, a well-grown
+girl of about fifteen, remarkable for her great grey eyes and the
+promise of her beauty, was watching his evident perplexity from a seat
+beneath a rock, not without amusement. At last she rose, and, with the
+confidence of bold fifteen, walked straight up to him.
+
+"Do you want to get the Castle, sir?" she asked in a low sweet voice,
+the echoes of which Owen Davies never forgot.
+
+"Yes--oh, I beg your pardon," for now for the first time he saw that
+he was talking to a young lady.
+
+"Then I am afraid that you are too late--Mrs. Thomas will not show
+people over after four o'clock. She is the housekeeper, you know."
+
+"Ah, well, the fact is I did not come to see over the place. I came to
+live there. I am Owen Davies, and the place was left to me."
+
+Beatrice, for of course it was she, stared at him in amazement. So
+this was the mysterious sailor about whom there had been so much talk
+in Bryngelly.
+
+"Oh!" she said, with embarrassing frankness. "What an odd way to come
+home. Well, it is high tide, and you will have to take a boat. I will
+show you where you can get one. Old Edward will row you across for
+sixpence," and she led the way round a corner of the beach to where
+old Edward sat, from early morn to dewy eve, upon the thwarts of his
+biggest boat, seeking those whom he might row.
+
+"Edward," said the young lady, "here is the new squire, Mr. Owen
+Davies, who wants to be rowed across to the Castle." Edward, a gnarled
+and twisted specimen of the sailor tribe, with small eyes and a face
+that reminded the observer of one of those quaint countenances on the
+handle of a walking stick, stared at her in astonishment, and then
+cast a look of suspicion on the visitor.
+
+"Have he got papers of identification about him, miss?" he asked in a
+stage whisper.
+
+"I don't know," she answered laughing. "He says that he is Mr. Owen
+Davies."
+
+"Well, praps he is and praps he ain't; anyway, it isn't my affair, and
+sixpence is sixpence."
+
+All of this the unfortunate Mr. Davies overheard, and it did not add
+to his equanimity.
+
+"Now, sir, if you please," said Edward sternly, as he pulled the
+little boat up to the edge of the breakwater. A vision of Mrs. Thomas
+shot into Owen's mind. If the boatman did not believe in him, what
+chance had he with the housekeeper? He wished he had brought the
+lawyer down with him, and then he wished that he was back in the sugar
+brig.
+
+"Now, sir," said Edward still more sternly, putting down his
+hesitation to an impostor's consciousness of guilt.
+
+"Um!" said Owen to the young lady, "I beg your pardon. I don't even
+know your name, and I am sure I have no right to ask it, but would you
+mind rowing across with me? It would be so kind of you; you might
+introduce me to the housekeeper."
+
+Again Beatrice laughed the merry laugh of girlhood; she was too young
+to be conscious of any impropriety in the situation, and indeed there
+was none. But her sense of humour told her that it was funny, and she
+became possessed with a not unnatural curiosity to see the thing out.
+
+"Oh, very well," she said, "I will come."
+
+The boat was pushed off and very soon they reached the stone quay that
+bordered the harbour of the Castle, about which a little village of
+retainers had grown up. Seeing the boat arrive, some of these people
+sauntered out of the cottages, and then, thinking that a visitor had
+come, under the guidance of Miss Beatrice, to look at the antiquities
+of the Castle, which was the show place of the neighbourhood,
+sauntered back again. Then the pair began the zigzag ascent of the
+rock mountain, till at last they stood beneath the mighty mass of
+building, which, although it was hoary with antiquity, was by no means
+lacking in the comforts of modern civilization, the water, for
+instance, being brought in pipes laid beneath the sea from a mountain
+top two miles away on the mainland.
+
+"Isn't there a view here?" said Beatrice, pointing to the vast stretch
+of land and sea. "I think, Mr. Davies, that you have the most
+beautiful house in the whole world. Your great-uncle, who died a year
+ago, spent more than fifty thousand pounds on repairing and
+refurbishing it, they say. He built the big drawing-room there, where
+the stone is a little lighter; it is fifty-five feet long. Just think,
+fifty thousand pounds!"
+
+"It is a large sum," said Owen, in an unimaginative sort of way, while
+in his heart he wondered what on earth he should do with this white
+elephant of a mediæval castle, and its drawing room fifty-five feet
+long.
+
+"He does not seem much impressed," thought Beatrice to herself, as she
+tugged away at the postern bell; "I think he must be stupid. He looks
+stupid."
+
+Presently the door was opened by an active-looking little old woman
+with a high voice.
+
+"Mrs. Thomas," thought Owen to himself; "she is even worse than I
+expected."
+
+"Now you must please to go away," began the formidable housekeeper in
+her shrillest key; "it is too late to show visitors over. Why, bless
+us, it's you, Miss Beatrice, with a strange man! What do you want?"
+
+Beatrice looked at her companion as a hint that he should explain
+himself, but he said nothing.
+
+"This is your new squire," she said, not without a certain pride. "I
+found him wandering about the beach. He did not know how to get here,
+so I brought him over."
+
+"Lord, Miss Beatrice, and how do you know it's him?" said Mrs. Thomas.
+"How do you know it ain't a housebreaker?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure he cannot be," answered Beatrice aside, "because he
+isn't clever enough."
+
+Then followed a long discussion. Mrs. Thomas stoutly refused to admit
+the stranger without evidence of identity, and Beatrice, embracing his
+cause, as stoutly pressed his claims. As for the lawful owner, he made
+occasional feeble attempts to prove that he was himself, but Mrs.
+Thomas was not to be imposed upon in this way. At last they came to a
+dead lock.
+
+"Y'd better go back to the inn, sir," said Mrs. Thomas with scathing
+sarcasm, "and come up to-morrow with proofs and your luggage."
+
+"Haven't you got any letters with you?" suggested Beatrice as a last
+resource.
+
+As it happened Owen had a letter, one from the lawyer to himself about
+the property, and mentioning Mrs. Thomas's name as being in charge of
+the Castle. He had forgotten all about it, but at this interesting
+juncture it was produced and read aloud by Beatrice. Mrs. Thomas took
+it, and having examined it carefully through her horn-rimmed
+spectacles, was constrained to admit its authenticity.
+
+"I'm sure I apologise, sir," she said with a half-doubtful courtesy
+and much tact, "but one can't be too careful with all these trampseses
+about; I never should have thought from the look of you, sir, how as
+you was the new squire."
+
+This might be candid, but it was not flattering, and it caused
+Beatrice to snigger behind her handkerchief in true school-girl
+fashion. However, they entered, and were led by Mrs. Thomas with
+solemn pomp through the great and little halls, the stone parlour and
+the oak parlour, the library and the huge drawing-room, in which the
+white heads of marble statues protruded from the bags of brown holland
+wherewith they were wrapped about in a manner ghastly to behold. At
+length they reached a small octagon-shaped room that, facing south,
+commanded a most glorious view of sea and land. It was called the
+Lady's Boudoir, and joined another of about the same size, which in
+its former owner's time had been used as a smoking-room.
+
+"If you don't mind, madam," said the lord of all this magnificence, "I
+should like to stop here, I am getting tired of walking." And there he
+stopped for many years. The rest of the Castle was shut up; he
+scarcely ever visited it except occasionally to see that the rooms
+were properly aired, for he was a methodical man.
+
+As for Beatrice, she went home, still chuckling, to receive a severe
+reproof from Elizabeth for her "forwardness." But Owen Davies never
+forgot the debt of gratitude he owed her. In his heart he felt
+convinced that had it not been for her, he would have fled before Mrs.
+Thomas and her horn-rimmed eyeglasses, to return no more. The truth of
+the matter was, however, that young as was Beatrice, he fell in love
+with her then and there, only to fall deeper and deeper into that
+drear abyss as years went on. He never said anything about it, he
+scarcely even gave a hint of his hopeless condition, though of course
+Beatrice divined something of it as soon as she came to years of
+discretion. But there grew up in Owen's silent, lonely breast a great
+and overmastering desire to make this grey-eyed girl his wife. He
+measured time by the intervals that elapsed between his visions of
+her. No period in his life was so wretched and utterly purposeless as
+those two years which passed while she was at her Training College. He
+was a very passive lover, as yet his gathering passion did not urge
+him to extremes, and he could never make up his mind to declare it.
+The box was in his hand, but he feared to throw the dice.
+
+But he drew as near to her as he dared. Once he gave Beatrice a
+flower, it was when she was seventeen, and awkwardly expressed a hope
+that she would wear it for his sake. The words were not much and the
+flower was not much, but there was a look about the man's eyes, and a
+suppressed passion and energy in his voice, which told their tale to
+the keen-witted girl. After this he found that she avoided him, and
+bitterly regretted his boldness. For Beatrice did not like him in that
+way. To a girl of her curious stamp his wealth was nothing. She did
+not covet wealth, she coveted independence, and had the sense to know
+that marriage with such a man would not bring it. A cage is a cage,
+whether the bars are of iron or gold. He bored her, she despised him
+for his want of intelligence and enterprise. That a man with all this
+wealth and endless opportunity should waste his life in such fashion
+was to her a thing intolerable. She knew if she had half his chance,
+that she would make her name ring from one end of Europe to the other.
+In short, Beatrice held Owen as deeply in contempt as her sister
+Elizabeth, studying him from another point of view, held him in
+reverence. And putting aside any human predilections, Beatrice would
+never have married a man whom she despised. She respected herself too
+much.
+
+Owen Davies saw all this as through a glass darkly, and in his own
+slow way cast about for a means of drawing near. He discovered that
+Beatrice was passionately fond of learning, and also that she had no
+means to obtain the necessary books. So he threw open his library to
+her; it was one of the best in Wales. He did more; he gave orders to a
+London bookseller to forward him every new book of importance that
+appeared in certain classes of literature, and all of these he placed
+at her disposal, having first carefully cut the leaves with his own
+hand. This was a bait Beatrice could not resist. She might dread or
+even detest Mr. Davies, but she loved his books, and if she quarrelled
+with him her well of knowledge would simply run dry, for there were no
+circulating libraries at Bryngelly, and if there had been she could
+not have afforded to subscribe to them. So she remained on good terms
+with him, and even smiled at his futile attempts to keep pace with her
+studies. Poor man, reading did not come naturally to him; he was much
+better at cutting leaves. He studied the /Times/ and certain religious
+works, that was all. But he wrestled manfully with many a detested
+tome, in order to be able to say something to Beatrice about it, and
+the worst of it was that Beatrice always saw through it, and showed
+him that she did. It was not kind, perhaps, but youth is cruel.
+
+And so the years wore on, till at length Beatrice knew that a crisis
+was at hand. Even the tardiest and most retiring lover must come to
+the point at last, if he is in earnest, and Owen Davies was very much
+in earnest. Of late, to her dismay, he had so far come out of his
+shell as to allow himself to be nominated a member of the school
+council. Of course she knew that this was only to give him more
+opportunities of seeing her. As a member of the council, he could
+visit the school of which she was mistress as often as he chose, and
+indeed he soon learned to take a lively interest in village education.
+About twice a week he would come in just as the school was breaking up
+and offer to walk home with her, seeking for a favourable opportunity
+to propose. Hitherto she had always warded off this last event, but
+she knew that it must happen. Not that she was actually afraid of the
+man himself; he was too much afraid of her for that. What she did fear
+was the outburst of wrath from her father and sister when they learned
+that she had refused Owen Davies. It never occurred to her that
+Elizabeth might be playing a hand of her own in the matter.
+
+From all of which it will be clear, if indeed it has not become so
+already, that Beatrice Granger was a somewhat ill-regulated young
+woman, born to bring trouble on herself and all connected with her.
+Had she been otherwise, she would have taken her good fortune and
+married Owen Davies, in which case her history need never have been
+written.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VII
+
+                          A MATRIMONIAL TALE
+
+Before Geoffrey Bingham dropped off into a troubled sleep on that
+eventful night of storm, he learned that the girl who had saved his
+life at the risk and almost at the cost of her own was out of danger,
+and in his own and more reticent way he thanked Providence as heartily
+as did Owen Davies. Then he went to sleep.
+
+When he woke, feeling very sick and so stiff and sore that he could
+scarcely move, the broad daylight was streaming through the blinds.
+The place was perfectly quiet, for the doctor's assistant who had
+brought him back to life, and who lay upon a couch at the further end
+of the room, slept the sleep of youth and complete exhaustion. Only an
+eight-day clock on the mantelpiece ticked in that solemn and
+aggressive way which clocks affect in the stillness. Geoffrey strained
+his eyes to make out the time, and finally discovered that it wanted a
+few minutes to six o'clock. Then he fell to wondering how Miss Granger
+was, and to repeating in his own mind every scene of their adventure,
+till the last, when they were whirled out of the canoe in the embrace
+of that white-crested billow.
+
+He remembered nothing after that, nothing but a rushing sound and a
+vision of foam. He shuddered a little as he thought of it, for his
+nerves were shaken; it is not pleasant to have been so very near the
+End and the Beginning; and then his heart went out with renewed
+gratitude towards the girl who had restored him to life and light and
+hope. Just at this moment he thought that he heard a sound of sobbing
+outside the window. He listened; the sound went on. He tried to rise,
+only to find that he was too stiff to manage it. So, as a last
+resource, he called the doctor.
+
+"What is the matter?" answered that young gentleman, jumping up with
+the alacrity of one accustomed to be suddenly awakened. "Do you feel
+queer?"
+
+"Yes, I do rather," answered Geoffrey, "but it isn't that. There is
+somebody crying outside here."
+
+The doctor put on his coat, and, going to the window, drew the blind.
+
+"Why, so there is," he said. "It's a little girl with yellow hair and
+without a hat."
+
+"A little girl," answered Geoffrey. "Why, it must be Effie, my
+daughter. Please let her in."
+
+"All right. Cover yourself up, and I can do that through the window;
+it isn't five feet from the ground." Accordingly he opened the window,
+and addressing the little girl, asked her what her name was.
+
+"Effie," she sobbed in answer, "Effie Bingham. I've come to look for
+daddie."
+
+"All right, my dear, don't cry so; your daddie is here. Come and let
+me lift you in."
+
+Another moment and there appeared through the open window the very
+sweetest little face and form that ever a girl of six was blessed
+with. For the face was pink and white, and in it were set two
+beautiful dark eyes, which, contrasting with the golden hair, made the
+child a sight to see. But alas! just now the cheeks were stained with
+tears, and round the large dark eyes were rings almost as dark. Nor
+was this all. The little dress was hooked awry, on one tiny foot all
+drenched with dew there was no boot, and on the yellow curls no hat.
+
+"Oh! daddie, daddie," cried the child, catching sight of him and
+struggling to reach her father's arms, "you isn't dead, is you,
+daddie?"
+
+"No, my love, no," answered her father, kissing her. "Why should you
+think that I was dead? Didn't your mother tell you that I was safe?"
+
+"Oh! daddie," she answered, "they came and said that you was drownded,
+and I cried and wished that I was drownded too. Then mother came home
+at last and said that you were better, and was cross with me because I
+went on crying and wanted to come to you. But I did go on crying. I
+cried nearly all night, and when it got light I did dress myself, all
+but one shoe and my hat, which I could not find, and I got out of the
+house to look for you."
+
+"And how did you find me, my poor little dear?"
+
+"Oh, I heard mother say you was at the Vicarage, so I waited till I
+saw a man, and asked him which way to go, and he did tell me to walk
+along the cliff till I saw a long white house, and then when he saw
+that I had no shoe he wanted to take me home, but I ran away till I
+got here. But the blinds were down, so I did think that you were dead,
+daddie dear, and I cried till that gentleman opened the window."
+
+After that Geoffrey began to scold her for running away, but she did
+not seem to mind it much, for she sat upon the edge of the couch, her
+little face resting against his own, a very pretty sight to see.
+
+"You must go back to Mrs. Jones, Effie, and tell your mother where you
+have been."
+
+"I can't, daddie, I've only got one shoe," she answered, pouting.
+
+"But you came with only one shoe."
+
+"Yes, daddie, but I wanted to come and I don't want to go back. Tell
+me how you was drownded."
+
+He laughed at her logic and gave way to her, for this little daughter
+was very near to his heart, nearer than anything else in the world. So
+he told her how he was "drownded" and how a lady had saved his life.
+
+Effie listened with wide set eyes, and then said that she wanted to
+see the lady, which she presently did. At that moment there came a
+knock at the door, and Mr. Granger entered, accompanied by Dr.
+Chambers.
+
+"How do you do, sir?" said the former. "I must introduce myself,
+seeing that you are not likely to remember me. When last I saw you,
+you looked as dead as a beached dog-fish. My name's Granger, the
+Reverend J. Granger, Vicar of Bryngelly, one of the very worst livings
+on this coast, and that's saying a great deal."
+
+"I am sure, Mr. Granger, I'm under a deep debt of gratitude to you for
+your hospitality, and under a still deeper one to your daughter, but I
+hope to thank her personally for that."
+
+"Never speak of it," said the clergyman. "Hot water and blankets don't
+cost much, and you will have to pay for the brandy and the doctor. How
+is he, doctor?"
+
+"He is getting on very well indeed, Mr. Granger. But I daresay you
+find yourself rather stiff, Mr. Bingham. I see your head is pretty
+badly bruised."
+
+"Yes," he answered, laughing, "and so is my body. Shall I be able to
+go home to-day?"
+
+"I think so," said the doctor, "but not before this evening. You had
+better keep quiet till then. You will be glad to hear that Miss
+Beatrice is getting on very well. Hers was a wonderful recovery, the
+most wonderful I ever saw. I had quite given her up, though I should
+have kept on the treatment for another hour. You ought to be grateful
+to Miss Beatrice, Mr. Bingham. But for her you would not have been
+here."
+
+"I am most grateful," he answered earnestly. "Shall I be able to see
+her to-day?"
+
+"Yes, I think so, some time this afternoon, say at three o'clock. Is
+that your little daughter? What a lovely child she is. Well, I will
+look in again about twelve. All that you require to do now is to keep
+quiet and rub in some arnica."
+
+About an hour afterwards the servant girl brought Geoffrey some
+breakfast of tea and toast. He felt quite hungry, but when it came to
+the pinch he could not eat much. Effie, who was starving, made up for
+this deficiency, however; she ate all the toast and a couple of slices
+of bread and butter after it. Scarcely had they finished, when her
+father observed a shade of anxiety come upon his little daughter's
+face.
+
+"What is it, Effie?" he asked.
+
+"I think," replied Effie in evident trepidation, "I think that I hear
+mother outside and Anne too."
+
+"Well, dear, they have come to see me."
+
+"Yes, and to scold me because I ran away," and the child drew nearer
+to her father in a fashion which would have made it clear to any
+observer that the relations between her and her mother were somewhat
+strained.
+
+Effie was right. Presently there was a knock at the door and Lady
+Honoria entered, calm and pale and elegant as ever. She was followed
+by a dark-eyed somewhat impertinent-looking French /bonne/, who held
+up her hands and ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" as she appeared.
+
+"I thought so," said Lady Honoria, speaking in French to the /bonne/.
+"There she is," and she pointed at the runaway Effie with her parasol.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" said the woman again. "Vous voilà enfin, et moi, qui suis
+accablée de peur, et votre chère mère aussi; oh, mais que c'est
+méchant; et regardez donc, avec un soulier seulement. Mais c'est
+affreux!"
+
+"Hold your tongue," said Geoffrey sharply, "and leave Miss Effie
+alone. She came to see me."
+
+Anne ejaculated, "Mon Dieu!" once more and collapsed.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey," said his wife, "the way you spoil that child is
+something shocking. She is wilful as can be, and you make her worse.
+It is very naughty of her to run away like that and give us such a
+hunt. How are we to get her home, I wonder, with only one shoe."
+
+Her husband bit his lip, and his forehead contracted itself above the
+dark eyes. It was not the first time that he and Lady Honoria had come
+to words about the child, with whom his wife was not in sympathy.
+Indeed she had never forgiven Effie for appearing in this world at
+all. Lady Honoria did not belong to that class of women who think
+maternity is a joy.
+
+"Anne," he said, "take Miss Effie and carry her till you can find a
+donkey. She can ride back to the lodgings." The nurse murmured
+something in French about the child being as heavy as lead.
+
+"Do as I bid you," he said sharply, in the same language. "Effie, my
+love, give me a kiss and go home. Thank you for coming to see me."
+
+The child obeyed and went. Lady Honoria stood and watched her go,
+tapping her little foot upon the floor, and with a look upon her cold,
+handsome face that was not altogether agreeable to see.
+
+
+
+It had sometimes happened that, in the course of his married life,
+Geoffrey returned home with a little of that added fondness which
+absence is fabled to beget. On these occasions he was commonly so
+unfortunate as to find that Lady Honoria belied the saying, that she
+greeted him with arrears of grievances and was, if possible, more
+frigid than ever.
+
+Was this to be repeated now that he had come back from what was so
+near to being the longest absence of all? It looked like it. He noted
+symptoms of the rising storm, symptoms with which he was but too well
+acquainted, and both for his own sake and for hers--for above all
+things Geoffrey dreaded these bitter matrimonial bickerings--tried to
+think of something kind to say. It must be owned that he did not show
+much tact in the subject he selected, though it was one which might
+have stirred the sympathies of some women. It is so difficult to
+remember that one is dealing with a Lady Honoria.
+
+"If ever we have another child----" he began gently.
+
+"Excuse me interrupting you," said the lady, with a suavity which did
+not however convey any idea of the speaker's inward peace, "but it is
+a kindness to prevent you from going on in that line. /One/ darling is
+ample for me."
+
+"Well," said the miserable Geoffrey, with an effort, "even if you
+don't care much about the child yourself, it is a little unreasonable
+to object because she cares for me and was sorry when she thought that
+I was dead. Really, Honoria, sometimes I wonder if you have any heart
+at all. Why should you be put out because Effie got up early to come
+and see me?--an example which I must admit you did not set her. And as
+to her shoe----" he added smiling.
+
+"You may laugh about her shoe, Geoffrey," she interrupted, "but you
+forget that even little things like that are no laughing matter now to
+us. The child's shoes keep me awake at night sometimes. Defoy has not
+been paid for I don't know how long. I have a mind to get her /sabots/
+--and as to heart----"
+
+"Well," broke in Geoffrey, reflecting that bad as was the emotional
+side of the question, it was better than the commercial--"as to
+'heart?'"
+
+"You are scarcely the person to talk of it, that is all. I wonder how
+much of yours you gave /me/?"
+
+"Really, Honoria," he answered, not without eagerness, and his mind
+filled with wonder. Was it possible that his wife had experienced some
+kind of "call," and was about to concern herself with his heart one
+way or the other? If so it was strange, for she had never shown the
+slightest interest in it before.
+
+"Yes," she went on rapidly and with gathering vehemence, "you speak
+about your heart"--which he had not done--"and yet you know as well as
+I do that if I had been a girl of no position you would never have
+offered me the organ on which you pretend to set so high a value. Or
+did your heart run wildly away with you, and drag us into love and a
+cottage--a flat, I mean? If so, /I/ should prefer a little less heart
+and a little more common sense."
+
+Geoffrey winced, twice indeed, feeling that her ladyship had hit him
+as it were with both barrels. For, as a matter of fact, he had not
+begun with any passionate devotion, and again Lady Honoria and he were
+now just as poor as though they had really married for love.
+
+"It is hardly fair to go back on bygones and talk like this," he said,
+"even if your position had something to do with it; only at first of
+course, you must remember that when we married mine was not without
+attractions. Two thousand a year to start on and a baronetcy and eight
+thousand a year in the near future were not--but I hate talking about
+that kind of thing. Why do you force me to it? Nobody could know that
+my uncle, who was so anxious that I should marry you, would marry
+himself at his age, and have a son and heir. It was not my fault,
+Honoria. Perhaps you would not have married me if you could have
+foreseen it."
+
+"Very probably not," she answered calmly, "and it is not /my/ fault
+that I have not yet learned to live with peace of mind and comfort on
+seven hundred a year. It was hard enough to exist on two thousand till
+your uncle died, and now----"
+
+"Well, and now, Honoria, if you will only have patience and put up
+with things for a while, you shall be rich enough; I will make money
+for you, as much money as you want. I have many friends. I have not
+done so badly at the Bar this year."
+
+"Two hundred pounds, nineteen shillings and sevenpence, minus ninety-
+seven pounds rent of chambers and clerk," said Lady Honoria, with a
+disparaging accent on the sevenpence.
+
+"I shall double it next year, and double that again the next, and so
+on. I work from morning till night to get on, that you may have--what
+you live for," he said bitterly.
+
+"Ah, I shall be sixty before that happy day comes, and want nothing
+but scandal and a bath chair. I know the Bar and its moaning," she
+added, with acid wit. "You dream, you imagine what you would like to
+come true, but you are deceiving me and yourself. It will be like the
+story of Sir Robert Bingham's property once again. We shall be beggars
+all our days. I tell you, Geoffrey, that you had no right to marry
+me."
+
+Then at length he lost his temper. This was not the first of these
+scenes--they had grown frequent of late, and this bitter water was
+constantly dropping.
+
+"Right?" he said, "and may I ask what right you had to marry me when
+you don't even pretend you ever cared one straw for me, but just
+accepted me as you would have accepted any other man who was a
+tolerably good match? I grant that I first thought of proposing to you
+because my uncle wished it, but if I did not love you I meant to be a
+good husband to you, and I should have loved you if you would let me.
+But you are cold and selfish; you looked upon a husband merely as a
+stepping-stone to luxury; you have never loved anybody except
+yourself. If I had died last night I believe that you would have cared
+more about having to go into mourning than for the fact of my
+disappearance from your life. You showed no more feeling for me when
+you came in than you would have if I had been a stranger--not so much
+as some women might have for a stranger. I wonder sometimes if you
+have any feeling left in you at all. I should think that you treat me
+as you do because you do not care for me and do care for some other
+person did I not know you to be utterly incapable of caring for
+anybody. Do you want to make me hate you, Honoria?"
+
+Geoffrey's low concentrated voice and earnest manner told his wife,
+who was watching him with something like a smile upon her clear-cut
+lips, how deeply he was moved. He had lost his self-control, and
+exposed his heart to her--a thing he rarely did, and that in itself
+was a triumph which she did not wish to pursue at the moment. Geoffrey
+was not a man to push too far.
+
+"If you have quite finished, Geoffrey, there is something I should
+like to say----"
+
+"Oh, curse it all!" he broke in.
+
+"Yes?" she said calmly and interrogatively, and made a pause, but as
+he did not specially apply his remark to anybody or anything, she
+continued: "If these flowers of rhetoric are over, what I have to say
+is this: I do not intend to stay in this horrid place any longer. I am
+going to-morrow to my brother Garsington. They asked us both, you may
+remember, but for reasons best known to yourself, you would not go."
+
+"You know my reasons very well, Honoria."
+
+"I beg your pardon. I have not the slightest idea what they were,"
+said Lady Honoria with conviction. "May I hear them?"
+
+"Well, if you wish to know, I will not go to the house of a man who
+has--well, left my club as Garsington left it, and who, had it not
+been for my efforts, would have left it in an even more unpleasant and
+conspicuous fashion. And his wife is worse than he is----"
+
+"I think you are mistaken," Lady Honoria said coldly, and with the air
+of a person who shuts the door of a room into which she does not wish
+to look. "And, any way, it all happened years ago and has blown over.
+But I do not see the necessity of discussing the subject further. I
+suppose that we shall meet at dinner to-night. I shall take the early
+train to-morrow."
+
+"Do what suits you, Honoria. Perhaps you would prefer not returning at
+all."
+
+"Thank you, no. I will not lay myself open to imputations. I shall
+join you in London, and will make the best of a bad business. Thank
+Heaven, I have learned how to bear my misfortunes," and with this
+Parthian shot she left the room.
+
+For a minute or two her husband felt as though he almost hated her.
+Then he thrust his face into the pillow and groaned.
+
+"She is right," he said to himself; "we must make the best of a bad
+business. But, somehow, I seem to have made a mess of my life. And yet
+I loved her once--for a month or two."
+
+This was not an agreeable scene, and it may be said that Lady Honoria
+was a vulgar person. But not even the advantage of having been brought
+up "on the knees of marchionesses" is a specific against vulgarity, if
+a lady happens, unfortunately, to set her heart, what there is of it,
+meanly on mean things.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII
+
+                             EXPLANATORY
+
+About two o'clock Geoffrey rose, and with some slight assistance from
+his reverend host, struggled into his clothes. Then he lunched, and
+while he did so Mr. Granger poured his troubles into his sympathetic
+ear.
+
+"My father was a Herefordshire farmer, Mr. Bingham," he said, "and I
+was bred up to that line of life myself. He did well, my father did,
+as in those days a careful man might. What is more, he made some money
+by cattle-dealing, and I think that turned his head a little; anyway,
+he was minded to make 'a gentleman of me,' as he called it. So when I
+was eighteen I was packed off to be made a parson of, whether I liked
+it or no. Well, I became a parson, and for four years I had a curacy
+at a town called Kingston, in Herefordshire, not a bad sort of little
+town--perhaps you happen to know it. While I was there, my father, who
+was getting beyond himself, took to speculating. He built a row of
+villas at Leominster, or at least he lent a lawyer the money to build
+them, and when they were built nobody would hire them. It broke my
+father; he was ruined over those villas. I have always hated the sight
+of a villa ever since, Mr. Bingham. And shortly afterwards he died, as
+near bankruptcy as a man's nose is to his mouth.
+
+"After that I was offered this living, £150 a year it was at the best,
+and like a fool I took it. The old parson who was here before me left
+an only daughter behind him. The living had ruined him, as it ruins
+me, and, as I say, he left his daughter, my wife that was, behind him,
+and a pretty good bill for dilapidations I had against the estate. But
+there wasn't any estate, so I made the best of a bad business and
+married the daughter, and a sweet pretty woman she was, poor dear,
+very like my Beatrice, only without the brains. I can't make out where
+Beatrice's brains come from indeed, for I am sure I don't set up for
+having any. She was well born, too, my wife was, of an old Cornish
+family, but she had nowhere to go to, and I think she married me
+because she didn't know what else to do, and was fond of the old
+place. She took me on with it, as it were. Well, it turned out pretty
+well, till some eleven years ago, when our boy was born, though I
+don't think we ever quite understood each other. She never got her
+health back after that, and seven years ago she died. I remember it
+was on a night wonderfully like last night--mist first, then storm.
+The boy died a few years afterwards. I thought it would have broken
+Beatrice's heart; she has never been the same girl since, but always
+full of queer ideas I don't pretend to follow.
+
+"And as for the life I've had of it here, Mr. Bingham, you wouldn't
+believe it if I was to tell you. The living is small enough, but the
+place is as full of dissent as a mackerel-boat of fish, and as for
+getting the tithes--well, I cannot, that's all. If it wasn't for a bit
+of farming that I do, not but what the prices are down to nothing, and
+for what the visitors give in the season, and for the help of
+Beatrice's salary as certificated mistress, I should have been in the
+poor-house long ago, and shall be yet, I often think. I have had to
+take in a border before now to make both ends meet, and shall again, I
+expect.
+
+"And now I must be off up to my bit of a farm; the old sow is due to
+litter, and I want to see how she is getting on. Please God she'll
+have thirteen again and do well. I'll order the fly to be here at
+five, though I shall be back before then--that is, I told Elizabeth to
+do so. She has gone out to do some visiting for me, and to see if she
+can't get in two pounds five of tithe that has been due for three
+months. If anybody can get it it's Elizabeth. Well, good-bye; if you
+are dull and want to talk to Beatrice, she is up and in there. I
+daresay you will suit one another. She's a very queer girl, Beatrice,
+quite beyond me with her ideas, and it was a funny thing her holding
+you so tight, but I suppose Providence arranged that. Good-bye for the
+present, Mr. Bingham," and this curious specimen of a clergyman
+vanished, leaving Geoffrey quite breathless.
+
+It was half-past two o'clock, and the doctor had told him that he
+could see Miss Granger at three. He wished that it was three, for he
+was tired of his own thoughts and company, and naturally anxious to
+renew his acquaintance with the strange girl who had begun by
+impressing him so deeply and ended by saving his life. There was
+complete quiet in the house; Betty, the maid-of-all-work, was employed
+in the kitchen, both the doctors had gone, and Elizabeth and her
+father were out. To-day there was no wind, it had blown itself away
+during the night, and the sight of the sunbeams streaming through the
+windows made Geoffrey long to be in the open air. He had no book at
+hand to read, and whenever he tried to think his mind flew back to
+that hateful matrimonial quarrel.
+
+It was hard on him, Geoffrey thought, that he should be called upon to
+endure such scenes. He could no longer disguise the truth from himself
+--he had buried his happiness on his wedding-day. Looking back across
+the years, he well remembered how different a life he had imagined for
+himself. In those days he was tired of knocking about and of youthful
+escapades; even that kind of social success which must attend a young
+man who was handsome, clever, a good fellow, and blessed with large
+expectations, had, at the age of six-and-twenty, entirely lost its
+attractiveness. Therefore he had turned no deaf ear to his uncle, Sir
+Robert Bingham, who was then going on for seventy, when he suggested
+that it might be well of Geoffrey settled down, and introduced him to
+Lady Honoria.
+
+Lady Honoria was eighteen then, and a beauty of the rather thin but
+statuesque type, which attracts men up to five or six and twenty and
+then frequently bores, if it does not repel them. Moreover, she was
+clever and well read, and pretended to be intellectually and
+poetically inclined, as ladies not specially favoured by Apollo
+sometimes do--before they marry. Cold she always was; nobody ever
+heard of Lady Honoria stretching the bounds of propriety; but Geoffrey
+put this down to a sweet and becoming modesty, which would vanish or
+be transmuted in its season. Also she affected a charming innocence of
+all vulgar business matters, which both deceived and enchanted him.
+Never but once did she allude to ways and means before marriage, and
+then it was to say that she was glad that they should be so poor till
+dear Sir Robert died (he had promised to allow them fifteen hundred a
+year, and they had seven more between them), as this would enable them
+to see so much more of each other.
+
+At last came the happy day, and this white virgin soul passed into
+Geoffrey's keeping. For a week or so things went fairly well, and then
+disenchantment began. He learned by slow but sure degrees that his
+wife was vain, selfish and extravagant, and, worst of all, that she
+cared very little about him. The first shock was when he accidentally
+discovered, four or five days after marriage, that Honoria was
+intimately acquainted with every detail of Sir Robert Bingham's
+property, and, young as she was, had already formed a scheme to make
+it more productive after the old man's death.
+
+They went to live in London, and there he found that Lady Honoria,
+although by far too cold and prudent a woman to do anything that could
+bring a breath of scandal upon her name, was as fond of admiration as
+she was heartless. It seemed to Geoffrey that he could never be free
+from the collection of young men who hung about her skirts. Some of
+them were very good fellows whom he liked exceedingly; still, on the
+whole he would have preferred to remain unmarried and associate with
+them at the club. Also the continual round of society and going out
+brought heavier expenses on him that he could well support. And thus,
+little by little, poor Geoffrey's dream of matrimonial bliss faded
+into thin air. But, fortunately for himself, he possessed a certain
+share of logic and sweet reasonableness. In time he learnt to see that
+the fault was not altogether with his wife, who was by no means a bad
+sort of woman in her degree. But her degree differed from his degree.
+She had married for freedom and wealth and to gain a larger scope
+wherein to exercise those tastes which inherited disposition and
+education had given to her, as she believed that he had married her
+because she was the daughter of a peer.
+
+Lady Honoria, like many another woman of her stamp, was the overbred,
+or sometimes the underbred, product of a too civilized age and class.
+Those primitive passions and virtues on which her husband had relied
+to make the happiness of their married life simply did not exist for
+her. The passions had been bred and educated out of her; for many
+generations they have been found inconvenient and disquieting
+attributes in woman. As for the old virtues, such as love of children
+and the ordinary round of domestic duty, they simply bored her. On the
+whole, though sharp of tongue, she rarely lost her temper, for her
+vices, like her virtues, were of a somewhat negative order; but the
+fury which seized her when she learned for certain that she was to
+become a mother was a thing that her unfortunate husband never forgot
+and never wished to see again. At length the child was born, a fact
+for which Geoffrey, at least, was very thankful.
+
+"Take it away. I do not want to see it!" said Lady Honoria to the
+scandalised nurse when the little creature was brought to her, wrapped
+in its long robes.
+
+"Give it to me, nurse--I do," said her husband.
+
+
+
+From that moment Geoffrey gave all the pent-up affection of his
+bruised soul to this little daughter, and as the years went on they
+grew very dear to each other. But an active-minded, strong-hearted,
+able-bodied man cannot take a babe as the sole companion of his
+existence. Probably Geoffrey would have found this out in time, and
+might have drifted into some mode of life more or less undesirable,
+had not an accident occurred to prevent it. In his dotage, Geoffrey's
+old uncle Sir Robert Bingham fell a victim to the wiles of an
+adventuress and married her. Then he promptly died, and eight months
+afterwards a posthumous son was born.
+
+To Geoffrey this meant ruin. His allowance stopped and his
+expectations vanished at one fell swoop. He pulled himself together,
+however, as a brave-hearted man does under such a shock, and going to
+his wife he explained to her that he must now work for his living,
+begging her to break down the barrier that was between them and give
+him her sympathy and help. She met him with tears and reproaches. The
+one thing that touched her keenly, the one thing which she feared and
+hated was poverty, and all that poverty means to women of her rank and
+nature. But there was no help for it; the charming house in Bolton
+Steet had to be given up, and purgatory must be faced, in a flat, near
+the Edgware Road. Lady Honoria was miserable, indeed had it not been
+that fortunately for herself she possessed plenty of relations more or
+less grand, whom she might continually visit for weeks and even for
+months at a stretch, she could scarcely have endured her altered life.
+
+But strangely enough Geoffrey soon found that he was happier than he
+had been since his marriage. To begin with, he set to work like a man,
+and work is a great source of happiness to all vigorous-minded folk.
+It is not, in truth, a particularly cheerful occupation to pass
+endless days in hanging about law-courts amongst a crowd of unbriefed
+Juniors, and many nights in reading up the law one has forgotten and
+threading the many intricacies of the Judicature Act. But it happened
+that his father, a younger brother of Sir Robert's, had been a
+solicitor, and though he was dead, and all direct interest with the
+firm was severed, yet another uncle remained in it, and the partners
+did not forget Geoffrey in his difficulties.
+
+They sent him what work they could without offending their standing
+counsel, and he did it well. Then by degrees he built up quite a large
+general practice of the kind known as deviling. Now there are few
+things more unsatisfactory than doing another man's work for nothing,
+but every case fought means knowledge gained, and what is more it is
+advertisement. So it came to pass that within less than two years from
+the date of his money misfortunes, Geoffrey Bingham's dark handsome
+face and square strong form became very well known in the Courts.
+
+"What is that man's name?" said one well-known Q.C. to another still
+more well known, as they sat waiting for their chops in the Bar Grill
+Room, and saw Geoffrey, his wig pushed back from his forehead,
+striding through the doorway on the last day of the sitting which
+preceded the commencement of this history.
+
+"Bingham," answered the other. "He's only begun to practise lately,
+but he'll be at the top of the tree before he has done. He married
+very well, you know, old Garsington's daughter, a charming woman, and
+handsome too."
+
+"He looks like it," grunted the first, and as a matter of fact such
+was the general opinion.
+
+For, as Beatrice had said, Geoffrey Bingham was a man who had success
+written on his forehead. It would have been almost impossible for him
+to fail in whatever he undertook.
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IX
+
+                        WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED
+
+Geoffrey lay upon his back, watching the still patch of sunshine and
+listening to the ticking of the clock, as he passed all these and many
+other events in solemn review, till the series culminated in his vivid
+recollection of the scene of that very morning.
+
+"I am sick of it," he said at last aloud, "sick and tired. She makes
+my life wretched. If it wasn't for Effie upon my word I'd . . . By
+Jove, it is three o'clock; I will go and see Miss Granger. She's a
+woman, not a female ghost at any rate, though she is a freethinker--
+which," he added as he slowly struggled off the couch, "is a very
+foolish thing to be."
+
+Very shakily, for he was sadly knocked about, Geoffrey hobbled down
+the long narrow room and through the door, which was ajar. The
+opposite door was also set half open. He knocked softly, and getting
+no answer pushed it wide and looked in, thinking that he had, perhaps,
+made some mistake as to the room. On a sofa placed about two-thirds
+down its length, lay Beatrice asleep. She was wrapped in a kind of
+dressing-gown of some simple blue stuff, and all about her breast and
+shoulders streamed her lovely curling hair. Her sweet face was towards
+him, its pallor relieved only by the long shadow of the dark lashes
+and the bent bow of the lips. One white wrist and hand hung down
+almost to the floor, and beneath the spread curtain of the sunlit hair
+her bosom heaved softly in her sleep. She looked so wondrously
+beautiful in her rest that he stopped almost awed, and gazed, and
+gazed again, feeling as though a present sense and power were stilling
+his heart to silence. It is dangerous to look upon such quiet
+loveliness, and very dangerous to feel that pressure at the heart. A
+truly wise man feeling it would have fled, knowing that seeds sown in
+such silences may live to bloom upon a bitter day, and shed their
+fruit into the waters of desolation. But Geoffrey was not wise--who
+would have been? He still stood and gazed till the sight stamped
+itself so deeply on the tablets of his heart that through all the
+years to come no heats of passion, no frosts of doubt, and no sense of
+loss could ever dull its memory.
+
+The silent sun shone on, the silent woman slept, and in silence the
+watcher gazed. And as he looked a great fear, a prescience of evil
+that should come, entered into Geoffrey and took possession of him. A
+cloud without crossed the ray of sunlight and turned it. It wavered,
+for a second it rested on his breast, flashed back to hers, then went
+out; and as it flashed and died, he seemed to know that henceforth,
+for life till death, ay! and beyond, his fate and that sleeping
+woman's were one fate. It was but a momentary knowledge; the fear
+shook him, and was gone almost before he understood its foolishness.
+But it had been with him, and in after days he remembered it.
+
+Just then Beatrice woke, opening her grey eyes. Their dreamy glance
+fell upon him, looking through him and beyond him, rather than at him.
+Then she raised herself a little and stretching out both her arms
+towards him, spoke aloud.
+
+"So have you have come back to me at last," she said. "I knew that you
+would come and I have waited."
+
+He made no answer, he did not know what to say; indeed he began to
+think that he also must be dreaming. For a little while Beatrice still
+looked at him in the same absent manner, then suddenly started up, the
+red blood streaming to her brow.
+
+"Why, Mr. Bingham," she said, "is it really you? What was it that I
+said? Oh, pray forgive me, whatever it was. I have been asleep
+dreaming such a curious dream, and talking in my sleep."
+
+"Do not alarm yourself, Miss Granger," he answered, recovering himself
+with a jerk; "you did not say anything dreadful, only that you were
+glad to see me. What were you dreaming about?"
+
+Beatrice looked at him doubtfully; perhaps his words did not ring
+quite true.
+
+"I think that I had better tell you as I have said so much," she
+answered. "Besides, it was a very curious dream, and if I believed in
+dreams it would rather frighten me, only fortunately I do not. Sit
+down and I will tell it to you before I forget it. It is not very
+long."
+
+He took the chair to which she pointed, and she began, speaking in the
+voice of one yet laden with the memories of sleep.
+
+"I dreamed that I stood in space. Far to my right was a great globe of
+light, and to my left was another globe, and I knew that the globes
+were named Life and Death. From the globe on the right to the globe on
+the left, and back again, a golden shuttle, in which two flaming eyes
+were set, was shot continually, and I knew also that this was the
+shuttle of Destiny, weaving the web of Fate. Presently the shuttle
+flew, leaving behind it a long silver thread, and the eyes in the
+shuttle were such as your eyes. Again the shuttle sped through space,
+and this time its eyes were like my eyes, and the thread it left
+behind it was twisted from a woman's hair. Half way between the globes
+of Life and Death my thread was broken, but the shuttle flew on and
+vanished. For a moment the thread hung in air, then a wind rose and
+blew it, so that it floated away like a spider's web, till it struck
+upon your silver thread of life and began to twist round and round it.
+As it twisted it grew larger and heavier, till at last it was thick as
+a great tress of hair, and the silver line bent beneath the weight so
+that I saw it soon must break. Then while I wondered what would
+happen, a white hand holding a knife slid slowly down the silver line,
+and with the knife severed the wrappings of woman's hair, which fell
+and floated slowly away, like a little cloud touched with sunlight,
+till they were lost in darkness. But the thread of silver that was
+your line of life, sprang up quivering and making a sound like sighs,
+till at last it sighed itself to silence.
+
+"Then I seemed to sleep, and when I woke I was floating upon such a
+misty sea as we saw last night. I had lost all sight of land, and I
+could not remember what the stars were like, nor how I had been taught
+to steer, nor understand where I must go. I called to the sea, and
+asked it of the stars, and the sea answered me thus:
+
+"'Hope has rent her raiment, and the stars are set.'
+
+"I called again, and asked of the land where I should go, and the land
+did not answer, but the sea answered me a second time:
+
+"'Child of the mist, wander in the mist, and in darkness seek for
+light.'
+
+"Then I wept because Hope had rent her starry garment and in darkness
+I must seek for light. And while I still wept, /you/ rose out of the
+sea and sat before me in the boat. I had never seen you before, and
+still I felt that I had known you always. You did not speak, and I did
+not speak, but you looked into my heart and saw its trouble. Then I
+looked into your heart, and read what was written. And this was
+written:
+
+"'Woman whom I knew before the Past began, and whom I shall know when
+the Future is ended, why do you weep?'
+
+"And my heart answered, 'I weep because I am lost upon the waters of
+the earth, because Hope has rent her starry robes, and in everlasting
+darkness I must seek for light that is not.' Then your heart said,
+'/I/ will show you light,' and bending forward you touched me on the
+breast.
+
+"And suddenly an agony shook me like the agonies of birth and death,
+and the sky was full of great-winged angels who rolled up the mist as
+a cloth, and drew the veils from the eyes of Night, and there, her
+feet upon the globe, and her star-set head piercing the firmament of
+heaven, stood Hope breathing peace and beauty. She looked north and
+south and east and west, then she looked upwards through the arching
+vaults of heaven, and wherever she set her eyes, bright with holy
+tears, the darkness shrivelled and sorrow ceased, and from corruption
+arose the Incorruptible. I gazed and worshipped, and as I did so,
+again the sea spoke unquestioned:
+
+"'In darkness thou hast found light, in Death seek for wisdom.'
+
+"Then once more Hope rent her starry robes, and the angels drew down a
+veil over the eyes of Night, and the sea swallowed me, and I sank till
+I reached the deep foundations of mortal death. And there in the Halls
+of Death I sat for ages upon ages, till at last I saw you come, and on
+your lips was the word of wisdom that makes all things clear, but what
+it was I cannot remember. Then I stretched out my hand to greet you,
+and woke, and that is all my dream."
+
+
+
+Beatrice ceased, her grey eyes set wide, as though they still strove
+to trace their spiritual vision upon the air of earth, her breast
+heaving, and her lips apart.
+
+"Great heaven!" he said, "what an imagination you must have to dream
+such a dream as that."
+
+"Imagination," she answered, returning to her natural manner. "I have
+none, Mr. Bingham. I used to have, but I lost it when I lost--
+everything else. Can you interpret my dream? Of course you cannot; it
+is nothing but nonsense--such stuff as dreams are made of, that is
+all."
+
+"It may be nonsense, I daresay it is, but it is beautiful nonsense,"
+he answered. "I wish ladies had more of such stuff to give the world."
+
+"Ah, well, dreams may be wiser than wakings, and nonsense than learned
+talk, for all we know. But there's an end of it. I do not know why I
+repeated it to you. I am sorry that I did repeat it, but it seemed so
+real it shook me out of myself. This is what comes of breaking in upon
+the routine of life by being three parts drowned. One finds queer
+things at the bottom of the sea, you know. By the way I hope that you
+are recovering. I do not think that you will care to go canoeing again
+with me, Mr. Bingham."
+
+There was an opening for a compliment here, but Geoffrey felt that it
+would be too much in earnest if spoken, so he resisted the temptation.
+
+"What, Miss Granger," he said, "should a man say to a lady who but
+last night saved his life, at the risk, indeed almost at the cost, of
+her own?"
+
+"It was nothing," she answered, colouring; "I clung to you, that was
+all, more by instinct than from any motive. I think I had a vague idea
+that you might float and support me."
+
+"Miss Granger, the occasion is too serious for polite fibs. I know how
+you saved my life. I do not know how to thank you for it."
+
+"Then don't thank me at all, Mr. Bingham. Why should you thank me? I
+only did what I was bound to do. I would far rather die than desert a
+companion in distress, of any sort; we all must die, but it would be
+dreadful to die ashamed. You know what they say, that if you save a
+person from drowning you will do them an injury afterwards. That is
+how they put it here; in some parts the saying is the other way about,
+but I am not likely ever to do you an injury, so it does not make me
+unhappy. It was an awful experience: you were senseless, so you cannot
+know how strange it felt lying upon the slippery rock, and seeing
+those great white waves rush upon us through the gloom, with nothing
+but the night above, and the sea around, and death between the two. I
+have been lonely for many years, but I do not think that I ever quite
+understood what loneliness really meant before. You see," she added by
+way of an afterthought, "I thought that you were dead, and there is
+not much company in a corpse."
+
+"Well," he said, "one thing is, it would have been lonelier if we had
+gone."
+
+"Do you think so?" she answered, looking at him inquiringly. "I don't
+quite see how you make that out. If you believe in what we have been
+taught, as I think you do, wherever it was you found yourself there
+would be plenty of company, and if, like me, you do not believe in
+anything, why, then, you would have slept, and sleep asks for
+nothing."
+
+"Did you believe in nothing when you lay upon the rock waiting to be
+drowned, Miss Granger?"
+
+"Nothing!" she answered; "only weak people find revelation in the
+extremities of fear. If revelation comes at all, surely it must be
+born in the heart and not in the senses. I believed in nothing, and I
+dreaded nothing, except the agony of death. Why should I be afraid?
+Supposing that I am mistaken, and there is something beyond, is it my
+fault that I cannot believe? What have I done that I should be afraid?
+I have never harmed anybody that I know of, and if I could believe I
+would. I wish I had died," she went on, passionately; "it would be all
+over now. I am tired of the world, tired of work and helplessness, and
+all the little worries which wear one out. I am not wanted here, I
+have nothing to live for, and I wish that I had died!"
+
+"Some day you will think differently, Miss Granger. There are many
+things that a woman like yourself can live for--at the least, there is
+your work."
+
+She laughed drearily. "My work! If you only knew what it is like you
+would not talk to me about it. Every day I roll my stone up the hill,
+and every night it seems to roll down again. But you have never taught
+in a village school. How can you know? I work all day, and in the
+evening perhaps I have to mend the tablecloths, or--what do you think?
+--write my father's sermons. It sounds curious, does it not, that I
+should write sermons? But I do. I wrote the one he is going to preach
+next Sunday. It makes very little difference to him what it is so long
+as he can read it, and, of course, I never say anything which can
+offend anybody, and I do not think that they listen much. Very few
+people go to church in Bryngelly."
+
+"Don't you ever get any time to yourself, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes, sometimes I do, and then I go out in my canoe, or read, and
+am almost happy. After all, Mr. Bingham, it is very wrong and
+ungrateful of me to speak like this. I have more advantages than nine-
+tenths of the world, and I ought to make the best of them. I don't
+know why I have been speaking as I have, and to you, whom I never saw
+till yesterday. I never did it before to any living soul, I assure
+you. It is just like the story of the man who came here last year with
+the divining rod. There is a cottage down on the cliff--it belongs to
+Mr. Davies, who lives in the Castle. Well, they have no drinking water
+near, and the new tenant made a great fuss about it. So Mr. Davies
+hired men, and they dug and dug and spent no end of money, but could
+not come to water. At last the tenant fetched an old man from some
+parish a long way off, who said that he could find springs with a
+divining rod. He was a curious old man with a crutch, and he came with
+his rod, and hobbled about till at last the rod twitched just at the
+tenant's back door--at least the diviner said it did. At any rate,
+they dug there, and in ten minutes struck a spring of water, which
+bubbled up so strongly that it rushed into the house and flooded it.
+And what do you think? After all, the water was brackish. You are the
+man with the divining rod, Mr. Bingham, and you have made me talk a
+great deal too much, and, after all, you see it is not nice talk. You
+must think me a very disagreeable and wicked young woman, and I
+daresay I am. But somehow it is a relief to open one's mind. I do
+hope, Mr. Bingham, that you will see--in short, that you will not
+misunderstand me."
+
+"Miss Granger," he answered, "there is between us that which will
+always entitle us to mutual respect and confidence--the link of life
+and death. Had it not been for you, I should not sit here to listen to
+your confidence to-day. You may tell me that a mere natural impulse
+prompted you to do what you did. I know better. It was your will that
+triumphed over your natural impulse towards self-preservation. Well, I
+will say no more about it, except this: If ever a man was bound to a
+woman by ties of gratitude and respect, I am bound to you. You need
+not fear that I shall take advantage of or misinterpret your
+confidence." Here he rose and stood before her, his dark handsome face
+bowed in proud humility. "Miss Granger, I look upon it as an honour
+done to me by one whom henceforth I must reverence among all women.
+The life you gave back to me, and the intelligence which directs it,
+are in duty bound to you, and I shall not forget the debt."
+
+Beatrice listened to his words, spoken in that deep and earnest voice,
+which in after years became so familiar to Her Majesty's judges and to
+Parliament--listened with a new sense of pleasure rising in her heart.
+She was this man's equal; what he could dare, she could dare; where he
+could climb, she could follow--ay, and if need be, show the path, and
+she felt that he acknowledged it. In his sight she was something more
+than a handsome girl to be admired and deferred to for her beauty's
+sake. He had placed her on another level--one, perhaps, that few women
+would have wished to occupy. But Beatrice was thankful to him. It was
+the first taste of supremacy that she had ever known.
+
+It is something to stir the proud heart of such a woman as Beatrice,
+in that moment when for the first time she feels herself a conqueror,
+victorious, not through the vulgar advantage of her sex, not by the
+submission of man's coarser sense, but rather by the overbalancing
+weight of mind.
+
+"Do you know," she said, suddenly looking up, "you make me very
+proud," and she stretched out her hand to him.
+
+He took it, and, bending, touched it with his lips. There was no
+possibility of misinterpreting the action, and though she coloured a
+little--for, till then, no man had even kissed the tip of her finger--
+she did not misinterpret it. It was an act of homage, and that was
+all.
+
+And so they sealed the compact of their perfect friendship for ever
+and a day.
+
+Then came a moment's silence. It was Geoffrey who broke it.
+
+"Miss Granger," he said, "will you allow me to preach you a lecture, a
+very short one?"
+
+"Go on," she said.
+
+"Very well. Do not blame me if you don't like it, and do not set me
+down as a prig, though I am going to tell you your faults as I read
+them in your own words. You are proud and ambitious, and the cramped
+lines in which you are forced to live seem to strangle you. You have
+suffered, and have not learned the lesson of suffering--humility. You
+have set yourself up against Fate, and Fate sweeps you along like
+spray upon the gale, yet you go unwilling. In your impatience you have
+flown to learning for refuge, and it has completed your overthrow, for
+it has induced you to reject as non-existent all that you cannot
+understand. Because your finite mind cannot search infinity, because
+no answer has come to all your prayers, because you see misery and
+cannot read its purpose, because you suffer and have not found rest,
+you have said there is naught but chance, and become an atheist, as
+many have done before you. Is it not true?"
+
+"Go on," she answered, bowing her head to her breast so that the long
+rippling hair almost hid her face.
+
+"It seems a little odd," Geoffrey said with a short laugh, "that I,
+with all my imperfections heaped upon me, should presume to preach to
+you--but you will know best how near or how far I am from the truth.
+So I want to say something. I have lived for thirty-five years, and
+seen a good deal and tried to learn from it, and I know this. In the
+long run, unless we of our own act put away the opportunity, the world
+gives us our due, which generally is not much. So much for things
+temporal. If you are fit to rule, in time you will rule; if you do
+not, then be content and acknowledge your own incapacity. And as for
+things spiritual, I am sure of this--though of course one does not
+like to talk much of these matters--if you only seek for them long
+enough in some shape you will find them, though the shape may not be
+that which is generally recognised by any particular religion. But to
+build a wall deliberately between oneself and the unseen, and then
+complain that the way is barred, is simply childish."
+
+"And what if one's wall is built, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Most of us have done something in that line at different times," he
+answered, "and found a way round it."
+
+"And if it stretches from horizon to horizon, and is higher than the
+clouds, what then?"
+
+"Then you must find wings and fly over it."
+
+"And where can any earthly woman find those spiritual wings?" she
+asked, and then sank her head still deeper on her breast to cover her
+confusion. For she remembered that she had heard of wanderers in the
+dusky groves of human passion, yes, even Mænad wanderers, who had
+suddenly come face to face with their own soul; and that the cruel
+paths of earthly love may yet lead the feet which tread them to the
+ivory gates of heaven.
+
+And remembering these beautiful myths, though she had no experience of
+love, and knew little of its ways, Beatrice grew suddenly silent. Nor
+did Geoffrey give her an answer, though he need scarcely have feared
+to do so.
+
+For were they not discussing a purely abstract question?
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER X
+
+                   LADY HONORIA MAKES ARRANGEMENTS
+
+In another moment somebody entered the room; it was Elizabeth. She had
+returned from her tithe collecting expedition--with the tithe. The
+door of the sitting-room was still ajar, and Geoffrey had his back
+towards it. So it happened that nobody heard Elizabeth's rather cat-
+like step, and for some seconds she stood in the doorway without being
+perceived. She stood quite still, taking in the whole scene at a
+glance. She noticed that her sister held her head down, so that her
+hair shadowed her, and guessed that she did so for some reason--
+probably because she did not wish her face to be seen. Or was it to
+show off her lovely hair? She noticed also the half shy, half amused,
+and altogether interested expression upon Geoffrey's countenance--she
+could see that in the little gilt-edged looking-glass which hung over
+the fire-place, nor did she overlook the general air of embarrassment
+that pervaded them both.
+
+When she came in, Elizabeth had been thinking of Owen Davies, and of
+what might have happened had she never seen the tide of life flow back
+into her sister's veins. She had dreamed of it all night and had
+thought of it all day; even in the excitement of extracting the back
+tithe from the recalcitrant and rather coarse-minded Welsh farmer,
+with strong views on the subject of tithe, it had not been entirely
+forgotten. The farmer was a tenant of Owen Davies, and when he called
+her a "parson in petticoats, and wus," and went on, in delicate
+reference to her powers of extracting cash, to liken her to a "two-
+legged corkscrew only screwier," she perhaps not unnaturally
+reflected, that if ever--/pace/ Beatrice--certain things should come
+about, she would remember that farmer. For Elizabeth was blessed with
+a very long memory, as some people had learnt to their cost, and
+generally, sooner or later, she paid her debts in full, not forgetting
+the overdue interest.
+
+And now, as she stood in the doorway unseen and noted these matters,
+something occurred to her in connection with this dominating idea,
+which, like ideas in general, had many side issues. At any rate a look
+of quick intelligence shone for a moment in her light eyes, like a
+sickly sunbeam on a faint December mist; then she moved forward, and
+when she was close behind Geoffrey, spoke suddenly.
+
+"What are you both thinking about?" she said in her clear thin voice;
+"you seem to have exhausted your conversation."
+
+Geoffrey made an exclamation and fairly jumped from his chair, a feat
+which in his bruised condition really hurt him very much. Beatrice too
+started violently; she recovered herself almost instantly, however.
+
+"How quietly you move, Elizabeth," she said.
+
+"Not more quietly than you sit, Beatrice. I have been wondering when
+anybody was going to say anything, or if you were both asleep."
+
+For her part Beatrice speculated how long her sister had been in the
+room. Their conversation had been innocent enough, but it was not one
+that she would wish Elizabeth to have overheard. And somehow Elizabeth
+had a knack of overhearing things.
+
+"You see, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey coming to the rescue, "both our
+brains are still rather waterlogged, and that does not tend to a flow
+of ideas."
+
+"Quite so," said Elizabeth. "My dear Beatrice, why don't you tie up
+your hair? You look like a crazy Jane. Not but what you have very nice
+hair," she added critically. "Do you admire good hair, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Of course I do," he answered gallantly, "but it is not common."
+
+Only Beatrice bit her lip with vexation. "I had almost forgotten about
+my hair," she said; "I must apologise for appearing in such a state. I
+would have done it up after dinner only I was too stiff, and while I
+was waiting for Betty, I went to sleep."
+
+"I think there is a bit of ribbon in that drawer. I saw you put it
+there yesterday," answered the precise Elizabeth. "Yes, here it is. If
+you like, and Mr. Bingham will excuse it, I can tie it back for you,"
+and without waiting for an answer she passed behind Beatrice, and
+gathering up the dense masses of her sister's locks, tied them round
+in such fashion that they could not fall forward, though they still
+rolled down her back.
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his visit to the farm. He was in
+high good humour. The pig had even surpassed her former efforts, and
+increased in a surprising manner, to the number of fifteen indeed.
+Elizabeth thereon produced the two pounds odd shillings which she had
+"corkscrewed" out of the recalcitrant dissenting farmer, and the sight
+added to Mr. Granger's satisfaction.
+
+"Would you believe it, Mr. Bingham," he said, "in this miserably paid
+parish I have nearly a hundred pounds owing to me, a hundred pounds in
+tithe. There is old Jones who lives out towards the Bell Rock, he owes
+three years' tithe--thirty-four pounds eleven and fourpence. He can
+pay and he won't pay--says he's a Baptist and is not going to pay
+parson's dues--though for the matter of that he is nothing but an old
+beer tub of a heathen."
+
+"Why don't you proceed against him, then, Mr. Granger?"
+
+"Proceed, I have proceeded. I've got judgment, and I mean to issue
+execution in a few days. I won't stand it any longer," he went on,
+working himself up and shaking his head as he spoke till his thin
+white hair fell about his eyes. "I will have the law of him and the
+others too. You are a lawyer and you can help me. I tell you there's a
+spirit abroad which just comes to just--no man isn't to pay his lawful
+debts, except of course the parson and the squire. They must pay or go
+to the court. But there is law left, and I'll have it, before they
+play the Irish game on us here." And he brought down his fist with a
+bang upon the table.
+
+Geoffrey listened with some amusement. So this was the weak old man's
+sore point--money. He was clearly very strong about that--as strong as
+Lady Honoria indeed, but with more excuse. Elizabeth also listened
+with evident approval, but Beatrice looked pained.
+
+"Don't get angry, father," she said; "perhaps he will pay after all.
+It is bad to take the law if you can manage any other way--it breeds
+so much ill blood."
+
+"Nonsense, Beatrice," said her sister sharply. "Father is quite right.
+There's only one way to deal with them, and that is to seize their
+goods. I believe you are socialist about property, as you are about
+everything else. You want to pull everything down, from the Queen to
+the laws of marriage, all for the good of humanity, and I tell you
+that your ideas will be your ruin. Defy custom and it will crush you.
+You are running your head against a brick wall, and one day you will
+find which is the harder."
+
+Beatrice flushed, but answered her sister's attack, which was all the
+sharper because it had a certain spice of truth in it.
+
+"I never expressed any such views, Elizabeth, so I do not see why you
+should attribute them to me. I only said that legal proceedings breed
+bad blood in a parish, and that is true."
+
+"I did not say you expressed them," went on the vigorous Elizabeth;
+"you look them--they ooze out of your words like water from a peat
+bog. Everybody knows you are a radical and a freethinker and
+everything else that is bad and mad, and contrary to that state of
+life in which it has pleased God to call you. The end of it will be
+that you will lose the mistresship of the school--and I think it is
+very hard on father and me that you should bring disgrace on us with
+your strange ways and immoral views, and now you can make what you
+like of it."
+
+"I wish that all radicals were like Miss Beatrice," said Geoffrey, who
+was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, with a feeble attempt at polite
+jocosity. But nobody seemed to hear him. Elizabeth, who was now fairly
+in a rage, a faint flush upon her pale cheeks, her light eyes all
+ashine, and her thin fingers clasped, stood fronting her beautiful
+sister, and breathing spite at every pore. But it was easy for
+Geoffrey who was watching her to see that it was not her sister's
+views she was attacking; it was her sister. It was that soft strong
+loveliness and the glory of that face; it was the deep gentle mind,
+erring from its very greatness, and the bright intellect which lit it
+like a lamp; it was the learning and the power that, give them play,
+would set a world aflame, as easily as they did the heart of the slow-
+witted hermit squire, whom Elizabeth coveted--these were the things
+that Elizabeth hated, and bitterly assailed.
+
+Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced
+at the father. The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of
+Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene. He stood fidgeting his feet about, and
+trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his
+elder daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
+
+Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking
+at. Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath
+their dark lashes. She had risen, drawing herself to her full height,
+which her exquisite proportions seemed to increase, and was looking at
+her sister. Presently she said one word and one only, but it was
+enough.
+
+"/Elizabeth./"
+
+Her sister opened her lips to speak again, but hesitated, and changed
+her mind. There was something in Beatrice's manner that checked her.
+
+"Well," she said at length, "you should not irritate me so, Beatrice."
+
+Beatrice made no reply. She only turned towards Geoffrey, and with a
+graceful little bow, said:
+
+"Mr. Bingham, I am sure that you will forgive this scene. The fact is,
+we all slept badly last night, and it has not improved our tempers."
+
+There was a pause, of which Mr. Granger took a hurried and rather
+undignified advantage.
+
+"Um, ah," he said. "By the way, Beatrice, what was it I wanted to say?
+Ah, I know--have you written, I mean written out, that sermon for next
+Sunday? My daughter," he added, addressing Geoffrey in explanation--
+"um, copies my sermons for me. She writes a very good hand----"
+
+Remembering Beatrice's confidence as to her sermon manufacturing
+functions, Geoffrey felt amused at her father's /naïve/ way of
+describing them, and Beatrice also smiled faintly as she answered that
+the sermon was ready. Just then the roll of wheels was heard without,
+and the only fly that Bryngelly could boast pulled up in front of the
+door.
+
+"Here is the fly come for you, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger--"and as
+I live, her ladyship with it. Elizabeth, see if there isn't some tea
+ready," and the old gentleman, who had all the traditional love of the
+lower middle-class Englishman for a title, trotted off to welcome "her
+ladyship."
+
+Presently Lady Honoria entered the room, a sweet, if rather a set
+smile upon her handsome face, and with a graceful mien, that became
+her tall figure exceedingly well. For to do Lady Honoria justice, she
+was one of the most ladylike women in the country, and so far as her
+personal appearance went, a very perfect type of the class to which
+she belonged.
+
+Geoffrey looked at her, saying to himself that she had clearly
+recovered her temper, and that he was thankful for it. This was not
+wonderful, for it is observable that the more aristocratic a lady's
+manners are, the more disagreeable she is apt to be when she is
+crossed.
+
+"Well, Geoffrey dear," she said, "you see I have come to fetch you. I
+was determined that you should not get yourself drowned a second time
+on your way home. How are you now?--but I need not ask, you look quite
+well again."
+
+"It is very kind of you, Honoria," said her husband simply, but it was
+doubtful if she heard him, for at the moment she was engaged in
+searching out the soul of Beatrice, with one of the most penetrating
+and comprehensive glances that young lady had ever enjoyed the honour
+of receiving. There was nothing rude about the look, it was too quick,
+but Beatrice felt that quick as it might be it embraced her
+altogether. Nor was she wrong.
+
+"There is no doubt about it," Lady Honoria thought to herself, "she is
+lovely--lovely everywhere. It was clever of her to leave her hair
+down; it shows the shape of her head so well, and she is tall enough
+to stand it. That blue wrapper suits her too. Very few women could
+show such a figure as hers--like a Greek statue. I don't like her; she
+is different from most of us; just the sort of girl men go wild about
+and women hate."
+
+All this passed through her mind in a flash. For a moment Lady
+Honoria's blue eyes met Beatrice's grey ones, and she knew that
+Beatrice liked her no better than she did Beatrice. Those eyes were a
+trifle too honest, and, like the deep clear water they resembled, apt
+to throw up shadows of the passing thoughts above.
+
+"False and cold and heartless," thought Beatrice. "I wonder how a man
+like that could marry her; and how much he loves her."
+
+Thus the two women took each other's measure at a glance, each finding
+the other wanting by her standard. Nor did they ever change that
+hastily formed judgment.
+
+It was all done in a few seconds--in that hesitating moment before the
+words we summon answer on our lips. The next, Lady Honoria was
+sweeping towards her with outstretched hand, and her most gracious
+smile.
+
+"Miss Granger," she said, "I owe you a debt I never can repay--my dear
+husband's life. I have heard all about how you saved him; it is the
+most wonderful thing--Grace Darling born again. I can't think how you
+could do it. I wish I were half as brave and strong."
+
+"Please don't, Lady Honoria," said Beatrice. "I am so tired of being
+thanked for doing nothing, except what it was my duty to do. If I had
+let Mr. Bingham go while I had the strength to hold on to him I should
+have felt like a murderess to-day. I beg you to say no more about it."
+
+"One does not often find such modesty united to so much courage, and,
+if you will allow me to say it, so much beauty," answered Lady Honoria
+graciously. "Well, I will do as you wish, but I warn you your fame
+will find you out. I hear they have an account of the whole adventure
+in to-day's papers, headed, 'A Welsh Heroine.'"
+
+"How did you hear that, Honoria?" asked her husband.
+
+"Oh, I had a telegram from Garsington, and he mentions it," she
+answered carelessly.
+
+"Telegram from Garsington! Hence these smiles," thought he. "I suppose
+that she is going to-morrow."
+
+"I have some other news for you, Miss Granger," went on Lady Honoria.
+"Your canoe has been washed ashore, very little injured. The old
+boatman--Edward, I think they call him--has found it; and your gun in
+it too, Geoffrey. It had stuck under the seat or somewhere. But I
+fancy that you must both have had enough canoeing for the present."
+
+"I don't know, Lady Honoria," answered Beatrice. "One does not often
+get such weather as last night's, and canoeing is very pleasant. Every
+sweet has its salt, you know; or, in other words, one may always be
+upset."
+
+At that moment, Betty, the awkward Welsh serving lass, with a fore-arm
+about as shapely as the hind leg of an elephant, and a most unpleasing
+habit of snorting audibly as she moved, shuffled in with the tea-tray.
+In her wake came the slim Elizabeth, to whom Lady Honoria was
+introduced.
+
+After this, conversation flagged for a while, till Lady Honoria,
+feeling that things were getting a little dull, set the ball rolling
+again.
+
+"What a pretty view you have of the sea from these windows," she said
+in her well-trained and monotonously modulated voice. "I am so glad to
+have seen it, for, you know, I am going away to-morrow."
+
+Beatrice looked up quickly.
+
+"My husband is not going," she went on, as though in answer to an
+unspoken question. "I am playing the part of the undutiful wife and
+running away from him, for exactly three weeks. It is very wicked of
+me, isn't it? but I have an engagement that I must keep. It is most
+tiresome."
+
+Geoffrey, sipping his tea, smiled grimly behind the shelter of his
+cup. "She does it uncommonly well," he thought to himself.
+
+"Does your little girl go with you, Lady Honoria?" asked Elizabeth.
+
+"Well, no, I think not. I can't bear parting with her--you know how
+hard it is when one has only one child. But I think she would be so
+bored where I am going to stay, for there are no other children there;
+and besides, she positively adores the sea. So I shall have to leave
+her to her father's tender mercies, poor dear."
+
+"I hope Effie will survive it, I am sure," said Geoffrey laughing.
+
+"I suppose that your husband is going to stay on at Mrs. Jones's,"
+said the clergyman.
+
+"Really, I don't know. What /are/ you going to do, Geoffrey? Mrs.
+Jones's rooms are rather expensive for people in our impoverished
+condition. Besides, I am sure that she cannot look after Effie. Just
+think, she has eight children of her own, poor old dear. And I must
+take Anne with me; she is Effie's French nurse, you know, a perfect
+treasure. I am going to stay in a big house, and my experience of
+those big houses is, that one never gets waited on at all unless one
+takes a maid. You see, what is everybody's business is nobody's
+business. I'm sure I don't know how you will get on with the child,
+Geoffrey; she takes such a lot of looking after."
+
+"Oh, don't trouble about that, Honoria," he answered. "I daresay that
+Effie and I will manage somehow."
+
+Here one of those peculiar gleams of intelligence which marked the
+advent of a new idea passed across Elizabeth's face. She was sitting
+next her father, and bending, whispered to him. Beatrice saw it and
+made a motion as though to interpose, but before she could do so Mr.
+Granger spoke.
+
+"Look here, Mr. Bingham," he said, "if you want to move, would you
+like a room here? Terms strictly moderate, but can't afford to put you
+up for nothing you know, and living rough and ready. You'd have to
+take us as you find us; but there is a dressing-room next to my room,
+where your little girl could sleep, and my daughters would look after
+her between them, and be glad of the job."
+
+Again Beatrice opened her lips as though to speak, but closed them
+without speaking. Thus do our opportunities pass before we realise
+that they are at hand.
+
+Instinctively Geoffrey had glanced towards Beatrice. He did not know
+if this idea was agreeable to her. He knew that her work was hard, and
+he did not wish to put extra trouble upon her, for he guessed that the
+burden of looking after Effie would ultimately fall upon her
+shoulders. But her face told him nothing: it was quite passive and
+apparently indifferent.
+
+"You are very kind, Mr. Granger," he said, hesitating. "I don't want
+to go away from Bryngelly just at present, and it would be a good plan
+in some ways, that is if the trouble to your daughters would not be
+too much."
+
+"I am sure that it is an excellent plan," broke in Lady Honoria, who
+feared lest difficulties should arise as to her appropriation of
+Anne's services; "how lucky that I happened to mention it. There will
+be no trouble about our giving up the rooms at Mrs. Jones's, because I
+know she has another application for them."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, not liking to raise objections to a scheme
+thus publicly advocated, although he would have preferred to take time
+to consider. Something warned him that Bryngelly Vicarage would prove
+a fateful abode for him. Then Elizabeth rose and asked Lady Honoria if
+she would like to see the rooms her husband and Effie would occupy.
+
+She said she should be delighted and went off, followed by Mr. Granger
+fussing in the rear.
+
+"Don't you think that you will be a little dull here, Mr. Bingham?"
+said Beatrice.
+
+"On the contrary," he answered. "Why should I be dull? I cannot be so
+dull as I should be by myself."
+
+Beatrice hesitated, and then spoke again. "We are a curious family,
+Mr. Bingham; you may have seen as much this afternoon. Had you not
+better think it over?"
+
+"If you mean that you do not want me to come, I won't," he said rather
+bluntly, and next second felt that he had made a mistake.
+
+"I!" Beatrice answered, opening her eyes. "I have no wishes in the
+matter. The fact is that we are poor, and let lodgings--that is what
+it comes to. If you think they will suit you, you are quite right to
+take them."
+
+Geoffrey coloured. He was a man who could not bear to lay himself open
+to the smallest rebuff from a woman, and he had brought this on
+himself. Beatrice saw it and relented.
+
+"Of course, Mr. Bingham, so far as I am concerned, I shall be the
+gainer if you do come. I do not meet so many people with whom I care
+to associate, and from whom I can learn, that I wish to throw a chance
+away."
+
+"I think you misunderstand me a little," he said; "I only meant that
+perhaps you would not wish to be bothered with Effie, Miss Granger."
+
+She laughed. "Why, I love children. It will be a great pleasure to me
+to look after her so far as I have time."
+
+Just then the others returned, and their conversation came to an end.
+
+"It's quite delightful, Geoffrey--such funny old-fashioned rooms. I
+really envy you." (If there was one thing in the world that Lady
+Honoria hated, it was an old-fashioned room.) "Well, and now we must
+be going. Oh! you poor creature, I forgot that you were so knocked
+about. I am sure Mr. Granger will give you his arm."
+
+Mr. Granger ambled forward, and Geoffrey having made his adieus, and
+borrowed a clerical hat (Mr. Granger's concession to custom, for in
+most other respects he dressed like an ordinary farmer), was safely
+conveyed to the fly.
+
+And so ended Geoffrey's first day at Bryngelly Vicarage.
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XI
+
+                    BEATRICE MAKES AN APPOINTMENT
+
+Lady Honoria leaned back in the cab, and sighed a sigh of
+satisfaction.
+
+"That is a capital idea," she said. "I was wondering what arrangements
+you could make for the next three weeks. It is ridiculous to pay three
+guineas a week for rooms just for you and Effie. The old gentleman
+only wants that for board and lodging together, for I asked him."
+
+"I daresay it will do," said Geoffrey. "When are we to shift?"
+
+"To-morrow, in time for dinner, or rather supper: these barbarians eat
+supper, you know. I go by the morning train, you see, so as to reach
+Garsington by tea-time. I daresay you will find it rather dull, but
+you like being dull. The old clergyman is a low stamp of man, and a
+bore, and as for the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, she's too awful--she
+reminds me of a rat. But Beatrice is handsome enough, though I think
+her horrid too. You'll have to console yourself with her, and I
+daresay you will suit each other."
+
+"Why do you think her horrid, Honoria?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know; she is clever and odd, and I hate odd women. Why
+can't they be like other people? Think of her being strong enough to
+save your life like that too. She must have the muscle of an Amazon--
+it's downright unwomanly. But there is no doubt about her beauty. She
+is as nearly perfect as any girl I ever saw, though too independent
+looking. If only one had a daughter like that, how one might marry
+her. I would not look at anything under twenty thousand a year. She is
+too good for that lumbering Welsh squire she's engaged too--the man
+who lives in the Castle--though they say that he is fairly rich."
+
+"Engaged," said Geoffrey, "how do you know that she is engaged?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know it at all, but I suppose she is. If she isn't, she
+soon will be, for a girl in that position is not likely to throw such
+a chance away. At any rate, he's head over ears in love with her. I
+saw that last night. He was hanging about for hours in the rain,
+outside the door, with a face like a ghost, till he knew whether she
+was dead or alive, and he has been there twice to inquire this
+morning. Mr. Granger told me. But she is too good for him from a
+business point of view. She might marry anybody, if only she were put
+in the way of it."
+
+Somehow, Geoffrey's lively interest in Beatrice sensibly declined on
+the receipt of this intelligence. Of course it was nothing to him;
+indeed he was glad to hear that she was in the way of such a
+comfortable settlement, but it is unfortunately a fact that one cannot
+be quite as much interested in a young and lovely lady who is the
+potential property of a "lumbering Welsh squire," as in one who
+belongs to herself.
+
+The old Adam still survives in most men, however right-thinking they
+may be, and this is one of its methods of self-assertion.
+
+"Well," he said, "I am glad to hear she is in such a good way; she
+deserves it. I think the Welsh squire is in luck; Miss Granger is a
+remarkable woman."
+
+"Too remarkable by half," said Lady Honoria drily. "Here we are, and
+there is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual. I think
+that child is demented."
+
+On the following morning--it was Friday--Lady Honoria, accompanied by
+Anne, departed in the very best of tempers. For the next three weeks,
+at any rate, she would be free from the galling associations of
+straightened means--free to enjoy the luxury and refined comfort to
+which she had been accustomed, and for which her soul yearned with a
+fierce longing that would be incomprehensible to folk of a simpler
+mind. Everybody has his or her ideal Heaven, if only one could fathom
+it. Some would choose a sublimated intellectual leisure, made happy by
+the best literature of all the planets; some a model state (with
+themselves as presidents), in which (through their beneficent efforts)
+the latest radical notions could actually be persuaded to work to
+everybody's satisfaction; others a happy hunting ground, where the
+game enjoyed the fun as much as they did; and so on, /ad infinitum/.
+
+Lady Honoria was even more modest. Give her a well appointed town and
+country house, a few powdered footmen, plenty of carriages, and other
+needful things, including of course the /entrée/ to the upper
+celestial ten, and she would ask no more from age to age. Let us hope
+that she will get it one day. It would hurt nobody, and she is sure to
+find plenty of people of her own way of thinking--that is, if this
+world supplies the raw material.
+
+She embraced Effie with enthusiasm, and her husband with a chastened
+warmth, and went, a pious prayer on her lips that she might never
+again set eyes upon Bryngelly.
+
+It will not be necessary for us to follow Lady Honoria in her travels.
+That afternoon Effie and her father had great fun. They packed up.
+Geoffrey, who was rapidly recovering from his stiffness, pushed the
+things into the portmanteaus and Effie jumped on them. Those which
+would not go in they bundled loose into the fly, till that vehicle
+looked like an old clothes ship. Then, as there was no room left for
+them inside, they walked down to the Vicarage by the beach, a distance
+of about three-quarters of a mile, stopping on their way to admire the
+beautiful castle, in one corner of which Owen Davies lived and moved.
+
+"Oh, daddy," said the child, "I wish you would buy a house like that
+for you and me to live in. Why don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Haven't got the money, dear," he answered.
+
+"Will you ever have the money, daddy?"
+
+"I don't know, dear, perhaps one day--when I am too old to enjoy it,"
+he added to himself.
+
+"It would take a great many pennies to buy a house like that, wouldn't
+it, daddy?" said Effie sagely.
+
+"Yes, dear, more than you could count," he answered, and the
+conversation dropped.
+
+Presently they came to a boat-shed, placed opposite the village and
+close to high-water mark. Here a man, it was old Edward, was engaged
+in mending a canoe. Geoffrey glanced at it and saw that it was the
+identical canoe out of which he had so nearly been drowned.
+
+"Look, Effie," said he, "that is the boat out of which I was upset."
+Effie opened her wide eyes, and stared at the frail craft.
+
+"It is a horrid boat," she said; "I don't want to look at it."
+
+"You're quite right, little miss," said old Edward, touching his cap.
+"It ain't safe, and somebody will be drowned out of it one of these
+days. I wish it had gone to the bottom, I do; but Miss Beatrice, she
+is that foolhardy there ain't no doing nothing with her."
+
+"I fancy that she has learnt a lesson," said Geoffrey.
+
+"May be, may be," grumbled the old man, "but women folk are hard to
+teach; they never learn nothing till it's too late, they don't, and
+then when they've been and done it they're sorry, but what's the good
+o' that?"
+
+Meanwhile another conversation was in progress not more than a quarter
+of a mile away. On the brow of the cliff stood the village of
+Bryngelly, and at the back of the village was a school, a plain white-
+washed building, roofed with stone, which, though amply sufficient and
+suitable to the wants of the place, was little short of an abomination
+in the eyes of Her Majesty's school inspectors, who from time to time
+descended upon Bryngelly for purposes of examination and fault-
+finding. They yearned to see a stately red-brick edifice, with all the
+latest improvements, erected at the expense of the rate-payers, but as
+yet they yearned in vain. The school was supported by voluntary
+contributions, and thanks to Beatrice's energy and good teaching, the
+dreaded Board, with its fads and extravagance, had not yet clutched
+it.
+
+Beatrice had returned to her duties that afternoon, for a night's rest
+brought back its vigour to her strong young frame. She had been
+greeted with enthusiasm by the children, who loved her, as well they
+might, for she was very gentle and sweet with them, though few dared
+to disobey her. Besides, her beauty impressed them, though they did
+not know it. Beauty of a certain sort has perhaps more effect on
+children than on any other class, heedless and selfish as they often
+seem to be. They feel its power; it is an outward expression of the
+thoughts and dreams that bud in their unknowing hearts, and is somehow
+mixed up with their ideas of God and Heaven. Thus there was in
+Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a very clever and highly excitable
+child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of parents of strict Calvinistic
+views. As it chanced, some months before the opening of this story, a
+tub thumper, of high renown and considerable rude oratorical force,
+visited the place, and treated his hearers to a lively discourse on
+the horrors of Hell.
+
+In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little
+child between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much
+satisfaction, and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of
+curiosity.
+
+Presently the preacher, having dealt sufficiently in terrifying
+generalities, went on to practical illustrations, for, after the
+manner of his class, he was delivering an extemporary oration. "Look
+at that child," he said, pointing to the little girl; "she looks
+innocent, does she not? but if she does not find salvation, my
+brethren, I tell you that she is damned. If she dies to-night, not
+having found salvation, she will go to /Hell/. Her delicate little
+body will be tormented for ever and ever----"
+
+Here the unfortunate child fell forward with a shriek.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir," said Beatrice aloud.
+
+She had been listening to all this ill-judged rant with growing
+indignation, and now, in her excitement, entirely forgot that she was
+in a place of worship. Then she ran forward to the child, who had
+swooned. Poor little unfortunate, she never recovered the shock. When
+she came to herself, it was found that her finely strung mind had
+given way, and she lapsed into a condition of imbecility. But her
+imbecility was not always passive. Occasionally fits of passionate
+terror would seize upon her. She would cry out that the fiends were
+coming to drag her down to torment, and dash herself against the wall,
+in fear hideous to behold. Then it was found that there was but one
+way to calm her: it was to send for Beatrice. Beatrice would come and
+take the poor thin hands in hers and gaze with her calm deep eyes upon
+the wasted horror-stricken face till the child grew quiet again and,
+shivering, sobbed herself to sleep upon her breast.
+
+And so it was with all the children; her power over them was almost
+absolute. They loved her, and she loved them all.
+
+And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice's
+custom to make the children sing some simple song before they broke
+up. She stood in front of them and gave the time while they sung, and
+a pretty sight it was to see her do it. On this particular afternoon,
+just as the first verse was finished, the door of the room opened, and
+Owen Davies entered, bearing some books under his arm. Beatrice
+glanced round and saw him, then, with a quick stamp of her foot, went
+on giving the time.
+
+The children sung lustily, and in front of them stood Beatrice,
+dressed in simple white, her graceful form swaying as she marked the
+music's time. Nearer and nearer drew Owen Davies, till at length he
+stood quite close, his lips slightly apart, his eyes fixed upon her
+like the eyes of one who dreams, and his slow heavy face faintly lit
+with the glow of strong emotion.
+
+The song ended, the children at a word from their mistress filed past
+her, headed by the pupil teachers, and then with a shout, seizing
+their caps, ran forth this way and that, welcoming the free air. When
+they were all gone, and not till then, Beatrice turned suddenly round.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" she said.
+
+He started visibly. "I did not know that you had seen me," he
+answered.
+
+"Oh, yes, I saw you, Mr. Davies, only I could not stop the song to say
+how do you do. By the way, I have to thank you for coming to inquire
+after me."
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all; it was a most dreadful
+accident. I cannot tell you how thankful I am--I can't, indeed."
+
+"It is very good of you to take so much interest in me," said
+Beatrice.
+
+"Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all. Who--who could help taking
+interest in you? I have brought you some books--the Life of Darwin--it
+is in two volumes. I think that I have heard you say that Darwin
+interests you?"
+
+"Yes, thank you very much. Have you read it?"
+
+"No, but I have cut it. Darwin doesn't interest me, you know. I think
+that he was a rather misguided person. May I carry the books home for
+you?"
+
+"Thank you, but I am not going straight home; I am going to old
+Edward's shed to see my canoe."
+
+As a matter of fact this was true, but the idea was only that moment
+born in her mind. Beatrice had been going home, as she wanted to see
+that all things were duly prepared for Geoffrey and his little
+daughter. But to reach the Vicarage she must pass along the cliff,
+where there were few people, and this she did not wish to do. To be
+frank, she feared lest Mr. Davies should take the opportunity to make
+that offer of his hand and heart which hung over her like a nightmare.
+Now the way to Edward's shed lay through the village and down the
+cliff, and she knew that he would never propose in the village.
+
+It was very foolish of her, no doubt, thus to seek to postpone the
+evil day, but the strongest-minded women have their weak points, and
+this was one of Beatrice's. She hated the idea of this scene. She knew
+that when it did come there would be a scene. Not that her resolution
+to refuse the man had ever faltered. But it would be painful, and in
+the end it must reach the ears of her father and Elizabeth that she
+had actually rejected Mr. Owen Davies, and then what would her life be
+worth? She had never suspected it, it had never entered into her mind
+to suspect, that, though her father might be vexed enough, nothing on
+this earth would more delight the heart of Elizabeth.
+
+Presently, having fetched her hat, Beatrice, accompanied by her
+admirer, bearing the Life of Darwin under his arm, started to walk
+down to the beach. They went in silence, Beatrice just a little ahead.
+She ventured some remark about the weather, but Owen Davies made no
+reply; he was thinking, he wanted to say something, but he did not
+know how to say it. They were at the head of the cliff now, and if he
+wished to speak he must do so quickly.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said in a somewhat constrained voice.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Davies--oh, look at that seagull; it nearly knocked my hat
+off."
+
+But he was not to be put off with the seagull. "Miss Beatrice," he
+said again, "are you going out walking next Sunday afternoon?"
+
+"How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain."
+
+"But if it does not rain--please tell me. You generally do walk on the
+beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you
+will allow me, I do indeed."
+
+Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was
+unendurable; it would be better to get it over. Turning round so
+suddenly that Owen started, she said:
+
+"If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the
+Amphitheatre opposite the Red Rocks, at four o'clock on Sunday
+afternoon, but I had much rather that you did not come. I can say no
+more."
+
+"I shall come," he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to
+the boat-shed.
+
+"Oh, look, daddy," said Effie, "here comes the lady who was drownded
+with you and a gentleman," and to Beatrice's great relief the child
+ran forward and met them.
+
+"Ah!" thought Geoffrey to himself, "that is the man Honoria said she
+was engaged to. Well, I don't think very much of her taste."
+
+In another minute they had arrived. Geoffrey shook hands with
+Beatrice, and was introduced to Owen Davies, who murmured something in
+reply, and promptly took his departure.
+
+They examined the canoe together, and then walked slowly up to the
+Vicarage, Beatrice holding Effie by the hand. Opposite the reef they
+halted for a minute.
+
+"There is the Table Rock on which we were thrown, Mr. Bingham," said
+Beatrice, "and here is where they carried us ashore. The sea does not
+look as though it would drown any one to-night, does it? See!"--and
+she threw a stone into it--"the ripples run as evenly as they do on a
+pond."
+
+She spoke idly and Geoffrey answered her idly, for they were not
+thinking of their words. Rather were they thinking of the strange
+chance that had brought them together in an hour of deadly peril and
+now left them together in an hour of peace. Perhaps, too, they were
+wondering to what end this had come about. For, agnostics, atheists or
+believers, are we not, most of us, fatalists at heart?
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XII
+
+                       THE WRITING ON THE SAND
+
+Geoffrey found himself very comfortable at the Vicarage, and as for
+Effie, she positively revelled in it. Beatrice looked after her,
+taking her to bed at night and helping her to dress in the morning,
+and Beatrice was a great improvement upon Anne. When Geoffrey became
+aware of this he remonstrated, saying that he had never expected her
+to act as nurse to the child, but she replied that it was a pleasure
+to her to do so, which was the truth. In other ways, too, the place
+was all that he desired. He did not like Elizabeth, but then he did
+not see very much of her, and the old farmer clergyman was amusing in
+his way, with his endless talk of tithes and crops, and the iniquities
+of the rebellious Jones, on whom he was going to distrain.
+
+For the first day or two Geoffrey had no more conversations with
+Beatrice. Most of the time she was away at the school, and on the
+Saturday afternoon, when she was free, he went out to the Red Rocks
+curlew shooting. At first he thought of asking her to come too, but
+then it occurred to him that she might wish to go out with Mr. Davies,
+to whom he still supposed she was engaged. It was no affair of his,
+yet he was glad when he came back to find that she had been out with
+Effie, and not with Mr. Davies.
+
+On Sunday morning they all went to church, including Beatrice. It was
+a bare little church, and the congregation was small. Mr. Granger went
+through the service with about as much liveliness as a horse driving a
+machine. He ground it out, prayers, psalms, litany, lessons, all in
+the same depressing way, till Geoffrey felt inclined to go to sleep,
+and then took to watching Beatrice's sweet face instead. He wondered
+what made her look so sad. Hers was always a sad face when in repose,
+that he knew, but to-day it was particularly so, and what was more,
+she looked worried as well as sad. Once or twice he saw her glance at
+Mr. Davies, who was sitting opposite, the solitary occupant of an
+enormous pew, and he thought that there was apprehension in her look.
+But Mr. Davies did not return the glance. To judge from his appearance
+nothing was troubling his mind.
+
+Indeed, Geoffrey studying him in the same way that he instinctively
+studied everybody whom he met, thought that he had never before seen a
+man who looked quite so ox-like and absolutely comfortable. And yet he
+never was more completely at fault. The man seemed stolid and cold
+indeed, but it was the coldness of a volcano. His heart was a-fire.
+All the human forces in him, all the energies of his sturdy life, had
+concentrated themselves in a single passion for the woman who was so
+near and yet so far from him. He had never drawn upon the store, had
+never frittered his heart away. This woman, strange and unusual as it
+may seem, was absolutely the first whose glance or voice had ever
+stirred his blood. His passion for her had grown slowly; for years it
+had been growing, ever since the grey-eyed girl on the brink of
+womanhood had conducted him to his castle home. It was no fancy, no
+light desire to pass with the year which brought it. Owen had little
+imagination, that soil from which loves spring with the rank swiftness
+of a tropic bloom to fade at the first chill breath of change. His
+passion was an unalterable fact. It was rooted like an oak on our
+stiff English soil, its fibres wrapped his heart and shot his being
+through, and if so strong a gale should rise that it must fall, then
+he too would be overthrown.
+
+For years now he had thought of little else than Beatrice. To win her
+he would have given all his wealth, ay, thrice over, if that were
+possible. To win her, to know her his by right and his alone, ah, that
+would be heaven! His blood quivered and his mind grew dim when he
+thought of it. What would it be to see her standing by him as she
+stood now, and know that she was his wife! There is no form of passion
+more terrible than this. Its very earthiness makes it awful.
+
+The service went on. At last Mr. Granger mounted the pulpit and began
+to read his sermon, of which the text was, "But the greatest of these
+is charity." Geoffrey noticed that he bungled over some of the words,
+then suddenly remembered Beatrice had told him that she had written
+the sermon, and was all attention. He was not disappointed.
+Notwithstanding Mr. Granger's infamous reading, and his habit of
+dropping his voice at the end of a sentence, instead of raising it,
+the beauty of the thoughts and diction was very evident. It was indeed
+a discourse that might equally well have been delivered in a Mahomedan
+or a Buddhist place of worship; there was nothing distinctively
+Christian about it, it merely appealed to the good in human nature.
+But of this neither the preacher nor his audience seemed to be aware,
+indeed, few of the latter were listening at all. The sermon was short
+and ended with a passage of real power and beauty--or rather it did
+not end, for, closing the MS. sheets, Mr. Granger followed on with a
+few impromptu remarks of his own.
+
+"And now, brethren," he said, "I have been preaching to you about
+charity, but I wish to add one remark, Charity begins at home. There
+is about a hundred pounds of tithe owing to me, and some of it has
+been owing for two years and more. If that tithe is not paid I shall
+have to put distraint on some of you, and I thought that I had better
+take this opportunity to tell you so."
+
+Then he gave the Benediction.
+
+The contrast between this business-like speech, and the beautiful
+periods which had gone before, was so ridiculous that Geoffrey very
+nearly burst out laughing, and Beatrice smiled. So did the rest of the
+congregation, excepting one or two who owed tithe, and Owen Davies,
+who was thinking of other things.
+
+As they went through the churchyard, Geoffrey noticed something.
+Beatrice was a few paces ahead holding Effie's hand. Presently Mr.
+Davies passed him, apparently without seeing him, and greeted
+Beatrice, who bowed slightly in acknowledgment. He walked a little way
+without speaking, then Geoffrey, just as they reached the church gate,
+heard him say, "At four this afternoon, then." Again she bowed her
+head, and he turned and went. As for Geoffrey, he wondered what it all
+meant: was she engaged to him, or was she not?
+
+Dinner was a somewhat silent meal. Mr. Granger was thinking about his
+tithe, also about a sick cow. Elizabeth's thoughts pursued some dark
+and devious course of their own, not an altogether agreeable one to
+judge from her face. Beatrice looked pale and worried; even Effie's
+sallies did not do more than make her smile. As for Geoffrey himself,
+he was engaged in wondering in an idle sort of way what was going to
+happen at four o'clock.
+
+"You is all very dull," said Effie at last, with a charming disregard
+of grammar.
+
+"People ought to be dull on Sunday, Effie," answered Beatrice, with an
+effort. "At least, I suppose so," she added.
+
+Elizabeth, who was aggressively religious, frowned at this remark. She
+knew her sister did not mean it.
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon, Beatrice?" she asked
+suddenly. She had seen Owen Davies go up and speak to her sister, and
+though she had not been near enough to catch the words, scented an
+assignation from afar.
+
+Beatrice coloured slightly, a fact that escaped neither her sister nor
+Geoffrey.
+
+"I am going to see Jane Llewellyn," she answered. Jane Llewellyn was
+the crazy little girl whose tale has been told. Up to that moment
+Beatrice had no idea of going to see her, but she knew that Elizabeth
+would not follow her there, because the child could not endure
+Elizabeth.
+
+"Oh, I thought that perhaps you were going out walking."
+
+"I may walk afterwards," answered Beatrice shortly.
+
+"So there is an assignation," thought Elizabeth, and a cold gleam of
+intelligence passed across her face.
+
+Shortly after dinner, Beatrice put on her bonnet and went out. Ten
+minutes passed, and Elizabeth did the same. Then Mr. Granger announced
+that he was going up to the farm (there was no service till six) to
+see about the sick cow, and asked Geoffrey if he would like to
+accompany him. He said that he might as well, if Effie could come,
+and, having lit his pipe, they started.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice went to see the crazy child. She was not violent
+to-day, and scarcely knew her. Before she had been in the house ten
+minutes, the situation developed itself.
+
+The cottage stood about two-thirds of the way down a straggling
+street, which was quite empty, for Bryngelly slept after dinner on
+Sunday. At the top of this street appeared Elizabeth, a Bible in her
+hand, as though on district visiting intent. She looked down the
+street, and seeing nobody, went for a little walk, then, returning,
+once more looked down the street. This time she was rewarded. The door
+of the Llewellyns' cottage opened, and Beatrice appeared. Instantly
+Elizabeth withdrew to such a position that she could see without being
+seen, and, standing as though irresolute, awaited events. Beatrice
+turned and took the road that led to the beach.
+
+Then Elizabeth's irresolution disappeared. She also turned and took
+the road to the cliff, walking very fast. Passing behind the Vicarage,
+she gained a point where the beach narrowed to a width of not more
+than fifty yards, and sat down. Presently she saw a man coming along
+the sand beneath her, walking quickly. It was Owen Davies. She waited
+and watched. Seven or eight minutes passed, and a woman in a white
+dress passed. It was Beatrice, walking slowly.
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, setting her teeth, "as I thought." Rising, she
+pursued her path along the cliff, keeping three or four hundred yards
+ahead, which she could easily do by taking short cuts. It was a long
+walk, and Elizabeth, who was not fond of walking, got very tired of
+it. But she was a woman with a purpose, and as such, hard to beat. So
+she kept on steadily for nearly an hour, till, at length, she came to
+the spot known as the Amphitheatre. This Amphitheatre, situated almost
+opposite the Red Rocks, was a half-ring of cliff, the sides of which
+ran in a semicircle almost down to the water's edge, that is, at high
+tide. In the centre of the segment thus formed was a large flat stone,
+so placed that anybody in certain positions on the cliff above could
+command a view of it, though it was screened by the projecting walls
+of rock from observation from the beach. Elizabeth clambered a little
+way down the sloping side of the cliff and looked; on the stone, his
+back towards her, sat Owen Davies. Slipping from stratum to stratum of
+the broken cliff, Elizabeth drew slowly nearer, till at length she was
+within fifty paces of the seated man. Here, ensconcing herself behind
+a cleft rock, she also sat down; it was not safe to go closer; but in
+case she should by any chance be observed from above, she opened the
+Bible on her knee, as though she had sought this quiet spot to study
+its pages.
+
+Three or four minutes passed, and Beatrice appeared round the
+projecting angle of the Amphitheatre, and walked slowly across the
+level sand. Owen Davies rose and stretched out his hand to welcome
+her, but she did not take it, she only bowed, and then seated herself
+upon the large flat stone. Owen also seated himself on it, but some
+three or four feet away. Elizabeth thrust her white face forward till
+it was almost level with the lips of the cleft rock and strained her
+ears to listen. Alas! she could not hear a single word.
+
+"You asked me to come here, Mr. Davies," said Beatrice, breaking the
+painful silence. "I have come."
+
+"Yes," he answered; "I asked you to come because I wanted to speak to
+you."
+
+"Yes?" said Beatrice, looking up from her occupation of digging little
+holes in the sand with the point of her parasol. Her face was calm
+enough, but her heart beat fast beneath her breast.
+
+"I want to ask you," he said, speaking slowly and thickly, "if you
+will be my wife?"
+
+Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only
+paused because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again,
+and went on digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole
+case, as a lawyer would say.
+
+"I want to ask you," he repeated, "to be my wife. I have wished to do
+so for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it.
+It is a great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not
+answer me yet," he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke.
+"Listen to what I have to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my
+life. At sea I was lonely, and since I have come into this fortune I
+have been lonelier still. I never loved anybody or anything till I
+began to love you. And then I loved you more and more and more; till
+now I have only one thought in all my life, and that thought is of
+you. While I am awake I think of you, and when I am asleep I dream of
+you. Listen, Beatrice, listen!--I have never loved any other woman, I
+have scarcely spoken to one--only you, Beatrice. I can give you a
+great deal; and everything I have shall be yours, only I should be
+jealous of you--yes, very jealous!"
+
+Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as
+death, and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by
+contrast looked almost unholy.
+
+"I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies," Beatrice answered. "I
+am very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am
+not your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and I
+think it best to tell you so plainly, once and for all," and
+unconsciously she went on digging the holes.
+
+"Oh, do not say that," he answered, almost in a moan. "For God's sake
+don't say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go mad.
+Marry me and you will learn to love me."
+
+Beatrice glanced at him again, and a pang of pity pierced her heart.
+She did not know it was so bad a case as this. It struck her too that
+she was doing a foolish thing, from a worldly point of view. The man
+loved her and was very eligible. He only asked of her what most women
+are willing enough to give under circumstances so favourable to their
+well-being--herself. But she never liked him, he had always repelled
+her, and she was not a woman to marry a man whom she did not like.
+Also, during the last week this dislike and repulsion had hardened and
+strengthened. Vaguely, as he pleaded with her, Beatrice wondered why,
+and as she did so her eye fell upon the pattern she was automatically
+pricking in the sand. It had taken the form of letters, and the
+letters were G E O F F R E--Great heaven! Could that be the answer?
+She flushed crimson with shame at the thought, and passed her foot
+across the tell-tale letters, as she believed, obliterating them.
+
+Owen saw the softening of her eyes and saw the blush, and
+misinterpreted them. Thinking that she was relenting, by instinct,
+rather than from any teaching of experience, he attempted to take her
+hand. With a turn of the arm, so quick that even Elizabeth watching
+with all her eyes saw nothing of the movement, Beatrice twisted
+herself free.
+
+"Don't touch me," she said sharply, "you have no right to touch me. I
+have answered you, Mr. Davies."
+
+Owen withdrew his hand abashed, and for a moment sat still, his chin
+resting on his breast, a very picture of despair. Nothing indeed could
+break the stolid calm of his features, but the violence of his emotion
+was evident in the quick shivering of his limbs and his short deep
+breaths.
+
+"Can you give me no hope?" he said at last in a slow heavy voice. "For
+God's sake think before you answer--you don't know what it means to
+me. It is nothing to you--you cannot feel. I feel, and your words cut
+like a knife. I know that I am heavy and stupid, but I feel as though
+you had killed me. You are heartless, quite heartless."
+
+Again Beatrice softened a little. She was touched and flattered. Where
+is the woman who would not have been?
+
+"What can I say to you, Mr. Davies?" she answered in a kinder voice.
+"I cannot marry you. How I can I marry you when I do not love you?"
+
+"Plenty of women marry men whom they do not love."
+
+"Then they are bad women," answered Beatrice with energy.
+
+"The world does not think so," he said again; "the world calls those
+women bad who love where they cannot marry, and the world is always
+right. Marriage sanctifies everything."
+
+Beatrice laughed bitterly. "Do you think so?" she said. "I do not. I
+think that marriage without love is the most unholy of our
+institutions, and that is saying a good deal. Supposing I should say
+yes to you, supposing that I married you, not loving you, what would
+it be for? For your money and your position, and to be called a
+married woman, and what do you suppose I should think of myself in my
+heart then? No, no, I may be bad, but I have not fallen so low as
+that. Find another wife, Mr. Davies; the world is wide and there are
+plenty of women in it who will love you for your own sake, or who at
+any rate will not be so particular. Forget me, and leave me to go my
+own way--it is not your way."
+
+"Leave you to go your own way," he answered almost with passion--"that
+is, leave you to some other man. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. I
+am jealous of every man who comes near you. Do you know how beautiful
+you are? You are too beautiful--every man must love you as I do. Oh,
+if you took anybody else I think that I should kill him."
+
+"Do not speak like that, Mr. Davies, or I shall go."
+
+He stopped at once. "Don't go," he said imploringly. "Listen. You said
+that you would not marry me because you did not love me. Supposing
+that you learned to love me, say in a year's time, Beatrice, would you
+marry me then?"
+
+"I would marry any man whom I loved," she answered.
+
+"Then if you learn to love me you will marry me?"
+
+"Oh, this is ridiculous," she said. "It is not probable, it is hardly
+possible, that such a thing should happen. If it had been going to
+happen it would have happened before."
+
+"It might come about," he answered; "your heart might soften towards
+me. Oh, say yes to this. It is a small request, it costs you nothing,
+and it gives me hope, without which I cannot live. Say that I may ask
+you once more, and that then if you love me you will marry me."
+
+Beatrice thought for a moment. Such a promise could do her no harm,
+and in the course of six months or a year he might get used to the
+idea of living without her. Also it would prevent a scene. It was weak
+of her, but she dreaded the idea of her having refused Owen Davies
+coming to her father's ears.
+
+"If you wish it, Mr. Davies," she said, "so be it. Only I ask you to
+understand this, I am in no way tied to you. I give you no hope that
+my answer, should you renew this offer a year hence or at any other
+time, will differ from that I give you to-day. I do not think there is
+the slightest probability of such a thing. Also, it must be understood
+that you are not to speak to my father about this matter, or to
+trouble me in any way. Do you consent?"
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I consent. You have me at your mercy."
+
+"Very well. And now, Mr. Davies, good-bye. No, do not walk back with
+me. I had rather go by myself. But I want to say this: I am very sorry
+for what has happened. I have not wished it to happen. I have never
+encouraged it, and my hands are clean of it. But I am sorry, sorry
+beyond measure, and I repeat what I said before--seek out some other
+woman and marry her."
+
+"That is the cruellest thing of all the cruel things which you have
+said," he answered.
+
+"I did not mean it to be cruel, Mr. Davies, but I suppose that the
+truth often is. And now good-bye," and Beatrice stretched out her
+hand.
+
+He touched it, and she turned and went. But Owen did not go. He sat
+upon the rock, his head bowed in misery. He had staked all his hopes
+upon this woman. She was the one desirable thing to him, the one star
+in his somewhat leaden sky, and now that star was eclipsed. Her words
+were unequivocal, they gave but little hope. Beatrice was scarcely a
+woman to turn round in six months or a year. On the contrary, there
+was a fixity about her which frightened him. What could be the cause
+of it? How came it that she should be so ready to reject him, and all
+he had to offer her? After all, she was a girl in a small position.
+She could not be looking forward to a better match. Nor would the
+prospect move her one way or another. There must be a reason for it.
+Perhaps he had a rival, surely that must be the cause. Some enemy had
+done this thing. But who?
+
+At this moment a woman's shadow fell athwart him.
+
+"Oh, have you come back?" he cried, springing to his feet.
+
+"If you mean Beatrice," answered a voice--it was Elizabeth's--"she
+went down to the beach ten minutes ago. I happened to be on the cliff,
+and I saw her."
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Granger," he said faintly. "I did not see
+who it was."
+
+Elizabeth sat down upon the rock where her sister had sat, and, seeing
+the little holes in the breach, began indolently to clear them of the
+sand which Beatrice had swept over them with her foot. This was no
+difficult matter, for the holes were deeply dug, and it was easy to
+trace their position. Presently they were nearly all clear--that is,
+the letters were legible.
+
+"You have had a talk with Beatrice, Mr. Davies?"
+
+"Yes," he answered apathetically.
+
+Elizabeth paused. Then she took her bull by the horns.
+
+"Are you going to marry Beatrice, Mr. Davies?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know," he answered slowly and without surprise. It seemed
+natural to him that his own central thought should be present in her
+mind. "I love her dearly, and want to marry her."
+
+"She refused you, then?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Elizabeth breathed more freely.
+
+"But I can ask her again."
+
+Elizabeth frowned. What could this mean? It was not an absolute
+refusal. Beatrice was playing some game of her own.
+
+"Why did she put you off so, Mr. Davies? Do not think me inquisitive.
+I only ask because I may be able to help you."
+
+"I know; you are very kind. Help me and I shall always be grateful to
+you. I do not know--I almost think that there must be somebody else,
+only I don't know who it can be."
+
+"Ah!" said Elizabeth, who had been gazing intently at the little holes
+in the beach which she had now cleared of the sand. "Of course that is
+possible. She is a curious girl, Beatrice is. What are those letters,
+Mr. Davies?"
+
+He looked at them idly. "Something your sister was writing while I
+talked to her. I remember seeing her do it."
+
+"G E O F F R E--why, it must be meant for Geoffrey. Yes, of course it
+is possible that there is somebody else, Mr. Davies. Geoffrey!--how
+curious!"
+
+"Why is it curious, Miss Granger? Who is Geoffrey?"
+
+Elizabeth laughed a disagreeable little laugh that somehow attracted
+Owen's attention more than her words.
+
+"How should I know? It must be some friend of Beatrice's, and one of
+whom she is thinking a great deal, or she would not write his name
+unconsciously. The only Geoffrey that I know is Mr. Geoffrey Bingham,
+the barrister, who is staying at the Vicarage, and whose life Beatrice
+saved." She paused to watch her companion's face, and saw a new idea
+creep across its stolidity. "But of course," she went on, "it cannot
+be Mr. Bingham that she was thinking of, because you see he is
+married."
+
+"Married?" he said, "yes, but he's a man for all that, and a very
+handsome one."
+
+"Yes, I should call him handsome--a fine man," Elizabeth answered
+critically; "but, as Beatrice said the other day, the great charm
+about him is his talk and power of mind. He is a very remarkable man,
+and the world will hear of him before he has done. But, however, all
+this is neither here nor there. Beatrice is a curious woman, and has
+strange ideas, but I am sure that she would never carry on with a
+married man."
+
+"But he might carry on with her, Miss Elizabeth."
+
+She laughed. "Do you really think that a man like Mr. Bingham would
+try to flirt with girls without encouragement? Men like that are as
+proud as women, and prouder; the lady must always be a step ahead. But
+what is the good of talking about such a thing? It is all nonsense.
+Beatrice must have been thinking of some other Geoffrey--or it was an
+accident of something. Why, Mr. Davies, if you for one moment really
+believed that dear Beatrice could be guilty of such a shameless thing
+as to carry on a flirtation with a married man, would you have asked
+her to marry you? Would you still think of asking such a woman as she
+must be to become your wife?"
+
+"I don't know; I suppose not," he said doubtfully.
+
+"You suppose not. I know you better than you know yourself. You would
+rather never marry at all than take such a woman as she would be
+proved to be. But it is no good talking such stuff. If you have a
+rival you may be sure it is some unmarried man."
+
+Owen reflected in his heart that on the whole he would rather it was a
+married one, since a married man, at any rate, could not legally take
+possession of Beatrice. But Elizabeth's rigid morality alarmed him,
+and he did not say so.
+
+"Do you know I feel a little upset, Miss Elizabeth," he answered. "I
+think I will be going. By the way, I promised to say nothing of this
+to your father. I hope that you will not do so, either."
+
+"Most certainly not," said Elizabeth, and indeed it would be the last
+thing she would wish to do. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Davies. Do not be
+downhearted; it will all come right in the end. You will always have
+me to help you, remember."
+
+"Thank you, thank you," he said earnestly, and went.
+
+Elizabeth watched him round the wall of rock with a cold and ugly
+smile set upon her face.
+
+"You fool," she thought, "you fool! To tell /me/ that you 'love her
+dearly and want to marry her;' you want to get that sweet face of
+hers, do you? You never shall; I'd spoil it first! Dear Beatrice, she
+is not capable of carrying on a love affair with a married man--oh,
+certainly not! Why, she's in love with him already, and he is more
+than half in love with her. If she hadn't been, would she have put
+Owen off? Not she. Give them time, and we shall see. They will ruin
+each other--they /must/ ruin each other; it won't be child's play when
+two people like that fall in love. They will not stop at sighs, there
+is too much human nature about them. It was a good idea to get him
+into the house. And to see her go on with that child Effie, just as
+though she was its mother--it makes me laugh. Ah, Beatrice, with all
+your wits you are a silly woman! And one day, my dear girl, I shall
+have the pleasure of exposing you to Owen; the idol will be unveiled,
+and there will be an end of your chances with him, for he can't marry
+you after that. Then my turn will come. It is a question of time--only
+a question of time!"
+
+So brooded Elizabeth in her heart, madded with malicious envy and
+passionate jealousy. She loved this man, Owen Davies, as much as she
+could love anybody; at the least, she dearly loved the wealth and
+station of which he was the visible centre, and she hated the sister
+whom he desired. If she could only discredit that sister and show her
+to be guilty of woman's worst crime, misplaced, unlegalised affection,
+surely, she thought, Owen would reject her.
+
+She was wrong. She did not know how entirely he desired to make
+Beatrice his wife, or realise how forgiving a man can be who has such
+an end to gain. It is of the women who already weary them and of their
+infidelity that men are so ready to make examples, not of those who do
+not belong to them, and whom they long for night and day. To these
+they can be very merciful.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIII
+
+                          GEOFFREY LECTURES
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice was walking homewards with an uneasy mind. The
+trouble was upon her. She had, it is true, succeeded in postponing it
+a little, but she knew very well that it was only a postponement. Owen
+Davies was not a man to be easily shaken off. She almost wished now
+that she had crushed the idea once and for all. But then he would have
+gone to her father, and there must have been a scene, and she was weak
+enough to shrink from that, especially while Mr. Bingham was in the
+house. She could well imagine the dismay, not to say the fury, of her
+money-loving old father if he were to hear that she had refused--
+actually refused--Owen Davies of Bryngelly Castle, and all his wealth.
+
+Then there was Elizabeth to be reckoned with. Elizabeth would
+assuredly make her life a burden to her. Beatrice little guessed that
+nothing would suit her sister's book better. Oh, if only she could
+shake the dust of Bryngelly off her feet! But that, too, was
+impossible. She was quite without money. She might, it was true,
+succeed in getting another place as mistress to a school in some
+distant part of England, were it not for an insurmountable obstacle.
+Here she received a salary of seventy-five pounds a year; of this she
+kept fifteen pounds, out of which slender sum she contrived to dress
+herself; the rest she gave to her father. Now, as she well knew, he
+could not keep his head above water without this assistance, which,
+small as it was, made all the difference to their household between
+poverty and actual want. If she went away, supposing even that she
+found an equally well-paid post, she would require every farthing of
+the money to support herself, there would be nothing left to send
+home. It was a pitiable position; here was she, who had just refused a
+man worth thousands a year, quite unable to get out of the way of his
+importunity for the want of seventy-five pounds, paid quarterly. Well,
+the only thing to do was to face it out and take her chance. On one
+point she was, however, quite clear; she would /not/ marry Owen
+Davies. She might be a fool for her pains, but she would not do it.
+She respected herself too much to marry a man she did not love; a man
+whom she positively disliked. "No, never!" she exclaimed aloud,
+stamping her foot upon the shingle.
+
+"Never what?" said a voice, within two yards of her.
+
+She started violently, and looked round. There, his back resting
+against a rock, a pipe in his mouth, an open letter on his knee, and
+his hat drawn down almost over his eyes, sat Geoffrey. He had left
+Effie to go home with Mr. Granger, and climbing down a sloping place
+in the cliff, had strolled along the beach. The letter on his knee was
+one from his wife. It was short, and there was nothing particular in
+it. Effie's name was not even mentioned. It was to see if he had not
+overlooked it that he was reading the note through again. No, it
+merely related to Lady Honoria's safe arrival, gave a list of the
+people staying at the Hall--a fast lot, Geoffrey noticed, a certain
+Mr. Dunstan, whom he particularly disliked, among them--and the number
+of brace of partridges which had been killed on the previous day. Then
+came an assurance that Honoria was enjoying herself immensely, and
+that the new French cook was "simply perfect;" the letter ending "with
+love."
+
+"Never what, Miss Granger?" he said again, as he lazily folded up the
+sheet.
+
+"Never mind, of course," she answered, recovering herself. "How you
+startled me, Mr. Bingham! I had no idea there was anybody on the
+beach."
+
+"It is quite free, is it not?" he answered, getting up. "I thought you
+were going to trample me into the pebbles. It's almost alarming when
+one is thinking about a Sunday nap to see a young lady striding along,
+then suddenly stop, stamp her foot, and say, 'No, never!' Luckily I
+knew that you were about or I should really have been frightened."
+
+"How did you know that I was about?" Beatrice asked a little
+defiantly. It was no business of his to observe her movements.
+
+"In two ways. Look!" he said, pointing to a patch of white sand.
+"That, I think, is your footprint."
+
+"Well, what of it?" said Beatrice, with a little laugh.
+
+"Nothing in particular, except that it is your footprint," he
+answered. "Then I happened to meet old Edward, who was loafing along,
+and he informed me that you and Mr. Davies had gone up the beach;
+there is his footprint--Mr. Davies's, I mean--but you don't seem to
+have been very sociable, because here is yours right in the middle of
+it. Therefore you must have been walking in Indian file, and a little
+way back in parallel lines, with quite thirty yards between you."
+
+"Why do you take the trouble to observe things so closely?" she asked
+in a half amused and half angry tone.
+
+"I don't know--a habit of the legal mind, I suppose. One might make
+quite a romance out of those footprints on the sand, and the little
+subsequent events. But you have not heard all my thrilling tale. Old
+Edward also informed me that he saw your sister, Miss Elizabeth, going
+along the cliff almost level with you, from which he concluded that
+you had argued as to the shortest way to the Red Rocks and were
+putting the matter to the proof."
+
+"Elizabeth," said Beatrice, turning a shade paler; "what can she have
+been doing, I wonder."
+
+"Taking exercise, probably, like yourself. Well, I seat myself with my
+pipe in the shadow of that rock, when suddenly I see Mr. Davies coming
+along towards Bryngelly as though he were walking for a wager, his hat
+fixed upon the back of his head. Literally he walked over my legs and
+never saw me. Then you follow and ejaculate, 'No, never!'--and that is
+the end of my story. Have I your permission to walk with you, or shall
+I interfere with the development of the plot?"
+
+"There is no plot, and as you said just now the beach is free,"
+Beatrice answered petulantly.
+
+They walked on a few yards and then he spoke in another tone--the
+meaning of the assignation he had overheard in the churchyard grew
+clear to him now.
+
+"I believe that I have to congratulate you, Miss Granger," he said,
+"and I do so very heartily. It is not everybody who is so fortunate as
+to----"
+
+Beatrice stopped, and half turning faced him.
+
+"What /do/ you mean, Mr. Bingham?" she said. "I do not understand your
+dark sayings."
+
+"Mean! oh, nothing particular, except that I wished to congratulate
+you on your engagement."
+
+"My engagement! what engagement?"
+
+"It seems that there is some mistake," he said, and struggle as he
+might to suppress it his tone was one of relief. "I understood that
+you had become engaged to be married to Mr. Owen Davies. If I am wrong
+I am sure I apologise."
+
+"You are quite wrong, Mr. Bingham; I don't know who put such a notion
+into your head, but there is no truth in it."
+
+"Then allow me to congratulate you on there being no truth in it. You
+see that is the beauty of nine affairs matrimonial out of ten--there
+are two or more sides of them. If they come off the amiable and
+disinterested observer can look at the bright side--as in this case,
+lots of money, romantic castle by the sea, gentleman of unexceptional
+antecedents, &c., &c, &c. If, on the other hand, they don't, cause can
+still be found for thankfulness--lady might do better after all,
+castle by the sea rather draughty and cold in spring, gentlemen most
+estimable but perhaps a little dull, and so on, you see."
+
+There was a note of mockery about his talk which irritated Beatrice
+exceedingly. It was not like Mr. Bingham to speak so. It was not even
+the way that a gentleman out of his teens should speak to a lady on
+such a subject. He knew this as well as she did and was secretly
+ashamed of himself. But the truth must out: though Geoffrey did not
+admit it even to himself he was bitterly and profoundly jealous, and
+jealous people have no manners. Beatrice could not, however, be
+expected to know this, and naturally grew angry.
+
+"I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Bingham,"
+she said, putting on her most dignified air, and Beatrice could look
+rather alarming. "You have picked up a piece of unfounded gossip and
+now you take advantage of it to laugh at me, and to say rude things of
+Mr. Davies. It is not kind."
+
+"Oh, no; it was the footsteps, Miss Granger, /and/ the gossip, /and/
+the appointment you made in the churchyard, that I unwillingly
+overheard, not the gossip alone which led me into my mistake. Of
+course I have now to apologise."
+
+Again Beatrice stamped her foot. She saw that he was still mocking
+her, and felt that he did not believe her.
+
+"There," he went on, stung into unkindness by his biting but
+unacknowledged jealousy, for she was right--on reflection he did not
+quite believe what she said as to her not being engaged. "How
+unfortunate I am--I have said something to make you angry again. Why
+did you not walk with Mr. Davies? I should then have remained
+guiltless of offence, and you would have had a more agreeable
+companion. You want to quarrel with me; what shall we quarrel about?
+There are many things on which we are diametrically opposed; let us
+start one."
+
+It was too much, for though his words were nothing the tone in which
+he spoke gave them a sting. Beatrice, already disturbed in mind by the
+scene through which she had passed, her breast already throbbing with
+a vague trouble of which she did not know the meaning, for once in her
+life lost control of herself and grew hysterical. Her grey eyes filled
+with tears, the corners of her sweet mouth dropped, and she looked
+very much as though she were going to burst out weeping.
+
+"It is most unkind of you," she said, with a half sob. "If you knew
+how much I have to put up with, you would not speak to me like that. I
+know that you do not believe me; very well, I will tell you the truth.
+Yes, though I have no business to do it, and you have no right--none
+at all--to make me do it, I will tell you the truth, because I cannot
+bear that you should not believe me. Mr. Davies did want me to marry
+him and I refused him. I put him off for a while; I did this because I
+knew that if I did not he would go to my father. It was cowardly, but
+my father would make my life wretched----" and again she gave a half-
+choked sob.
+
+Much has been said and written about the effect produced upon men by
+the sight of a lady in, or on the border line of tears, and there is
+no doubt that this effect is considerable. Man being in his right mind
+is deeply moved by such a spectacle, also he is frightened because he
+dreads a scene. Now most people would rather walk ten miles in their
+dress shoes than have to deal with a young lady in hysterics, however
+modified. Putting the peculiar circumstances of the case aside,
+Geoffrey was no exception to this rule. It was all very well to cross
+spears with Beatrice, who had quite an equal wit, and was very capable
+of retaliation, but to see her surrender at discretion was altogether
+another thing. Indeed he felt much ashamed of himself.
+
+"Please don't--don't--be put out," he said. He did not like to use the
+word "cry." "I was only laughing at you, but I ought not to have
+spoken as I did. I did not wish to force your confidence, indeed I did
+not. I never thought of such a thing. I am so sorry."
+
+His remorse was evidently genuine, and Beatrice felt somewhat
+appeased. Perhaps it did not altogether grieve her to learn that she
+could make him feel sorry.
+
+"You did not force my confidence," she said defiantly, quite
+forgetting that a moment before she had reproached him for making her
+speak. "I told you because I did not choose that you should think I
+was not speaking the truth--and now let us change the subject." She
+imposed no reserve on him as to what she had revealed; she knew that
+there was no necessity to do so. The secret would be between them--
+another dangerous link.
+
+Beatrice recovered her composure and they walked slowly on.
+
+"Tell me, Mr. Bingham," she said presently, "how can a woman earn her
+living--I mean a girl like myself without any special qualifications?
+Some of them get on."
+
+"Well," he answered, "that depends upon the girl. What sort of a
+living do you mean? You are earning a living now, of a kind."
+
+"Yes, but sometimes, if only I could manage it, I think that I should
+like to get away from here, and take another line, something bigger. I
+do not suppose that I ever shall, but I like to think of it
+sometimes."
+
+"I only know of two things which a woman can turn to," he said, "the
+stage and literature. Of course," he added hastily, "the first is out
+of the question in your case."
+
+"And so is the other, I am afraid," she answered shaking her head,
+"that is if by literature you mean imaginative writing, and I suppose
+that is the only way to get into notice. As I told you I lost my
+imagination--well, to be frank, when I lost my faith. At one time I
+used to have plenty, as I used to have plenty of faith, but the one
+went with the other, I do not understand why."
+
+"Don't you? I think I do. A mind without religious sentiment is like a
+star without atmosphere, brighter than other stars but not so soft to
+see. Religion, poetry, music, imagination, and even some of the more
+exalted forms of passion, flourish in the same soil, and are, I
+sometimes think, different manifestations of the same thing. Do you
+know it is ridiculous to hear you talk of having lost your faith,
+because I don't believe it. At the worst it has gone to sleep, and
+will wake up again one day. Possibly you may not accept some
+particular form of faith, but I tell you frankly that to reject all
+religion simply because you cannot understand it, is nothing but a
+form of atrocious spiritual vanity. Your mind is too big for you, Miss
+Granger: it has run away with you, but you know it is tied by a string
+--it cannot go far. And now perhaps you will be angry again."
+
+"No, indeed, why should I be angry? I daresay that you are quite
+right, and I only hope that I may be able to believe again. I will
+tell you how I lost belief. I had a little brother whom I loved more
+than anything else in the world, indeed after my mother died he was
+the only thing I really had to love, for I think that my father cares
+more for Elizabeth than he does for me, she is so much the better at
+business matters, and Elizabeth and I never quite got on. I daresay
+that the fault is mine, but the fact remains--we are sisters but we
+are not intimate. Well, my brother fell ill of a fever, and for a long
+time he lay between life and death, and I prayed for him as I never
+prayed for anybody or anything before--yes, I prayed that I might die
+instead of him. Then he passed through the crisis and got better, and
+I thanked God, thinking that my prayers had been answered; oh, how
+happy I was for those ten days! And then this happened:--My brother
+got a chill, a relapse followed, and in three days he was dead. The
+last words that he spoke to me were, 'Oh, don't let me die, Bee!'--he
+used to call me Bee--'Please don't let me die, dear Bee!' But he died,
+died in my arms, and when it was over I rose from his side feeling as
+though my heart was dead also. I prayed no more after that. It seemed
+to me as though my prayers had been mocked at, as though he had been
+given back to me for a little while in order that the blow might be
+more crushing when it fell."
+
+"Don't you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a
+view?" said Geoffrey. "Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read
+about the early Christians?--how the lead would not boil the martyr,
+or the lion would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the
+fire, and how the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a
+great many difficult doctrines without further delay. The Athanasian
+Creed was not necessarily true because the fire would not light or the
+sword would not cut, nor, excuse me, were all your old beliefs wrong
+because your prayer was unanswered. It is an ancient story, that we
+cannot tell whether the answering of our petitions will be good or ill
+for us. Of course I do not know anything about such things, but it
+seems to me rash to suppose that Providence is going to alter the
+working of its eternal laws merely to suit the passing wishes of
+individuals--wishes, too, that in many cases would bring unforeseen
+sorrows if fulfilled. Besides I daresay that the poor child is happier
+dead than he would have been had he lived. It is not an altogether
+pleasant world for most of us."
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham, I know, and I daresay that I should have got over
+the shock in time, only after that I began to read. I read the
+histories of the religions and compared them, and I read the works of
+those writers who have risen up to attack them. I found, or I thought
+that I found, the same springs of superstition in them all--
+superstitions arising from elementary natural causes, and handed on
+with variations from race to race, and time to time. In some I found
+the same story, only with a slightly altered face, and I learned,
+moreover, that each faith denied the other, and claimed truth for
+itself alone.
+
+"After that, too, I went to the college and there I fell in with a
+lady, one of the mistresses, who was the cleverest woman that I ever
+knew, and in her way a good woman, but one who believed that religion
+was the curse of the world, and who spent all her spare time in
+attacking it in some form or other. Poor thing, she is dead now. And
+so, you see, what between these causes and the continual spectacle of
+human misery which to my mind negatives the idea of a merciful and
+watching Power, at last it came to pass that the only altar left in my
+temple is an altar to the 'Unknown God.'"
+
+Geoffrey, like most men who have had to think on these matters, did
+not care to talk about them much, especially to women. For one thing,
+he was conscious of a tendency to speech less reverent than his
+thought. But he had not entered Beatrice's church of Darkness, indeed
+he had turned his back on it for ever, though, like most people, he
+had at different periods of his past life tarried an hour in its
+porch. So he ventured on an objection.
+
+"I am no theologian," he said, "and I am not fond of discussion on
+such matters. But there are just one or two things I should like to
+say. It is no argument, to my mind at least, to point to the existence
+of evil and unhappiness among men as a proof of the absence of a
+superior Mercy; for what are men that such things should not be with
+them? Man, too, must own some master. If he has doubts let him look up
+at the marshalling of the starry heaven, and they will vanish."
+
+"No," said Beatrice, "I fear not. Kant said so, but before that
+Molière had put the argument in the mouth of a fool. The starry
+heavens no more prove anything than does the running of the raindrops
+down the window-pane. It is not a question of size and quantity."
+
+"I might accept the illustration," answered Geoffrey; "one example of
+law is as good as another for my purpose. I see in it all the working
+of a living Will, but of course that is only my way of looking at it,
+not yours."
+
+"No; I am afraid," said Beatrice, "all this reasoning drawn from
+material things does not touch me. That is how the Pagans made /their/
+religions, and it is how Paley strives to prove his. They argued from
+the Out to the In, from the material to the spiritual. It cannot be;
+if Christianity is true it must stand upon spiritual feet and speak
+with a spiritual voice, to be heard, not in the thunderstorm, but only
+in the hearts of men. The existence of Creative Force does not
+demonstrate the existence of a Redeemer; if anything, it tends to
+negative it, for the power that creates is also the power which
+destroys. What does touch me, however, is the thought of the multitude
+of the Dead. /That/ is what we care for, not for an Eternal Force,
+ever creating and destroying. Think of them all--all the souls of
+unheard-of races, almost animal, who passed away so long ago. Can ours
+endure more than theirs, and do you think that the spirit of an
+Ethiopian who died in the time of Moses is anywhere now?"
+
+"There was room for them all on earth," answered Geoffrey. "The
+universe is wide. It does not dismay me. There are mysteries in our
+nature, the nature we think we know--shall there be none in that which
+we know not? Worlds die, to live again when, after millions of ages,
+the conditions become once more favourable to life, and why should not
+a man? We are creatures of the world, we reflect its every light and
+shadow, we rejoice in its rejoicing, its every feature has a tiny
+parallel in us. Why should not our fate be as its fate, and its fate
+is so far as we know eternal. It may change from gas to chaos, from
+chaos to active life, from active life to seeming death. Then it may
+once more pass into its elements, and from those elements back again
+to concrete being, and so on for ever, always changing, but always the
+same. So much for nature's allegory. It is not a perfect analogy, for
+Man is a thing apart from all things else; it may be only a hint or a
+type, but it is something.
+
+"Now to come to the question of our religion. I confess I draw quite a
+different conclusion from your facts. You say that you trace the same
+superstitions in all religions, and that the same spiritual myths are
+in some shape present in almost all. Well, does not this suggest that
+the same great /truth/ underlies them all, taking from time to time
+the shape which is best suited to the spiritual development of those
+professing each. Every great new religion is better than the last. You
+cannot compare Osirianism with Buddhism, or Buddhism with
+Christianity, or Mahomedanism with the Arabian idol worship. Take the
+old illustration--take a cut crystal and hold it in the sun, and you
+will see many different coloured rays come from its facets. They look
+different, but they are all born of the same great light; they are all
+the same light. May it not be so with religion? Let your altar be to
+the 'Unknown God,' if you like--for who can give an unaltering
+likeness to the Power above us?--but do not knock your altar down.
+
+"Depend upon it, Miss Granger, all indications to the contrary
+notwithstanding, there is a watching Providence without the will of
+which we cannot live, and if we deliberately reject that Providence,
+setting up our intelligence in its place, sorrow will come of it, even
+here; for it is wiser than we. I wish that you would try and look at
+the question from another point of view--from a higher point of view.
+I think you will find that it will bear a great deal of examination,
+and that you will come to the conclusion that the dictum of the wise-
+acre who says there is nothing because he can see nothing, is not
+necessarily a true one. There, that is all I have to say, and I wish
+that I could say it better."
+
+"Thank you," said Beatrice, "I will. Why here we are at home; I must
+go and put Effie to bed."
+
+
+
+And here it may be stated that Geoffrey's advice was not altogether
+thrown away. Beatrice did try looking at the question again, and if
+Faith did not altogether come back to her at least Hope did, and "the
+greatest of these, which is Charity," had never deserted her. Hope
+came slowly back, not by argument probably, but rather by example. In
+the sea of Doubt she saw another buoyed up, if it were but on broken
+pieces of the ship. This encouraged her. Geoffrey believed, and she--
+believed in Geoffrey. Indeed, is not this the secret of woman's
+philosophy--even, to some extent, of that of such a woman as Beatrice?
+"Let the faith or unfaith of This, That, or the other Rabbi answer for
+me," she says--it is her last argument. She believes in This, or That,
+or some other philosopher: that is her creed. And Geoffrey was the
+person in whom Beatrice began to believe, all the more wholly because
+she had never believed in any one before. Whatever else she was to
+lose, this at least she won when she saved his life.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIV
+
+                               DRIFTING
+
+On the day following their religious discussion an accident happened
+which resulted in Geoffrey and Beatrice being more than ever thrown in
+the company of each other. During the previous week two cases of
+scarlatina had been reported among the school children, and now it was
+found that the complaint had spread so much that it was necessary to
+close the school. This meant, of course, that Beatrice had all her
+time upon her hands. And so had Geoffrey. It was his custom to bathe
+before breakfast, after which he had nothing to do for the rest of the
+day. Beatrice with little Effie also bathed before breakfast from the
+ladies' bathing-place, a quarter of a mile off, and sometimes he would
+meet her as she returned, glowing with health and beauty like Venus
+new risen from the Cyprian sea, her half-dried hair hanging in heavy
+masses down her back. Then after breakfast they would take Effie down
+to the beach, and her "auntie," as the child learned to call Beatrice,
+would teach her lessons and poetry till she was tired, and ran away to
+paddle in the sea or look for prawns among the rocks.
+
+Meanwhile the child's father and Beatrice would talk--not about
+religion, they spoke no more on that subject, nor about Owen Davies,
+but of everything else on earth. Beatrice was a merry woman when she
+was happy, and they never lacked subjects of conversation, for their
+minds were very much in tune. In book-learning Beatrice had the
+advantage of Geoffrey, for she had not only read enormously, she also
+remembered what she read and could apply it. Her critical faculty,
+too, was very keen. He, on the other hand, had more knowledge of the
+world, and in his rich days had travelled a good deal, and so it came
+to pass that each could always find something to tell the other. Never
+for one second were they dull, not even when they sat for an hour or
+so in silence, for it was the silence of complete companionship.
+
+So the long morning would wear away all too quickly, and they would go
+in to dinner, to be greeted with a cold smile by Elizabeth and
+heartily enough by the old gentleman, who never thought of anything
+out of his own circle of affairs. After dinner it was the same story.
+Either they went walking to look for ferns and flowers, or perhaps
+Geoffrey took his gun and hid behind the rocks for curlew, sending
+Beatrice, who knew the coast by heart, a mile round or more to some
+headland in order to put them on the wing. Then she would come back,
+springing towards him from rock to rock, and crouch down beneath a
+neighbouring seaweed-covered boulder, and they would talk together in
+whispers, or perhaps they would not talk at all, for fear lest they
+should frighten the flighting birds. And Geoffrey would first search
+the heavens for curlew or duck, and, seeing none, would let his eyes
+fall upon the pure beauty of Beatrice's face, showing so clearly
+against the tender sky, and wonder what she was thinking about; till,
+suddenly feeling his gaze, she would turn with a smile as sweet as the
+first rosy blush of dawn upon the waters, and ask him what /he/ was
+thinking about. And he would laugh and answer "You," whereon she would
+smile again and perhaps blush a little, feeling glad at heart, she
+knew not why.
+
+Then came tea-time and the quiet, when they sat at the open window,
+and Geoffrey smoked and listened to the soft surging of the sea and
+the harmonious whisper of the night air in the pines. In the corner
+Mr. Granger slept in his armchair, or perhaps he had gone to bed
+altogether, for he liked to go to bed at half-past eight, as the old
+Herefordshire farmer, his father, had done before him; and at the far
+end of the room sat Elizabeth, doing her accounts by the light of a
+solitary candle, or, if they failed her, reading some book of a
+devotional and inspired character. But over the edge of the book, or
+from the page of crabbed accounts, her eyes would glance continually
+towards the handsome pair in the window-place, and she would smile as
+she saw that it went well. Only they never saw the glances or noted
+the smile. When Geoffrey looked that way, which was not often, for
+Elizabeth--old Elizabeth, as he always called her to himself--did not
+attract him, all he saw was her sharp but capable-looking form bending
+over her work, and the light of the candle gleaming on her straw-
+coloured hair and falling in gleaming white patches on her hard
+knuckles.
+
+And so the happy day would pass and bed-time come, and with it
+unbidden dreams.
+
+Geoffrey thought no ill of all this, as of course he ought to have
+thought. He was not the ravening lion of fiction--so rarely, if ever,
+to be met with in real life--going about seeking whom he might devour.
+He had absolutely no designs on Beatrice's affections, any more than
+she had on his, and he had forgotten that first fell prescience of
+evil to come. Once or twice, it is true, qualms of doubt did cross his
+mind in the earlier days of their intimacy. But he put them by as
+absurd. He was no believer in the tender helplessness of full-grown
+women, his experience having been that they are amply capable--and,
+for the most part, more than capable--of looking after themselves. It
+seemed to him a thing ridiculous that such a person as Beatrice, who
+was competent to form opinions and a judgment upon all the important
+questions of life, should be treated as a child, and that he should
+remove himself from Bryngelly lest her young affections should become
+entangled. He felt sure that they would never be entrapped in any
+direction whatsoever without her full consent.
+
+Then he ceased to think about the matter at all. Indeed, the mere idea
+of such a thing involved a supposition that would only have been
+acceptable to a conceited man--namely, that there was a possibility of
+this young lady's falling in love with him. What right had he to
+suppose anything of the sort? It was an impertinence. That there was
+another sort of possibility--namely, of his becoming more attached to
+her than was altogether desirable--did, however, occur to him once or
+twice. But he shrugged his shoulders and put it by. After all, it was
+his look out, and he did not much care. It would do her no harm at the
+worst. But very soon all these shadowy forebodings of dawning trouble
+vanished quite. They were lost in the broad, sweet lights of
+friendship. By-and-by, when friendship's day was done, they might
+arise again, called by other names and wearing a sterner face.
+
+It was ridiculous--of course it was ridiculous; he was not going to
+fall in love like a boy at his time of life; all he felt was gratitude
+and interest--all she felt was amusement in his society. As for the
+intimacy--felt rather than expressed--the intimacy that could already
+almost enable the one to divine the other's thought, that could shape
+her mood to his and his to hers, that could cause the same thing of
+beauty to be a common joy, and discover unity of mind in opinions the
+most opposite--why, it was only natural between people who had
+together passed a peril terrible to think of. So they took the goods
+the gods provided, and drifted softly on--whither they did not stop to
+inquire.
+
+One day, however, a little incident happened that ought to have opened
+the eyes of both. They had arranged, or rather there was a tacit
+understanding, that they should go out together in the afternoon.
+Geoffrey was to take his gun and Beatrice a book, but it chanced that,
+just before dinner, as she walked back from the village, where she had
+gone to buy some thread to mend Effie's clothes, Beatrice came face to
+face with Mr. Davies. It was their first meeting without witnesses
+since the Sunday of which the events have been described, and,
+naturally, therefore, rather an awkward one. Owen stopped short so
+that she could not pass him with a bow, and then turned and walked
+beside her. After a remark or two about the weather, the springs of
+conversation ran dry.
+
+"You remember that you are coming up to the Castle this afternoon?" he
+said, at length.
+
+"To the Castle!" she answered. "No, I have heard nothing of it."
+
+"Did not your sister tell you she made an engagement for herself and
+you a week or more ago? You are to bring the little girl; she wants to
+see the view from the top of the tower."
+
+Then Beatrice remembered. Elizabeth had told her, and she had thought
+it best to accept the situation. The whole thing had gone out of her
+mind.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon! I do remember now, but I have made another
+plan--how stupid of me!"
+
+"You had forgotten," he said in his heavy voice; "it is easy for you
+to forget what I have been looking forward to for a whole week. What
+is your plan--to go out walking with Mr. Bingham, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes," answered Beatrice, "to go out with Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Ah! you go out with Mr. Bingham every day now."
+
+"And what if I do?" said Beatrice quickly; "surely, Mr. Davies, I have
+a right to go out with whom I like?"
+
+"Yes, of course; but the engagement to come to the Castle was made
+first; are you not going to keep it?"
+
+"Of course I am going to keep it; I always keep my engagements when I
+have any."
+
+"Very well, then; I shall expect you at three o'clock."
+
+Beatrice went on home in a curiously irritated condition of mind. She
+did not, naturally, want to go to the Castle, and she did want to go
+out with Geoffrey. However, there was no help for it.
+
+When she came in to dinner she found that Geoffrey was not there. He
+had, it seemed, gone to lunch with Dr. Chambers, whom he had met on
+the beach. Before he returned they were all three starting for the
+Castle, Beatrice leaving a message to this effect with Betty.
+
+About a quarter of an hour afterwards, Geoffrey came back to fetch his
+gun and Beatrice, but Beatrice was gone, and all that he could extract
+from Betty was that she had gone to see Mr. Davies.
+
+He was perfectly furious, though all the while he knew how
+unreasonable was his anger. He had been looking forward to the
+expedition, and this sudden change of plan was too much for his
+temper. Off he started, however, to pass a thoroughly miserable
+afternoon. He seemed to miss Beatrice more each step and gradually to
+grow more and more angry at what he called her "rudeness." Of course
+it never occurred to him that what he was really angry at was her
+going to see Mr. Davies, or that, in truth, her society had become so
+delightful to him that to be deprived of it even for an afternoon was
+to be wretched. To top everything, he only got three good shots that
+afternoon, and he missed them all, which made him crosser than ever.
+
+As for Beatrice, she enjoyed herself just as little at the Castle as
+Geoffrey did on the beach. Owen Davies took them through the great
+unused rooms and showed them the pictures, but she had seen them
+before, and though some of them were very fine, did not care to look
+at them again--at any rate, not that afternoon. But Elizabeth gazed at
+them with eager eyes and mentally appraised their value, wondering if
+they would ever be hers.
+
+"What is this picture?" she asked, pointing to a beautiful portrait of
+a Dutch Burgomaster by Rembrandt.
+
+"That," answered Davies heavily, for he knew nothing of painting and
+cared less, "that is a Velasquez, valued for probate at £3,000--no,"
+referring to the catalogue and reading, "I beg your pardon, the next
+is the Velasquez; that is a Rembrandt in the master's best style,
+showing all his wonderful mastery over light and shade. It was valued
+for probate at £4,000 guineas."
+
+"Four thousand guineas!" said Elizabeth, "fancy having a thing worth
+four thousand guineas hanging on a wall!"
+
+And so they went on, Elizabeth asking questions and Owen answering
+them by the help of the catalogue, till, to Beatrice's relief, they
+came at length to the end of the pictures. Then they took some tea in
+the little sitting room of the master of all this magnificence. Owen,
+to her great annoyance, sat opposite to Beatrice, staring at her with
+all his eyes while she drank her tea, with Effie sitting in her lap,
+and Elizabeth, observing it, bit her lip in jealousy. She had thought
+it well to bring her sister here; it would not do to let Mr. Davies
+think she was keeping Beatrice out of his way, but his mute idol
+worship was trying to her feelings. After tea they went to the top of
+the tower, and Effie rejoiced exceedingly in the view, which was very
+beautiful. Here Owen got a word with Elizabeth.
+
+"Your sister seems to be put out about something," he said.
+
+"I daresay," she answered carelessly; "Beatrice has an uncertain
+temper. I think she wanted to go out shooting with Mr. Bingham this
+afternoon."
+
+Had Owen been a less religious person he might have sworn; as it was,
+he only said, "Mr. Bingham--it is always Mr. Bingham from morning to
+night! When is he going away?"
+
+"In another week, I believe. Beatrice will be sorry, I think; she
+makes a great companion of him. And now I think that we must be
+getting home," and she went, leaving this poisoned shaft to rankle in
+his breast.
+
+After they had returned to the vicarage and Beatrice had heard Effie
+her prayers and tucked her up in her small white bed, she went down to
+the gate to be quiet for a little while before supper. Geoffrey had
+not yet come in.
+
+It was a lovely autumn evening; the sea seemed to sleep, and the
+little clouds, from which the sunset fires had paled, lay like wreaths
+of smoke upon the infinite blue sky. Why had not Mr. Bingham come
+back, she wondered; he would scarcely have time to dress. Supposing
+that an accident had happened to him. Nonsense! what accident could
+happen? He was so big and strong he seemed to defy accidents; and yet
+had it not been for her there would be little enough left of his
+strength to-day. Ah! she was glad that she had lived to be able to
+save him from death. There he came, looming like a giant in the
+evening mist.
+
+There was a small hand-gate beside the large one on which she leant.
+Geoffrey stalked straight up to it as though he did not see her; he
+saw her well enough, but he was cross with her.
+
+She allowed him to pass through the gate, which he shut slowly,
+perhaps to give her an opportunity of speaking, if she wished to do
+so; then thinking that he did not see her she spoke in her soft,
+musical voice.
+
+"Did you have good sport, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"No," he answered shortly; "I saw very little, and I missed all I
+saw."
+
+"I am so sorry, except for the birds. I hate the birds to be killed.
+Did you not see me in this white dress? I saw you fifty yards away."
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," he answered, "I saw you."
+
+"And you were going by without speaking to me; it was very rude of you
+--what is the matter?"
+
+"Not so rude as it was of you to arrange to walk out with me and then
+to go and see Mr. Davies instead."
+
+"I could not help it, Mr. Bingham; it was an old engagement, which I
+had forgotten."
+
+"Quite so, ladies generally have an excuse for doing what they want to
+do."
+
+"It is not an excuse, Mr. Bingham," Beatrice answered, with dignity;
+"there is no need for me to make excuses to you about my movements."
+
+"Of course not, Miss Granger; but it would be more polite to tell me
+when you change your mind--next time, you know. However, I have no
+doubt that the Castle has attractions for you."
+
+She flashed one look at him and turned to go, and as she did so his
+heart relented; he grew ashamed.
+
+"Miss Granger, don't go; forgive me. I do not know what has become of
+my manners, I spoke as I should not. The fact is, I was put out at
+your not coming. To tell you the honest truth, I missed you
+dreadfully."
+
+"You missed me. That is very nice of you; one likes to be missed. But,
+if you missed me for one afternoon, how will you get on a week hence
+when you go away and miss me altogether?"
+
+Beatrice spoke in a bantering tone, and laughed as she spoke, but the
+laugh ended in something like a sigh. He looked at her for a moment,
+looked till she dropped her eyes.
+
+"Heaven only knows!" he answered sadly.
+
+"Let us go in," said Beatrice, in a constrained voice; "how chill the
+air has turned."
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XV
+
+                           ONLY GOOD-NIGHT
+
+Five more days passed, all too quickly, and once more Monday came
+round. It was the 22nd of October, and the Michaelmas Sittings began
+on the 24th. On the morrow, Tuesday, Geoffrey was to return to London,
+there to meet Lady Honoria and get to work at Chambers. That very
+morning, indeed, a brief, the biggest he had yet received--it was
+marked thirty guineas--had been forwarded to him from his chambers,
+with a note from his clerk to the effect that the case was expected to
+be in the special jury list on the first day of the sittings, and that
+the clerk had made an appointment for him with the solicitors for 5.15
+on the Tuesday. The brief was sent to him by his uncle's firm, and
+marked, "With you the Attorney-General, and Mr. Candleton, Q.C.," the
+well-known leader of the Probate and Divorce Court Bar. Never before
+had Geoffrey found himself in such honourable company, that is on the
+back of a brief, and not a little was he elated thereby.
+
+But when he came to look into the case his joy abated somewhat, for it
+was one of the most perplexing that he had ever known. The will
+contested, which was that of a Yorkshire money-lender, disposed of
+property to the value of over £80,000, and was propounded by a niece
+of the testator who, when he died, if not actually weak in his mind,
+was in his dotage, and superstitious to the verge of insanity. The
+niece to whom all the property was left--to the exclusion of the son
+and daughter of the deceased, both married, and living away from home
+--stayed with the testator and looked after him. Shortly before his
+death, however, he and this niece had violently quarrelled on account
+of an intimacy which the latter had formed with a married man of bad
+repute, who was a discharged lawyer's clerk. So serious had been the
+quarrel that only three days before his death the testator had sent
+for a lawyer and formally, by means of a codicil, deprived the niece
+of a sum of £2,000 which he had left her, all the rest of his property
+being divided between his son and daughter. Three days afterwards,
+however, he duly executed a fresh will, in the presence of two
+servants, by which he left all his property to the niece, to the
+entire exclusion of his own children. This will, though very short,
+was in proper form and was written by nobody knew whom. The servants
+stated that the testator before signing it was perfectly acquainted
+with its contents, for the niece had made him repeat them in their
+presence. They also declared, however, that he seemed in a terrible
+fright, and said twice, "It's behind me; it's behind me!"
+
+Within an hour of the signing of the will the testator was found dead,
+apparently from the effects of fear, but the niece was not in the room
+at the time of death. The only other remarkable circumstance in the
+case was that the disreputable lover of the niece had been seen
+hanging about the house at dusk, the testator having died at ten
+o'clock at night. There was also a further fact. The son, on receiving
+a message from the niece that his father was seriously worse, had
+hurried with extraordinary speed to the house, passing some one or
+something--he could not tell what--that seemed to be running,
+apparently from the window of the sick man's room, which was on the
+ground floor, and beneath which footmarks were afterwards found. Of
+these footmarks two casts had been taken, of which photographs were
+forwarded with the brief. They had been made by naked feet of small
+size, and in each case the little joint of the third toe of the right
+foot seemed to be missing. But all attempts to find the feet that made
+them had hitherto failed. The will was contested by the next of kin,
+for whom Geoffrey was one of the counsel, upon the usual grounds of
+undue influence and fraud; but as it seemed at present with small
+prospect of success, for, though the circumstances were superstitious
+enough, there was not the slightest evidence of either. This curious
+case, of which the outlines are here written, is briefly set out,
+because it proved to be the foundation of Geoffrey's enormous practice
+and reputation at the Bar.
+
+He read the brief through twice, thought it over well, and could make
+little of it. It was perfectly obvious to him that there had been foul
+play somewhere, but he found himself quite unable to form a workable
+hypothesis. Was the person who had been seen running away concerned in
+the matter?--if it was a person. If so, was he the author of the
+footprints? Of course the ex-lawyer's clerk had something to do with
+it, but what? In vain did Geoffrey cudgel his brains; every idea that
+occurred to him broke down somewhere or other.
+
+"We shall lose this," he said aloud in despair; "suspicious
+circumstances are not enough to upset a will," and then, addressing
+Beatrice, who was sitting at the table, working:
+
+"Here, Miss Granger, you have a smattering of law, see if you can make
+anything of this," and he pushed the heavy brief towards her.
+
+Beatrice took it with a laugh, and for the next three-quarters of an
+hour her fair brow was puckered up in a way quaint to see. At last she
+finished and shut the brief up. "Let me look at the photographs," she
+said.
+
+Geoffrey handed them to her. She very carefully examined first one and
+then the other, and as she did so a light of intelligence broke out
+upon her face.
+
+"Well, Portia, have you got it?" he asked.
+
+"I have got something," she answered. "I do not know if it is right.
+Don't you see, the old man was superstitious; they frightened him
+first of all by a ghostly voice or some such thing into signing the
+will, and then to death after he had signed it. The lawyer's clerk
+prepared the will--he would know how to do it. Then he was smuggled
+into the room under the bed, or somewhere, dressed up as a ghost
+perhaps. The sending for the son by the niece was a blind. The thing
+that was seen running away was a boy--those footprints were made by a
+boy. I have seen so many thousands on the sands here that I could
+swear to it. He was attracted to the house from the road, which was
+quite near, by catching sight of something unusual through the blind;
+the brief says there were no curtains or shutters. Now look at the
+photographs of the footprints. See in No. 1, found outside the window,
+the toes are pressed down deeply into the mud. The owner of the feet
+was standing on tip-toe to get a better view. But in No. 2, which was
+found near where the son thought he saw a person running, the toes are
+spread out quite wide. That is the footprint of some one who was in a
+great hurry. Now it is not probable that a boy had anything to do with
+the testator's death. Why, then, was the boy running so hard? I will
+tell you: because he was frightened at something he had seen through
+the blind. So frightened was he, that he will not come forward, or
+answer the advertisements and inquiries. Find a boy in that town who
+has a joint missing on the third toe of the right foot, and you will
+soon know all about it."
+
+"By Jove," said Geoffrey, "what a criminal lawyer you would make! I
+believe that you have got it. But how are we to find this boy with the
+missing toe-joint? Every possible inquiry has already been made and
+failed. Nobody has seen such a boy, whose deficiency would probably be
+known by his parents, or schoolfellows."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "it has failed because the boy has taken to
+wearing shoes, which indeed he would always have to do at school. His
+parents, if he has any, would perhaps not speak of his disfigurement,
+and no one else might know of it, especially if he were a new-comer in
+the neighbourhood. It is quite possible that he took off his boots in
+order to creep up to the window. And now I will tell you how I should
+set to work to find him. I should have every bathing-place in the
+river running through the town--there is a river--carefully watched by
+detectives. In this weather" (the autumn was an unusually warm one)
+"boys of that class often paddle and sometimes bathe. If they watch
+close enough, they will probably find a boy with a missing toe joint
+among the number."
+
+"What a good idea," said Geoffrey. "I will telegraph to the lawyers at
+once. I certainly believe that you have got the clue."
+
+And as it turned out afterwards Beatrice had got it; her suppositions
+were right in almost every particular. The boy, who proved to be the
+son of a pedlar who had recently come into the town, was found wading,
+and by a clever trick, which need not be detailed, frightened into
+telling the truth, as he had previously frightened himself into
+holding his tongue. He had even, as Beatrice conjectured, taken off
+his boots to creep up to the window, and as he ran away in his fright,
+had dropped them into a ditch full of water. There they were found,
+and went far to convince the jury of the truth of his story. Thus it
+was that Beatrice's quick wit laid the foundations of Geoffrey's great
+success.
+
+
+
+This particular Monday was a field day at the Vicarage. Jones had
+proved obdurate; no power on earth could induce him to pay the £34
+11s. 4d. due on account of tithe. Therefore Mr. Granger, fortified by
+a judgment duly obtained, had announced his intention of distraining
+upon Jones's hay and cattle. Jones had replied with insolent defiance.
+If any bailiff, or auctioneer, or such people came to sell his hay he
+would kill him, or them.
+
+So said Jones, and summoned his supporters, many of whom owed tithe,
+and none of whom wished to pay it, to do battle in his cause. For his
+part, Mr. Granger retained an auctioneer of undoubted courage who was
+to arrive on this very afternoon, supported by six policemen, and
+carry out the sale. Beatrice felt nervous about the whole thing, but
+Elizabeth was very determined, and the old clergyman was now bombastic
+and now despondent. The auctioneer arrived duly by the one o'clock
+train. He was a tall able-bodied man, not unlike Geoffrey in
+appearance, indeed at twenty yards distance it would have been
+difficult to tell them apart. The sale was fixed for half-past two,
+and Mr. Johnson--that was the auctioneer's name--went to the inn to
+get his dinner before proceeding to business. He was informed of the
+hostile demonstration which awaited him, and that an English member of
+Parliament had been sent down especially to head the mob, but being a
+man of mettle pooh-poohed the whole affair.
+
+"All bark, sir," he said to Geoffrey, "all bark and no bite; I'm not
+afraid of these people. Why, if they won't bid for the stuff, I will
+buy it in myself."
+
+"All right," said Geoffrey, "but I advise you to look out. I fancy
+that the old man is a rough customer."
+
+Then Geoffrey went back to his dinner.
+
+As they sat at the meal, through a gap in the fir trees they saw that
+the great majority of the population of Bryngelly was streaming up
+towards the scene of the sale, some to agitate, and some to see the
+fun.
+
+"It is pretty well time to be off," said Geoffrey. "Are you coming,
+Mr. Granger?"
+
+"Well," answered the old gentleman, "I wished to do so, but Elizabeth
+thinks that I had better keep away. And after all, you know," he added
+airily, "perhaps it is as well for a clergyman not to mix himself up
+too much in these temporal matters. No, I want to go and see about
+some pigs at the other end of the parish, and I think that I shall
+take this opportunity."
+
+"You are not going, Mr. Bingham, are you?" asked Beatrice in a voice
+which betrayed her anxiety.
+
+"Oh, yes," he answered, "of course I am. I would not miss the chance
+for worlds. Why, Beecham Bones is going to be there, the member of
+Parliament who has just done his four months for inciting to outrage.
+We are old friends; I was at school with him. Poor fellow, he was mad
+even in those days, and I want to chaff him."
+
+"I think that you had far better not go, Mr. Bingham," said Beatrice;
+"they are a very rough set."
+
+"Everybody is not so cowardly as you are," put in Elizabeth. "I am
+going at any rate."
+
+"That's right, Miss Elizabeth," said Geoffrey; "we will protect each
+other from the revolutionary fury of the mob. Come, it is time to
+start."
+
+And so they went, leaving Beatrice a prey to melancholy forebodings.
+
+She waited in the house for the best part of an hour, making pretence
+to play with Effie. Then her anxiety got the better of her; she put on
+her hat and started, leaving Effie in charge of the servant Betty.
+
+Beatrice walked quickly along the cliff till she came in sight of
+Jones's farm. From where she stood she could make out a great crowd of
+men, and even, when the wind turned towards her, catch the noise of
+shouting. Presently she heard a sound like the report of a gun, saw
+the crowd break up in violent confusion, and then cluster together
+again in a dense mass.
+
+"What could it mean?" Beatrice wondered.
+
+As the thought crossed her mind, she perceived two men running towards
+her with all their speed, followed by a woman. Three minutes more and
+she saw that the woman was Elizabeth.
+
+The men were passing her now.
+
+"What is it?" she cried.
+
+"/Murder!/" they answered with one voice, and sped on towards
+Bryngelly.
+
+Another moment and Elizabeth was at hand, horror written on her pale
+face.
+
+Beatrice clutched at her. "/Who/ is it?" she cried.
+
+"Mr. Bingham," gasped her sister. "Go and help; he's shot dead!" And
+she too was gone.
+
+Beatrice's knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth;
+the solid earth spun round and round. "Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey
+killed!" she cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear
+the sound of them, no words came from her lips. "Oh, what should she
+do? Where should she hide herself in her grief?"
+
+A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone
+at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while
+still the solid earth spun round and round.
+
+Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot
+through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.
+
+"Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had
+only said it to torment her." She rose. She flung herself upon her
+knees, there by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many years
+--she prayed with all her soul. "Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him his
+life and me this agony." In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith was
+thus re-born, and, as all human beings must in their hour of mortal
+agony, Beatrice realised her dependence on the Unseen. She rose, and
+weak with emotion sank back on to the stone. The people were streaming
+past her now, talking excitedly. Somebody came up to her and stood
+over her.
+
+Oh, Heaven, it was Geoffrey!
+
+"Is it you?" she gasped. "Elizabeth said that you were murdered."
+
+"No, no. It was not I; it is that poor fellow Johnson, the auctioneer.
+Jones shot him. I was standing next him. I suppose your sister thought
+that I fell. He was not unlike me, poor fellow."
+
+Beatrice looked at him, went red, went white, then burst into a flood
+of tears.
+
+A strange pang seized upon his heart. It thrilled through him, shaking
+him to the core. Why was this woman so deeply moved? Could it be----?
+Nonsense; he stifled the thought before it was born.
+
+"Don't cry," Geoffrey said, "the people will see you, Beatrice" (for
+the first time he called her by her christian name); "pray do not cry.
+It distresses me. You are upset, and no wonder. That fellow Beecham
+Bones ought to be hanged, and I told him so. It is his work, though he
+never meant it to go so far. He's frightened enough now, I can tell
+you."
+
+Beatrice controlled herself with an effort.
+
+"What happened," he said, "I will tell you as we walk along. No, don't
+go up to the farm. He is not a pleasant sight, poor fellow. When I got
+up there, Beecham Bones was spouting away to the mob--his long hair
+flying about his back--exciting them to resist laws made by brutal
+thieving landlords, and all that kind of gibberish; telling them that
+they would be supported by a great party in Parliament, &c., &c. The
+people, however, took it all good-naturedly enough. They had a
+beautiful effigy of your father swinging on a pole, with a placard on
+his breast, on which was written, 'The robber of the widow and the
+orphan,' and they were singing Welsh songs. Only I saw Jones, who was
+more than half drunk, cursing and swearing in Welsh and English. When
+the auctioneer began to sell, Jones went into the house and Bones went
+with him. After enough had been sold to pay the debt, and while the
+mob was still laughing and shouting, suddenly the back door of the
+house opened and out rushed Jones, now quite drunk, a gun in his hand
+and Bones hanging on to his coat-tails. I was talking to the
+auctioneer at the moment, and my belief is that the brute thought that
+I was Johnson. At any rate, before anything could be done he lifted
+the gun and fired, at me, as I think. The charge, however, passed my
+head and hit poor Johnson full in the face, killing him dead. That is
+all the story."
+
+"And quite enough, too," said Beatrice with a shudder. "What times we
+live in! I feel quite sick."
+
+Supper that night was a very melancholy affair. Old Mr. Granger was
+altogether thrown off his balance; and even Elizabeth's iron nerves
+were shaken.
+
+"It could not be worse, it could not be worse," moaned the old man,
+rising from the table and walking up and down the room.
+
+"Nonsense, father," said Elizabeth the practical. "He might have been
+shot before he had sold the hay, and then you would not have got your
+tithe."
+
+Geoffrey could not help smiling at this way of looking at things, from
+which, however, Mr. Granger seemed to draw a little comfort. From
+constantly thinking about it, and the daily pressure of necessity,
+money had come to be more to the old man than anything else in the
+world.
+
+Hardly was the meal done when three reporters arrived and took down
+Geoffrey's statement of what had occurred, for publication in various
+papers, while Beatrice went away to see about packing Effie's things.
+They were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on
+the following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten,
+and in his irritation of mind Mr. Granger insisted upon everybody
+going to bed. Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him
+on his escape as she did so, and went at once; but Beatrice lingered a
+little. At last she came forward and held out her hand.
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Bingham," she said.
+
+"Good-night. I hope that this is not good-bye also," he added with
+some anxiety.
+
+"Of course not," broke in Mr. Granger. "Beatrice will go and see you
+off. I can't; I have to go and meet the coroner about the inquest, and
+Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they won't want you;
+there were so many witnesses."
+
+"Then it is only good-night," said Beatrice.
+
+She went to her room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or
+pretending to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but
+rest she could not. It was "only good-night," a last good-night. He
+was going away--back to his wife, back to the great rushing world, and
+to the life in which she had no share. Very soon he would forget her.
+Other interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and
+he would forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or
+remember her only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it
+mean? Why was her heart so sore? Why had she felt as though she should
+die when they told her that he was dead?
+
+Then the answer rose in her breast. She loved him; it was useless to
+deny the truth--she loved him body, and heart and soul, with all her
+mind and all her strength. She was his, and his alone--to-day,
+to-morrow, and for ever. He might go from her sight, she might never,
+never see him more, but love him she always must. And he was married!
+
+Well, it was her misfortune; it could not affect the solemn truth.
+What should she do now, how should she endure her life when her eyes
+no longer saw his eyes, and her ears never heard his voice? She saw
+the future stretch itself before her as a vision. She saw herself
+forgotten by this man whom she loved, or from time to time remembered
+only with a faint regret. She saw herself growing slowly old, her
+beauty fading yearly from her face and form, companioned only by the
+love that grows not old. Oh, it was bitter, bitter! and yet she would
+not have it otherwise. Even in her pain she felt it better to have
+found this deep and ruinous joy, to have wrestled with the Angel and
+been worsted, than never to have looked upon his face. If she could
+only know that what she gave was given back again, that he loved her
+as she loved him, she would be content. She was innocent, she had
+never tried to draw him to her; she had used no touch or look, no
+woman's arts or lures such as her beauty placed at her command. There
+had been no word spoken, scarcely a meaning glance had passed between
+them, nothing but frank and free companionship as of man with man. She
+knew he did not love his wife and that his wife did not love him--this
+she could /see/. But she had never tried to win him from her, and
+though she sinned in thought, though her heart was guilty--oh, her
+hands were clean!
+
+Her restlessness overcame her. She could no longer lie in bed.
+Elizabeth, watching through her veil of sleep, saw Beatrice rise, put
+on a wrapper, and, going to the window, throw it wide. At first she
+thought of interfering, for Elizabeth was a prudent person and did not
+like draughts; but her sister's movements excited her curiosity, and
+she refrained. Beatrice sat down on the foot of her bed, and leaning
+her arm upon the window-sill looked out upon the lovely quiet night.
+How dark the pine trees massed against the sky; how soft was the
+whisper of the sea, and how vast the heaven through which the stars
+sailed on.
+
+What was it, then, this love of hers? Was it mere earthly passion? No,
+it was more. It was something grander, purer, deeper, and quite
+undying. Whence came it, then? If she was, as she had thought, only a
+child of earth, whence came this deep desire which was not of the
+earth? Had she been wrong, had she a soul--something that could love
+with the body and through the body and beyond the body--something of
+which the body with its yearnings was but the envelope, the hand or
+instrument? Oh, now it seemed to Beatrice that this was so, and that
+called into being by her love she and her soul stood face to face
+acknowledging their unity. Once she had held that it was phantasy:
+that such spiritual hopes were but exhalations from a heart
+unsatisfied; that when love escapes us on the earth, in our despair,
+we swear it is immortal, and that we shall find it in the heavens. Now
+Beatrice believed this no more. Love had kissed her on the eyes, and
+at his kiss her sleeping spirit was awakened, and she saw a vision of
+the truth.
+
+Yes, she loved him, and must always love him! But she could never know
+on earth that he was hers, and if she had a spirit to be freed after
+some few years, would not his spirit have forgotten hers in that far
+hereafter of their meeting?
+
+She dropped her brow upon her arm and softly sobbed. What was there
+left for her to do except to sob--till her heart broke?
+
+Elizabeth, lying with wide-open ears, heard the sobs. Elizabeth,
+peering through the moonlight, saw her sister's form tremble in the
+convulsion of her sorrow, and smiled a smile of malice.
+
+"The thing is done," she thought; "she cries because the man is going.
+Don't cry, Beatrice, don't cry! We will get your plaything back for
+you. Oh, with such a bait it will be easy. He is as sweet on you as
+you on him."
+
+There was something evil, something almost devilish, in this scene of
+the one watching woman holding a clue to and enjoying the secret
+tortures of the other, plotting the while to turn them to her innocent
+rival's destruction and her own advantage. Elizabeth's jealousy was
+indeed bitter as the grave.
+
+Suddenly Beatrice ceased sobbing. She lifted her head, and by a sudden
+impulse threw out the passion of her heart with all her concentrated
+strength of mind towards the man she loved, murmuring as she did so
+some passionate, despairing words which she knew.
+
+At this moment Geoffrey, sleeping soundly, dreamed that he saw
+Beatrice seated by her window and looking at him with eyes which no
+earthly obstacle could blind. She was speaking; her lips moved, but
+though he could hear no voice the words she spoke floated into his
+mind--
+
+ "Be a god and hold me
+    With a charm!
+  Be a man and fold me
+    With thine arm.
+
+  Teach me, only teach, Love!
+    As I ought
+  I will speak thy speech, Love,
+    Think thy thought--
+
+  Meet, if thou require it,
+    Both demands,
+  Laying flesh and spirit
+    In thy hands.
+
+  That shall be to-morrow
+    Not to-night:
+  I must bury sorrow
+    Out of sight.
+
+  Must a little weep, Love,
+    (Foolish me!)
+  And so fall asleep, Love,
+    Loved by thee."
+
+Geoffrey heard them in his heart. Then they were gone, the vision of
+Beatrice was gone, and suddenly he awoke.
+
+Oh, what was this flood of inarticulate, passion-laden thought that
+beat upon his brain telling of Beatrice? Wave after wave it came,
+utterly overwhelming him, like the heavy breath of flowers stirred by
+a night wind--like a message from another world. It was real; it was
+no dream, no fancy; she was present with him though she was not there;
+her thought mingled with his thought, her being beat upon his own. His
+heart throbbed, his limbs trembled, he strove to understand and could
+not. But in the mystery of that dread communion, the passion he had
+trodden down and refused acknowledgment took life and form within him;
+it grew like the Indian's magic tree, from seed to blade, from blade
+to bud, and from bud to bloom. In that moment it became clear to him:
+he knew he loved her, and knowing what such a love must mean, for him
+if not for her, Geoffrey sank back and groaned.
+
+And Beatrice? Of a sudden she ceased speaking to herself; she felt her
+thought flung back to her weighted with another's thought. She had
+broken through the barriers of earth; the quick electric message of
+her heart had found a path to him she loved and come back answered.
+But in what tongue was that answer writ? Alas! she could not read it,
+any more than he could read the message. At first she doubted; surely
+it was imagination. Then she remembered it was absolutely proved that
+people dying could send a vision of themselves to others far away; and
+if that could be, why not this? No, it was truth, a solemn truth; she
+knew he felt her thought, she knew that his life beat upon her life.
+Oh, here was mystery, and here was hope, for if this could be, and it
+/was/, what might not be? If her blind strength of human love could so
+overstep the boundaries of human power, and, by the sheer might of its
+volition, mock the physical barriers that hemmed her in, what had she
+to fear from distance, from separation, ay, from death itself? She had
+grasped a clue which might one day, before the seeming end or after--
+what did it matter?--lay strange secrets open to her gaze. She had
+heard a whisper in an unknown tongue that could still be learned,
+answering Life's agonizing cry with a song of glory. If only he loved
+her, some day all would be well. Some day the barriers would fall.
+Crumbling with the flesh, they would fall and set her naked spirit
+free to seek its other self. And then, having found her love, what
+more was there to seek? What other answer did she desire to all the
+problems of her life than this of Unity attained at last--Unity
+attained in Death!
+
+And if he did not love her, how could he answer her? Surely that
+message could not pass except along the golden chord of love, which
+ever makes its sweetest music when Pain strikes it with a hand of
+fear.
+
+The troubled glory passed--it throbbed itself away; the spiritual
+gusts of thought grew continually fainter, till, like the echoes of a
+dying harp, like the breath of a falling gale, they slowly sank to
+nothingness. Then wearied with an extreme of wild emotion Beatrice
+sought her bed again and presently was lost in sleep.
+
+
+
+When Geoffrey woke on the next morning, after a little reflection, he
+came to the decision that he had experienced a very curious and moving
+dream, consequent on the exciting events of the previous day, or on
+the pain of his impending departure. He rose, packed his bag--
+everything else was ready--and went in to breakfast. Beatrice did not
+appear till it was half over. She looked very pale, and said that she
+had been packing Effie's things. Geoffrey noticed that she barely
+touched his fingers when he rose to shake hands with her, and that she
+studiously avoided his glance. Then he began to wonder if she also had
+strangely dreamed.
+
+Next came the bustle of departure. Effie was despatched in the fly
+with the luggage and Betty, the fat Welsh servant, to look after her.
+Beatrice and Geoffrey were to walk to the station.
+
+"Time for you to be going, Mr. Bingham," said Mr. Granger. "There,
+good-bye, good-bye! God bless you! Never had such charming lodgers
+before. Hope you will come back again, I'm sure. By the way, they are
+certain to summon you as a witness at the trial of that villain
+Jones."
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Granger," Geoffrey answered; "you must come and see me
+in town. A change will do you good."
+
+"Well, perhaps I may. I have not had a change for twenty-five years.
+Never could afford it. Aren't you going to say good-bye to Elizabeth?"
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Granger," said Geoffrey politely. "Many thanks for all
+your kindness. I hope we shall meet again."
+
+"Do you?" answered Elizabeth; "so do I. I am sure that we shall meet
+again, and I am sure that I shall be glad to see you when we do, Mr.
+Bingham," she added darkly.
+
+In another minute he had left the Vicarage and, with Beatrice at his
+side, was walking smartly towards the station.
+
+"This is very melancholy," he said, after a few moments' silence.
+
+"Going away generally is," she answered--"either for those who go or
+those who stay behind," she added.
+
+"Or for both," he said.
+
+Then came another pause; he broke it.
+
+"Miss Beatrice, may I write to you?"
+
+"Certainly, if you like."
+
+"And will you answer my letters?"
+
+"Yes, I will answer them."
+
+"If I had my way, then, you should spend a good deal of your time in
+writing," he said. "You don't know," he added earnestly, "what a
+delight it has been to me to learn to know you. I have had no greater
+pleasure in my life."
+
+"I am glad," Beatrice answered shortly.
+
+"By the way," Geoffrey said presently, "there is something I want to
+ask you. You are as good as a reference book for quotations, you know.
+Some lines have been haunting me for the last twelve hours, and I
+cannot remember where they come from."
+
+"What are they?" she asked, looking up, and Geoffrey saw, or thought
+he saw, a strange fear shining in her eyes.
+
+"Here are four of them," he answered unconcernedly; "we have no time
+for long quotations:
+
+"'That shall be to-morrow,
+    Not to-night:
+  I must bury sorrow
+    Out of sight.'"
+
+Beatrice heard--heard the very lines which had been upon her lips in
+the wild midnight that had gone. Her heart seemed to stop; she became
+white as the dead, stumbled, and nearly fell. With a supreme effort
+she recovered herself.
+
+"I think that you must know the lines, Mr. Bingham," she said in a low
+voice. "They come from a poem of Browning's, called 'A Woman's Last
+Word.'"
+
+Geoffrey made no answer; what was he to say? For a while they walked
+on in silence. They were getting close to the station now. Separation,
+perhaps for ever, was very near. An overmastering desire to know the
+truth took hold of him.
+
+"Miss Beatrice," he said again, "you look pale. Did you sleep well
+last night?"
+
+"No, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"Did you have curious dreams?"
+
+"Yes, I did," she answered, looking straight before her.
+
+He turned a shade paler. Then it was true!
+
+"Beatrice," he said in a half whisper, "what do they mean?"
+
+"As much as anything else, or as little," she answered.
+
+"What are people to do who dream such dreams?" he said again, in the
+same constrained voice.
+
+"Forget them," she whispered.
+
+"And if they come back?"
+
+"Forget them again."
+
+"And if they will not be forgotten?"
+
+She turned and looked him full in the eyes.
+
+"Die of them," she said; "then they will be forgotten, or----"
+
+"Or what, Beatrice?"
+
+"Here is the station," said Beatrice, "and Betty is quarrelling with
+the flyman."
+
+
+
+Five minutes more and Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVI
+
+                    THE FLAT NEAR THE EDGWARE ROAD
+
+Geoffrey's journey to town was not altogether a cheerful one. To begin
+with, Effie wept copiously at parting with her beloved "auntie," as
+she called Beatrice, and would not be comforted. The prospect of
+rejoining her mother and the voluble Anne had no charms for Effie.
+They all three got on best apart. Geoffrey himself had also much to
+think about, and found little satisfaction in the thinking. He threw
+his mind back over the events of the past few weeks. He remembered how
+he had first seen Beatrice's face through the thick mist on the Red
+Rocks, and how her beauty had struck him as no beauty ever had before.
+Then he thought of the adventure of their shipwreck, and of the
+desperate courage with which she had saved his life, almost at the
+cost of her own. He thought, too, of that scene when on the following
+day he had entered the room where she was asleep, when the wandering
+ray of light had wavered from her breast to his own, when that strange
+presentiment of the ultimate intermingling of their lives had flashed
+upon him, and when she had awakened with an unearthly greeting on her
+lips. While Effie slowly sobbed herself to silence in the corner
+opposite to him, one by one, he recalled every phase and scene of
+their ever-growing intimacy, till the review culminated in his
+mysterious experience of the past night, and the memory of Beatrice's
+parting words.
+
+Of all men Geoffrey was among those least inclined to any sort of
+superstition; from boyhood he had been noted for common sense, and a
+somewhat disbelieving turn of mind. But he had intellect, and
+imagination which is simply intellect etherealised. Without these,
+with his peculiar mental constitution, he would, for instance,
+probably have been a religious sceptic; having them, he was nothing of
+the sort. So in this matter of his experience of the previous night,
+and generally of the strange and almost unnatural sympathy in which he
+found himself with this lady, common sense and the results of his
+observation and experience pointed to the whole thing being nonsense--
+the result of "propinquity, Sir, propinquity," and a pretty face--and
+nothing more.
+
+But here his intellect and his imagination stepped in, telling him
+plainly that it was not nonsense, that he had not merely made a donkey
+of himself over an hysterical, or possibly a love-sick girl. They told
+him that because a thing is a mystery it is not necessarily a folly,
+though mysteries are for the most part dealt in by fools. They
+suggested that there may be many things and forces above us and around
+us, invisible as an electric current, intangible as light, yet
+existent and capable of manifestation under certain rare and
+favourable conditions.
+
+And was it not possible that such conditions should unite in a woman
+like Beatrice, who combined in herself a beauty of body which was only
+outpassed by the beauty of her mind? It was no answer to say that most
+women could never inspire the unearthly passion with which he had been
+shaken some ten hours past, or that most men could never become aware
+of the inspiration. Has not humanity powers and perceptions denied to
+the cattle of the fields, and may there not be men and women as far
+removed from their fellows in this respect as these are from the
+cattle?
+
+But the weak point of mysterious occurrences is that they lead
+nowhere, and do not materially alter the facts of life. One cannot,
+for instance, plead a mystery in a court of law; so, dropping the
+imaginative side of the question as one beyond him, Geoffrey came to
+its practical aspect, only to find it equally thorny.
+
+Odd as it may seem, Geoffrey did not to this moment know the exact
+position which he occupied in the mind of Beatrice, or that she
+occupied in his. He was not in love with her, at least not in a way in
+which he had ever experienced the influence of that, on the whole,
+inconvenient and disagreeable passion. At any rate he argued from the
+hypothesis that he was not in love with her. This he refused to admit
+now in the light of day, though he had admitted it fully in the
+watches of the night. It would not do to admit it. But he was forced
+to acknowledge that she had crept into his life and possessed it so
+completely that then and for months afterwards, except in deep sleep
+or in hours of severe mental strain, not a single half hour would pass
+without bringing its thought of Beatrice. Everything that was
+beautiful, or grand, or elevating, reminded him of her--and what
+higher compliment could a mistress have? If he listened to glorious
+music, the voice of Beatrice spoke to him through the notes; if he
+watched the clouds rolling in heavy pomp across a broken sky he
+thought of Beatrice; if some chance poem or novel moved him, why
+Beatrice was in his mind to share the pleasure. All of which was very
+interesting, and in some ways delightful, but under our current system
+not otherwise than inconvenient to a married man.
+
+And now Beatrice was gone, and he must come back to his daily toil,
+sweetened by Honoria's bitter complaints of their poverty, and see her
+no more. The thought made Geoffrey's heart ache with a physical pain,
+but his reason told him that it was best so. After all, there were no
+bones broken; there had been no love scenes, no kiss, no words that
+cannot be recalled; whatever there was lay beneath the surface, and
+while appearances were kept up all was well. No doubt it was an
+hypocrisy, but then hypocrisy is one of the great pillars of
+civilization, and how does it matter what the heart says while the
+lips are silent? The Recording Angel can alone read hearts, and he
+must often find them singularly contradictory and untrustworthy
+writings.
+
+Die of them, die of her dreams! No, Beatrice would not die of them,
+and certainly he should not. Probably in the end she would marry that
+pious earthly lump, Owen Davies. It was not pleasant to think of, it
+was even dreadful, but really if she were to ask him his opinion, "as
+a friend," he should tell her it was the best thing that she could do.
+Of course it would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart
+the lie; but when the heart rises in rebellion against the
+intelligence it must be suppressed. Unfortunately, however, though a
+small member, it is very strong.
+
+
+
+They reached London at last, and as had been arranged, Anne, the
+French /bonne/, met them at the station to take Effie home. Geoffrey
+noticed that she looked smarter and less to his taste than ever.
+However, she embraced Effie with an enthusiasm which the child
+scarcely responded to, and at the same time carried on an ocular
+flirtation with a ticket collector. Although early in the year for
+yellow fogs, London was plunged in a dense gloom. It had been misty
+that morning at Bryngelly, and become more and more so as the day
+advanced; but, though it was not yet four o'clock, London was dark as
+night. Luckily, however, it is not far from Paddington to the flat
+near the Edgware Road, where Geoffrey lived, so having personally
+instructed the cabman, he left Anne to convoy Effie and the luggage,
+and went on to the Temple by Underground Railway with an easy mind.
+
+Shortly after Geoffrey reached his chambers in Pump Court the
+solicitor arrived as had been arranged, not his uncle--who was, he
+learned, very unwell--but a partner. To his delight he then found that
+Beatrice's ghost theory was perfectly accurate; the boy with the
+missing toe-joint had been discovered who saw the whole horrible
+tragedy through a crack in the blind; moreover the truth had been
+wrung from him and he would be produced at the trial--indeed a proof
+of his evidence was already forthcoming. Also some specimens of the
+ex-lawyer's clerk's handwriting had been obtained, and were declared
+by two experts to be identical with the writing on the will. One
+thing, however, disturbed him: neither the Attorney-General nor Mr.
+Candleton was yet in town, so no conference was possible that evening.
+However, both were expected that night--the Attorney-General from
+Devonshire and Mr. Candleton from the Continent; so the case being
+first on the list, it was arranged that the conference should take
+place at ten o'clock on the following morning.
+
+On arriving home Geoffrey was informed that Lady Honoria was dressing,
+and had left a message saying he must be quick and do likewise as a
+gentleman was coming to dinner. Accordingly he went to his own room--
+which was at the other end of the flat--and put on his dress clothes.
+Before going to the dining-room, however, he said good-night to Effie
+--who was in bed, but not asleep--and asked her what time she had
+reached home.
+
+"At twenty minutes past five, daddy," Effie said promptly.
+
+"Twenty minutes past five! Why, you don't mean to say that you were an
+hour coming that little way! Did you get blocked in the fog?"
+
+"No, daddy, but----"
+
+"But what, dear?"
+
+"Anne did tell me not to say!"
+
+"But I tell you to say, dear--never mind Anne!"
+
+"Anne stopped and talked to the ticket-man for a long, long time."
+
+"Oh, did she?" he said.
+
+At that moment the parlourmaid came to say that Lady Honoria and the
+"gentleman" were waiting for dinner. Geoffrey asked her casually what
+time Miss Effie had reached home.
+
+"About half-past five, sir. Anne said the cab was blocked in the fog."
+
+"Very well. Tell her ladyship that I shall be down in a minute."
+
+"Daddy," said the child, "I haven't said my prayers. Mother did not
+come, and Anne said it was all nonsense about prayers. Auntie did
+always hear me my prayers."
+
+"Yes, dear, and so will I. There, kneel upon my lap and say them."
+
+In the middle of the prayers--which Effie did not remember as well as
+she might have done--the parlourmaid arrived again.
+
+"Please, sir, her ladyship----"
+
+"Tell her ladyship I am coming, and that if she is in a hurry she can
+go to dinner! Go on, love."
+
+Then he kissed her and put her to bed again.
+
+"Daddy," said Effie, as he was going, "shall I see auntie Beatrice any
+more?"
+
+"I hope so, dear."
+
+"And shall you see her any more? You want to see her, don't you,
+daddy? She did love you very much!"
+
+Geoffrey could bear it no longer. The truth is always sharper when it
+comes from the mouth of babes and sucklings. With a hurried good-night
+he fled.
+
+In the little drawing-room he found Lady Honoria, very well dressed,
+and also her friend, whose name was Mr. Dunstan. Geoffrey knew him at
+once for an exceedingly wealthy man of small birth, and less breeding,
+but a burning and a shining light in the Garsington set. Mr. Dunstan
+was anxious to raise himself in society, and he thought that
+notwithstanding her poverty, Lady Honoria might be useful to him in
+this respect. Hence his presence there to-night.
+
+"How do you do, Geoffrey?" said his wife, advancing to greet him with
+a kiss of peace. "You look very well. But what an immense time you
+have been dressing. Poor Mr. Dunstan is starving. Let me see. You know
+Mr. Dunstan, I think. Dinner, Mary."
+
+Geoffrey apologised for being late, and shook hands politely with Mr.
+Dunstan--Saint Dunstan he was generally called on account of his
+rather clerical appearance and in sarcastic allusion to his somewhat
+shady reputation. Then they went in to dinner.
+
+"Sorry there is no lady for you, Geoffrey; but you must have had
+plenty of ladies' society lately. By the way, how is Miss--Miss
+Granger? Would you believe it, Mr. Dunstan? that shocking husband of
+mine has been passing the last month in the company of one of the
+loveliest girls I ever saw, who knows Latin and law and everything
+else under the sun. She began by saving his life, they were upset
+together out of a canoe, you know. Isn't it romantic?"
+
+Saint Dunstan made some appropriate--or, rather inappropriate--remark
+to the effect that he hoped Mr. Bingham had made the most of such
+unrivalled opportunities, adding, with a deep sigh, that no lovely
+young lady had ever saved his life that he might live for her, &c.,
+&c.
+
+Here Geoffrey broke in without much ceremony. To him it seemed a
+desecration to listen while this person was making his feeble jokes
+about Beatrice.
+
+"Well, dear," he said, addressing his wife, "and what have you been
+doing with yourself all this time?"
+
+"Mourning for you, Geoffrey, and enjoying myself exceedingly in the
+intervals. We have had a delightful time, have we not, Mr. Dunstan?
+Mr. Dunstan has also been staying at the Hall, you know."
+
+"How could it be otherwise when you were there, Lady Honoria?"
+answered the Saint in that strain of compliment affected by such men,
+and which, to tell the truth, jarred on its object, who was after all
+a lady.
+
+"You know, Geoffrey," she went on, "the Garsingtons have re-furnished
+the large hall and their drawing-room. It cost eighteen hundred
+pounds, but the result is lovely. The drawing-room is done in hand-
+painted white satin, walls and all, and the hall in old oak."
+
+"Indeed!" he answered, reflecting the while that Lord Garsington might
+as well have paid some of his debts before he spent eighteen hundred
+pounds on his drawing-room furniture.
+
+Then the Saint and Lady Honoria drifted into a long and animated
+conversation about their fellow guests, which Geoffrey scarcely tried
+to follow. Indeed, the dinner was a dull one for him, and he added
+little or nothing to the stock of talk.
+
+When his wife left the room, however, he had to say something, so they
+spoke of shooting. The Saint had a redeeming feature--he was somewhat
+of a sportsman, though a poor one, and he described to Geoffrey a new
+pair of hammerless guns, which he had bought for a trifling sum of a
+hundred and forty guineas, recommending the pattern to his notice.
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that they are very nice; but, you
+see, they are beyond me. A poor man cannot afford so much for a pair
+of guns."
+
+"Oh, if that is all," answered his guest, "I will sell you these; they
+are a little long in the stock for me, and you can pay me when you
+like. Or, hang it all, I have plenty of guns. I'll be generous and
+give them to you. If I cannot afford to be generous, I don't know who
+can!"
+
+"Thank you very much, Mr. Dunstan," answered Geoffrey coldly, "but I
+am not in the habit of accepting such presents from my--acquaintances.
+Will you have a glass of sherry?--no. Then shall we join Lady
+Honoria?"
+
+This speech quite crushed the vulgar but not ill-meaning Saint, and
+Geoffrey was sorry for it a moment after he had made it. But he was
+weary and out of temper. Why did his wife bring such people to the
+house? Very shortly afterwards their guest took his leave, reflecting
+that Bingham was a conceited ass, and altogether too much for him.
+"And I don't believe that he has got a thousand a year," he reflected
+to himself, "and the title is his wife's. I suppose that is what he
+married her for. She's a much better sort than he is, any way, though
+I don't quite make her out either--one can't go very far with her. But
+she is the daughter of a peer and worth cultivating, but not when
+Bingham is at home--not if I know it."
+
+"What have you said to Mr. Dunstan to make him go away so soon,
+Geoffrey?" asked his wife.
+
+"Said to him? oh, I don't know. He offered to give me a pair of guns,
+and I told him that I did not accept presents from my acquaintances.
+Really, Honoria, I don't want to interfere with your way of life, but
+I do not understand how you can associate with such people as this Mr.
+Dunstan."
+
+"Associate with him!" answered Lady Honoria. "Do you suppose I want to
+associate with him? Do you suppose that I don't know what the man is?
+But beggars cannot be choosers; he may be a cad, but he has thirty
+thousand a year, and we simply cannot afford to throw away an
+acquaintance with thirty thousand a year. It is too bad of you,
+Geoffrey," she went on with rising temper, "when you know all that I
+must put up with in our miserable poverty-stricken life, to take every
+opportunity of making yourself disagreeable to the people I think it
+wise to ask to come and see us. Here I return from comfort to this
+wretched place, and the first thing that you do is make a fuss. Mr.
+Dunstan has got boxes at several of the best theaters, and he offered
+to let me have one whenever I liked--and now of course there is an end
+of it. It is too bad, I say!"
+
+"It is really curious, Honoria," said her husband, "to see what
+obligations you are ready to put yourself under in search of pleasure.
+It is not dignified of you to accept boxes at theatres from this
+gentleman."
+
+"Nonsense. There is no obligation about it. If he gave us a box, of
+course he would make a point of looking in during the evening, and
+then telling his friends that it was Lady Honoria Bingham he was
+speaking to--that is the exchange. I want to go to the theatre; he
+wants to get into good society--there you have the thing in a
+nutshell. It is done every day. The fact of the matter is, Geoffrey,"
+she went on, looking very much as though she were about to burst into
+a flood of angry tears, "as I said just now, beggars cannot be
+choosers--I cannot live like the wife of a banker's clerk. I must have
+/some/ amusement, and /some/ comfort, before I become an old woman. If
+you don't like it, why did you entrap me into this wretched marriage,
+before I was old enough to know better, or why do you not make enough
+money to keep me in a way suitable to my position?"
+
+"We have argued that question before, Honoria," said Geoffrey, keeping
+his temper with difficulty, "and now there is another thing I wish to
+say to you. Do you know that detestable woman Anne stopped for more
+than half an hour at Paddington Station this evening, flirting with a
+ticket collector, instead of bringing Effie home at once, as I told
+her to do. I am very angry about it. She is not to be relied on; we
+shall have some accident with the child before we have done. Cannot
+you discharge her and get another nurse?"
+
+"No, I cannot. She is the one comfort I have. Where am I going to find
+another woman who can make dresses like Anne--she saves me a hundred a
+year--I don't care if she flirted with fifty ticket collectors. I
+suppose you got this story from Effie; the child ought to be whipped
+for tale-bearing, and I daresay that it is not true."
+
+"Effie will certainly not be whipped," answered Geoffrey sternly. "I
+warn you that it will go very badly with anybody who lays a finger on
+her."
+
+"Oh, very well, ruin the child. Go your own way, Geoffrey! At any rate
+I am not going to stop here to listen to any more abuse. Good-night,"
+and she went.
+
+Geoffrey sat down, and lit a cigarette. "A pleasant home-coming," he
+thought to himself. "Honoria shall have money as much as she can spend
+--if I kill myself to get it, she shall have it. What a life, what a
+life! I wonder if Beatrice would treat her husband like this--if she
+had one."
+
+He laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, and then with a gesture
+of impatience threw his cigarette into the fire and went to his room
+to try and get some sleep, for he was thoroughly wearied.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVII
+
+                        GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE
+
+Before ten o'clock on the following morning, having already spent two
+hours over his brief, that he had now thoroughly mastered, Geoffrey
+was at his chambers, which he had some difficulty in reaching owing to
+the thick fog that still hung over London, and indeed all England.
+
+To his surprise nothing had been heard either of the Attorney-General
+or of Mr. Candleton. The solicitors were in despair; but he consoled
+them by saying that one or the other was sure to turn up in time, and
+that a few words would suffice to explain the additional light which
+had been thrown on the case. He occupied his half hour, however, in
+making a few rough notes to guide him in the altogether improbable
+event of his being called on to open, and then went into court. The
+case was first on the list, and there were a good many counsel engaged
+on the other side. Just as the judge took his seat, the solicitor,
+with an expression of dismay, handed Geoffrey a telegram which had
+that moment arrived from Mr. Candleton. It was dated from Calais on
+the previous night, and ran, "Am unable to cross on account of thick
+fog. You had better get somebody else in Parsons and Douse."
+
+"And we haven't got another brief prepared," said the agonised
+solicitor. ""What is more, I can hear nothing of the Attorney-General,
+and his clerk does not seem to know where he is. You must ask for an
+adjournment, Mr. Bingham; you can't manage the case alone."
+
+"Very well," said Geoffrey, and on the case being called he rose and
+stated the circumstances to the court. But the Court was crusty. It
+had got the fog down its throat, and altogether It didn't seem to see
+it. Moreover the other side, marking its advantage, objected strongly.
+The witnesses, brought at great expense, were there; his Lordship was
+there, the jury was there; if this case was not taken there was no
+other with which they could go on, &c., &c.
+
+The court took the same view, and lectured Geoffrey severely. Every
+counsel in a case, the Court remembered, when It was at the Bar, used
+to be able to open that case at a moment's notice, and though things
+had, It implied, no doubt deteriorated to a considerable extent since
+those palmy days, every counsel ought still to be prepared to do so on
+emergency.
+
+Of course, however, if he, Geoffrey, told the court that he was
+absolutely unprepared to go on with the case, It would have no option
+but to grant an adjournment.
+
+"I am perfectly prepared to go on with it, my lord," Geoffrey
+interposed calmly.
+
+"Very well," said the Court in a mollified tone, "then go on! I have
+no doubt that the learned Attorney-General will arrive presently."
+
+Then, as is not unusual in a probate suit, followed an argument as to
+who should open it, the plaintiff or the defendant. Geoffrey claimed
+that this right clearly lay with him, and the opposing counsel raised
+no great objection, thinking that they would do well to leave the
+opening in the hands of a rather inexperienced man, who would very
+likely work his side more harm than good. So, somewhat to the horror
+of the solicitors, who thought with longing of the eloquence of the
+Attorney-General, and the unrivalled experience and finesse of Mr.
+Candleton, Geoffrey was called upon to open the case for the
+defendants, propounding the first will.
+
+He rose without fear or hesitation, and with but one prayer in his
+heart, that no untimely Attorney-General would put in an appearance.
+He had got his chance, the chance for which many able men have to wait
+long years, and he knew it, and meant to make the most of it.
+Naturally a brilliant speaker, Geoffrey was not, as so many good
+speakers are, subject to fits of nervousness, and he was, moreover,
+thoroughly master of his case. In five minutes judge, jury and counsel
+were all listening to him with attention; in ten they were absorbed in
+the lucid and succinct statement of the facts which he was unfolding
+to them. His ghost theory was at first received with a smile, but
+presently counsel on the other side ceased to smile, and began to look
+uneasy. If he could prove what he said, there was an end of their
+case. When he had been speaking for about forty minutes one of the
+opposing counsel interrupted him with some remark, and at that moment
+he noticed that the Attorney-General's clerk was talking to the
+solicitor beneath him.
+
+"Bother it, he is coming," thought Geoffrey.
+
+But no, the solicitor bending forward informed him that the Attorney-
+General had been unavoidably detained by some important Government
+matter, and had returned his brief.
+
+"Well, we must get on as we can," Geoffrey said.
+
+"If you continue like that we shall get on very well," whispered the
+solicitors, and then Geoffrey knew that he was doing well.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Bingham!" said his Lordship.
+
+Then Geoffrey went on with his statement.
+
+At lunch time it was a question whether another leader should be
+briefed. Geoffrey said that so far as he was concerned he could get on
+alone. He knew every point of the case, and he had got a friend to
+"take a note" for him while he was speaking.
+
+After some hesitation the solicitors decided not to brief fresh
+counsel at this stage of the case, but to leave it entirely in his
+hands.
+
+It would be useless to follow the details of this remarkable will
+suit, which lasted two days, and attracted much attention. Geoffrey
+won it and won it triumphantly. His address to the jury on the whole
+case was long remembered in the courts, rising as it did to a very
+high level of forensic eloquence. Few who saw it ever forgot the sight
+of his handsome face and commanding presence as he crushed the case of
+his opponents like an eggshell, and then with calm and overwhelming
+force denounced the woman who with her lover had concocted the cruel
+plot that robbed her uncle of life and her cousins of their property,
+till at the last, pointing towards her with outstretched hand, he
+branded her to the jury as a murderess.
+
+Few in that crowded court have forgotten the tragic scene that
+followed, when the trembling woman, worn out by the long anxiety of
+the trial, and utterly unnerved by her accuser's brilliant invective,
+rose from her seat and cried:
+
+"We did it--it is true that we did it to get the money, but we did not
+mean to frighten him to death," and then fell fainting to the ground--
+or Geoffrey Bingham's quiet words as he sat down:
+
+"My lord and gentlemen of the jury, I do not think it necessary to
+carry my case any further."
+
+There was no applause, the occasion was too dramatically solemn, but
+the impression made both upon the court and the outside public, to
+whom such a scene is peculiarly fitted to appeal, was deep and
+lasting.
+
+Geoffrey himself was under little delusion about the matter. He had no
+conceit in his composition, but neither had he any false modesty. He
+merely accepted the situation as really powerful men do accept such
+events--with thankfulness, but without surprise. He had got his chance
+at last, and like any other able man, whatever his walk of life, he
+had risen to it. That was all. Most men get such chances in some shape
+or form, and are unable to avail themselves of them. Geoffrey was one
+of the exceptions; as Beatrice had said, he was born to succeed. As he
+sat down, he knew that he was a made man.
+
+And yet while he walked home that night, his ears still full of the
+congratulations which had rained in on him from every quarter, he was
+conscious of a certain pride. He will have felt as Geoffrey felt that
+night, whose lot it has been to fight long and strenuously against
+circumstances so adverse as to be almost overwhelming, knowing in his
+heart that he was born to lead and not to follow; and who at last, by
+one mental effort, with no friendly hand to help, and no friendly
+voice to guide, has succeeded in bursting a road through the
+difficulties which hemmed him in, and has suddenly found himself, not
+above competition indeed, but still able to meet it. He will not have
+been too proud of that endeavour; it will have seemed but a little
+thing to him--a thing full of faults and imperfections, and falling
+far short of his ideal. He will not even have attached a great
+importance to his success, because, if he is a person of this calibre,
+he must remember how small it is, when all is said and done; that even
+in his day there are those who can beat him on his own ground; and
+also that all worldly success, like the most perfect flower, yet bears
+in it the elements of decay. But he will have reflected with humble
+satisfaction on those long years of patient striving which have at
+length lifted him to an eminence whence he can climb on and on,
+scarcely encumbered by the jostling crowd; till at length, worn out,
+the time comes for him to fall.
+
+So Geoffrey thought and felt. The thing was to be done, and he had
+done it. Honoria should have money now; she should no longer be able
+to twit him with their poverty. Yes, and a better thought still,
+Beatrice would be glad to hear of his little triumph.
+
+He reached home rather late. Honoria was going out to dinner with a
+distinguished cousin, and was already dressing. Geoffrey had declined
+the invitation, which was a short one, because he had not expected to
+be back from chambers. In this enthusiasm, however, he went to his
+wife's room to tell her of the event.
+
+"Well," she said, "what have you been doing? I think that you might
+have arranged to come out with me. My going out so much by myself does
+not look well. Oh, I forgot; of course you are in that case."
+
+"Yes--that is, I was. I have won the case. Here is a very fair report
+of it in the /St. James's Gazette/ if you care to read it."
+
+"Good heavens, Geoffrey! How can you expect me to read all that stuff
+when I am dressing?"
+
+"I don't expect you to, Honoria; only, as I say, I have won the case,
+and I shall get plenty of work now."
+
+"Will you? I am glad to hear it; perhaps we shall be able to escape
+from this horrid flat if you do. There, Anne! Je vous l'ai toujours
+dit, cette robe ne me va pas bien."
+
+"Mais, milady, la robe va parfaitement----"
+
+"That is your opinion," grumbled Lady Honoria. "Well, it isn't mine.
+But it will have to do. Good-night, Geoffrey; I daresay that you will
+have gone to bed when I get back," and she was gone.
+
+Geoffrey picked up his /St. James's Gazette/ with a sigh. He felt
+hurt, and knew that he was a fool for his pains. Lady Honoria was not
+a sympathetic person; it was not fair to expect it from her. Still he
+felt hurt. He went upstairs and heard Effie her prayers.
+
+"Where has you beed, daddy?--to the Smoky Town?" The Temple was
+euphemistically known to Effie as the Smoky Town.
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"You go to the Smoky Town to make bread and butter, don't you, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, dear, to make bread and butter."
+
+"And did you make any, daddy?"
+
+"Yes, Effie, a good deal to-day."
+
+"Then where is it? In your pocket?"
+
+"No, love, not exactly. I won a big lawsuit to-day, and I shall get a
+great many pennies for it."
+
+"Oh," answered Effie meditatively, "I am glad that you did win. You do
+like to win, doesn't you, daddy, dear."
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+"Then I will give you a kiss, daddy, because you did win," and she
+suited the action to the word.
+
+Geoffrey went from the little room with a softened heart. He dressed
+and ate some dinner.
+
+Then he sat down and wrote a long letter to Beatrice, telling her all
+about the trial, and not sparing her his reasons for adopting each
+particular tactic and line of argument which conduced to the great
+result.
+
+And though his letter was four sheets in length, he knew that Beatrice
+would not be bored at having to read it.
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                           THE RISING STAR
+
+As might be expected, the memorable case of Parsons and Douse proved
+to be the turning point in Geoffrey's career, which was thenceforward
+one of brilliant and startling success. On the very next morning when
+he reached his chambers it was to find three heavy briefs awaiting
+him, and they proved to be but the heralds of an uninterrupted flow of
+lucrative business. Of course, he was not a Queen's Counsel, but now
+that his great natural powers of advocacy had become generally known,
+solicitors frequently employed him alone, or gave him another junior,
+so that he might bring those powers to bear upon juries. Now it was,
+too, that Geoffrey reaped the fruits of the arduous legal studies
+which he had followed without cessation from the time when he found
+himself thrown upon his own resources, and which had made a sound
+lawyer of him as well as a brilliant and effective advocate. Soon,
+even with his great capacity for work, he had as much business as he
+could attend to. When fortune gives good gifts, she generally does so
+with a lavish hand.
+
+Thus it came to pass that, about three weeks after the trial of
+Parsons and Douse, Geoffrey's uncle the solicitor died, and to his
+surprise left him twenty thousand pounds, "believing," he said in his
+will, which was dated three days before the testator's death, "that
+this sum will assist him to rise to the head of his profession."
+
+Now that it had dawned upon her that her husband really was a success,
+Honoria's manner towards him modified very considerably. She even
+became amiable, and once or twice almost affectionate. When Geoffrey
+told her of the twenty thousand pounds she was radiant.
+
+"Why, we shall be able to go back to Bolton Street now," she said,
+"and as luck will have it, our old house is to let. I saw a bill in
+the window yesterday."
+
+"Yes," he said, "you can go back as soon as you like."
+
+"And can we keep a carriage?"
+
+"No, not yet; I am doing well, but not well enough for that. Next
+year, if I live, you will be able to have a carriage. Don't begin to
+grumble, Honoria. I have got £150 to spare, and if you care to come
+round to a jeweller's you can spend it on what you like."
+
+"Oh, you delightful person!" said his wife.
+
+So they went to the jeweller's, and Lady Honoria bought ornaments to
+the value of £150, and carried them home and hung over them, as
+another class of woman might hang over her first-born child, admiring
+them with a tender ecstasy. Whenever he had a sum of money that he
+could afford to part with, Geoffrey would take her thus to a
+jeweller's or a dressmaker's, and stand by coldly while she bought
+things to its value. Lady Honoria was delighted. It never entered into
+her mind that in a sense he was taking a revenge upon her, and that
+every fresh exhibition of her rejoicings over the good things thus
+provided added to his contempt for her.
+
+Those were happy days for Lady Honoria! She rejoiced in this return of
+wealth like a school-boy at the coming of the holidays, or a half-
+frozen wanderer at the rising of the sun. She had been miserable
+during all this night of poverty, as miserable as her nature admitted
+of, now she was happy again, as she understood happiness. For bred,
+educated, civilized--what you will--out of the more human passions,
+Lady Honoria had replaced them by this idol-worship of wealth, or
+rather of what wealth brings. It gave her a positive physical
+satisfaction; her beauty, which had begun to fade, came back to her;
+she looked five years younger. And all the while Geoffrey watched her
+with an ever-growing scorn.
+
+Once it broke out. The Bolton Street house had been furnished; he gave
+her fifteen hundred pounds to do it, and with what things they owned
+she managed very well on that. They moved into it, and Honoria had set
+herself up with a sufficient supply of grand dresses and jewellery,
+suitable to her recovered position. One day however, it occurred to
+her that Effie was a child of remarkable beauty, who, if properly
+dressed, would look very nice in the drawing-room at tea-time. So she
+ordered a lovely costume for her--this deponent is not able to
+describe it, but it consisted largely of velvet and lace. Geoffrey
+heard nothing of this dress, but coming home rather early one
+afternoon--it was on a Saturday, he found the child being shown off to
+a room full of visitors, and dressed in a strange and wonderful attire
+with which, not unnaturally, she was vastly pleased. He said nothing
+at the time, but when at length the dropping fire of callers had
+ceased, he asked who put Effie into that dress.
+
+"I did," said Lady Honoria, "and a pretty penny it has cost, I can
+tell you. But I can't have the child come down so poorly clothed, it
+does not look well."
+
+"Then she can stay upstairs," said Geoffrey frowning.
+
+"What do you mean?" asked his wife.
+
+"I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes.
+They are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her
+to take to vanity."
+
+"I really don't understand you, Geoffrey. Why should not the child be
+handsomely dressed?"
+
+"Why not! Great heaven, Honoria, do you suppose that I want to see
+Effie grow up like you, to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking
+idleness, and make a god of luxury. I had rather see her"--he was
+going to add, "dead first," but checked himself and said--"have to
+work for her living. Dress yourself up as much as you like, but leave
+the child alone."
+
+Lady Honoria was furious, but she was also a little frightened. She
+had never heard her husband speak quite like this before, and there
+was something underneath his words that she did not quite understand.
+Still less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly
+told her that he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked; then
+accompanied her to a mantle shop, and stood patiently by, smiling
+coldly while she invested it in lace and embroideries. Honoria thought
+that he was making reparation for his sharp words, and so he was, but
+to himself, and in another sense. Every time he gave her money in this
+fashion, Geoffrey felt like a man who has paid off a debt of honour.
+She had taunted him again and again with her poverty--the poverty she
+said that he had brought her; for every taunt he would heap upon her
+all those things in which her soul delighted. He would glut her with
+wealth as, in her hour of victory, Queen Tomyris glutted dead Cyrus
+with the blood of men.
+
+It was an odd way of taking a revenge, and one that suited Lady
+Honoria admirably; but though its victim felt no sting, it gave
+Geoffrey much secret relief. Also he was curious; he wished to see if
+there was any bottom to such a woman's desire for luxury, if it would
+not bring satiety with it. But Lady Honoria was a very bad subject for
+such an experiment. She never showed the least sign of being satiated,
+either with fine things, with pleasures, or with social delights. They
+were her natural element, and he might as soon have expected a fish to
+weary of the water, or an eagle of the rushing air.
+
+
+
+The winter wore away and the spring came. One day, it was in April,
+Geoffrey, who was a moderate Liberal by persuasion, casually announced
+at dinner that he was going to stand for Parliament in the Unionist
+interest. The representation of one of the few Metropolitan divisions
+which had then returned a Home Ruler had fallen vacant. As it chanced
+he knew the head Unionist whip very well. They had been friends since
+they were lads at school together, and this gentleman, having heard
+Geoffrey make a brilliant speech in court, was suddenly struck with
+the idea that he was the very man to lead a forlorn hope.
+
+The upshot of it was that Geoffrey was asked if he would stand, and
+replied that he must have two days to think it over. What he really
+wanted the two days for was to enable him to write to Beatrice and
+receive an answer from her. He had an almost superstitious faith in
+her judgment, and did not like to act without it. After carefully
+weighing the pros and cons, his own view was that he should do well to
+stand. Probably he would be defeated, and it might cost him five
+hundred pounds. On the other hand it would certainly make his name
+known as a politician, and he was now in a fair way to earn so large
+an income that he could well afford to risk the money. The only great
+objection which he saw, was that if he happened to get in, it must
+mean that he would have to work all day and all night too. Well, he
+was strong and the more work he did the better--it kept him from
+thinking.
+
+In due course Beatrice's answer came. Her view coincided with his own;
+she recommended him to take the opportunity, and pointed out that with
+his growing legal reputation there was no office in the State to which
+he might not aspire, when he had once proved himself a capable member
+of Parliament. Geoffrey read the letter through; then immediately sat
+down and wrote to his friend the whip, accepting the suggestion of the
+Government.
+
+The next fortnight was a hard one for him, but Geoffrey was as good a
+man on the platform as in court, and he had, moreover, the very
+valuable knack of suiting himself to his audience. As his canvass went
+on it was generally recognised that the seat which had been considered
+hopeless was now doubtful. A great amount of public interest was
+concentrated on the election, both upon the Unionist and the
+Separatist side, each claiming that the result of the poll would show
+to their advantage. The Home Rule party strained every nerve against
+him, being most anxious to show that the free and independent electors
+of this single division, and therefore of the country at large, held
+the Government policy in particular horror. Letters were obtained from
+great authorities and freely printed. Irish members, fresh from gaol,
+were brought down to detail their grievances. It was even suggested
+that one of them should appear on the platform in prison garb--in
+short, every electioneering engine known to political science was
+brought to bear to forward the fortunes of either side.
+
+As time went on Lady Honoria, who had been somewhat indifferent at
+first, grew quite excited about the result. For one thing she found
+that the contest attached an importance to herself in the eyes of the
+truly great, which was not without its charm. On the day of the poll
+she drove about all day in an open carriage under a bright blue
+parasol, having Effie (who had become very bored) by her side, and two
+noble lords on the front seat. As a consequence the result was
+universally declared by a certain section of the press to be entirely
+due to the efforts of an unprincipled but titled and lovely woman. It
+was even said that, like another lady of rank in a past generation,
+she kissed a butcher in order to win his vote. But those who made the
+remark did not know Lady Honoria; she was incapable of kissing a
+butcher, or indeed anybody else. Her inclinations did not lie in that
+direction.
+
+In the end Geoffrey was returned by a magnificent majority of ten
+votes, reduced on a scrutiny to seven. He took his seat in the House
+on the following night amidst loud Unionist cheering. In the course of
+the evening's debate a prominent member of the Government made
+allusion to his return as a proof of the triumph of Unionist
+principles. Thereon a very leading member of the Separatist opposition
+retorted that it was nothing of the sort, "that it was a matter of
+common notoriety that the honourable member's return was owing to the
+unusual and most uncommon ability displayed by him in the course of
+his canvass, aided as it was, by artfully applied and aristocratic
+feminine influence." This was a delicate allusion to Honoria and her
+blue parasol.
+
+As Geoffrey and his wife were driving back to Bolton Street, after the
+declaration of the poll, a little incident occurred. Geoffrey told the
+coachman to stop at the first telegraph office and, getting out of the
+carriage, wired to Beatrice, "In by ten votes."
+
+"Who have you been telegraphing to, Geoffrey?" asked Lady Honoria.
+
+"I telegraphed to Miss Granger," he answered.
+
+"Ah! So you still keep up a correspondence with that pupil teacher
+girl."
+
+"Yes, I do. I wish that I had a few more such correspondents."
+
+"Indeed. You are easy to please. I thought her one of the most
+disagreeable young women whom I ever met."
+
+"Then it does not say much for your taste, Honoria."
+
+His wife made no further remark, but she had her thoughts. Honoria
+possessed good points: among others she was not a jealous person; she
+was too cold and too indifferent to be jealous. But she did not like
+the idea of another woman obtaining an influence over her husband,
+who, as she now began to recognise, was one of the most brilliant men
+of his day, and who might well become one of the most wealthy and
+powerful. Clearly he existed for /her/ benefit, not for that of any
+other woman. She was no fool, and she saw that a considerable intimacy
+must exist between the two. Otherwise Geoffrey would not have thought
+of telegraphing to Beatrice at such a moment.
+
+Within a week of his election Geoffrey made a speech. It was not a
+long speech, nor was it upon any very important issue; but it was
+exceedingly good of its kind, good enough to be reported verbatim
+indeed, and those listening to it recognised that they had to deal
+with a new man who would one day be a very big man. There is no place
+where an able person finds his level quicker than in the House of
+Commons, composed as it is for the most part, of more or less wealthy
+or frantic mediocrities. But Geoffrey was not a mediocrity, he was an
+exceedingly able and powerful man, and this fact the House quickly
+recognised.
+
+For the next few months Geoffrey worked as men rarely work. All day he
+was at his chambers or in court, and at night he sat in the House,
+getting up his briefs when he could. But he always did get them up; no
+solicitors had to complain that the interests of their client were
+neglected by him; also he still found time to write to Beatrice. For
+the rest he went out but little, and except in the way of business
+associated with very few. Indeed he grew more and more silent and
+reserved, till at last he won the reputation of being cold and hard.
+Not that he was really so. He threw himself head and soul into his
+work with a fixed determination to reach the top of the tree. He knew
+that he should not care very much about it when he got there, but he
+enjoyed the struggle.
+
+Geoffrey was not a truly ambitious man; he was no mere self-seeker. He
+knew the folly of ambition too well, and its end was always clearly
+before his eyes. He often thought to himself that if he could have
+chosen his lot, he would have asked for a cottage with a good garden,
+five hundred a year, and somebody to care for. But perhaps he would
+soon have wearied of his cottage. He worked to stifle thought, and to
+some extent he succeeded. But he was at bottom an affectionate-natured
+man, and he could not stifle the longing for sympathy which was his
+secret weakness, though his pride would never allow him to show it.
+What did he care for his triumphs when he had nobody with whom to
+share them? All he could share were their fruits, and these he gave
+away freely enough. It was but little that Geoffrey spent upon his own
+gratification. A certain share of his gains he put by, the rest went
+in expenses. The house in Bolton Street was a very gay place in those
+days, but its master took but little part in its gaieties.
+
+And what was the fact? The longer he remained separated from Beatrice
+the more intensely did he long for her society. It was of no use; try
+as he would, he could not put that sweet face from his mind; it drew
+him as a magnet draws a needle. Success did not bring him happiness,
+except in the sense that it relieved him from money cares.
+
+People of coarse temperament only can find real satisfaction in
+worldly triumphs, and eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow they
+die! Men like Geoffrey soon learn that this also is vanity. On the
+contrary, as his mind grew more and more wearied with the strain of
+work, melancholy took an ever stronger hold of it. Had he gone to a
+doctor, he might have been told that his liver was out of order, which
+was very likely true. But this would not mend matters. "What a world,"
+he might have cried, "what a world to live in when all the man's
+happiness depends upon his liver!" He contracted an accursed habit of
+looking on the black side of things; trouble always caught his eye.
+
+It was no wonderful case. Men of large mind are very rarely happy men.
+It is your little animal-minded individual who can be happy. Thus
+women, who reflect less, are as a class much happier and more
+contented than men. But the large-minded man sees too far, and guesses
+too much of what he cannot see. He looks forward, and notes the dusty
+end of his laborious days; he looks around and shudders at the
+unceasing misery of a coarse struggling world; the sight of the
+pitiful beggar babe craving bread on tottering feet, pierces his
+heart. He cannot console himself with a reflection that the child had
+no business to be born, or that if he denuded himself of his last
+pound he would not materially help the class which bred it.
+
+And above the garish lights of earthly joys and the dim reek of
+earthly wretchedness, he sees the solemn firmament that veils his
+race's destiny. For such a man, in such a mood, even religion has
+terrors as well as hopes, and while the gloom gathers about his mind
+these are with him more and more. What lies beyond that arching
+mystery to whose horizon he daily draws more close--whose doors may
+even now be opening for him? A hundred hands point out a hundred roads
+to knowledge--they are lost half way. Only the cold spiritual
+firmament, unlit by any guiding stars, unbrightened by the flood of
+human day, and unshadowed by the veils of human night, still bends
+above his head in awful changelessness, and still his weary feet draw
+closer to the portals of the West.
+
+It is very sad and wrong, but it is not altogether his fault; it is
+rather a fault of the age, of over-education, of over-striving to be
+wise. Cultivate the searching spirit and it will grow and rend you.
+The spirit would soar, it would see, but the flesh weighs it down, and
+in all flesh there is little light. Yet, at times, brooding on some
+unnatural height of Thought, its eyes seem to be opened, and it
+catches gleams of terrifying days to come, or perchance, discerns the
+hopeless gates of an immeasurable night.
+
+Oh, for that simpler faith which ever recedes farther from the ken of
+the cultivated, questioning mind! There alone can peace be found, and
+for the foolish who discard it, setting up man's wisdom at a sign,
+soon the human lot will be one long fear. Grown scientific and weary
+with the weight of knowledge, they will reject their ancient Gods, and
+no smug-faced Positivism will bring them consolation. Science, here
+and there illumining the gloom of destiny with its poor electric
+lights, cries out that they are guiding stars. But they are no stars,
+and they will flare away. Let us pray for darkness, more darkness,
+lest, to our bewildered sight, they do but serve to show that which
+shall murder Hope.
+
+
+
+So think Geoffrey and his kin, and in their unexpressed dismay, turn,
+seeking refuge from their physical and spiritual loneliness, but for
+the most part finding none. Nature, still strong in them, points to
+the dear fellowship of woman, and they make the venture to find a
+mate, not a companion. But as it chanced in Geoffrey's case he did
+find such a companion in Beatrice, after he had, by marriage, built up
+an impassable wall between them.
+
+And yet he longed for her society with an intensity that alarmed him.
+He had her letters indeed, but what are letters! One touch of a
+beloved hand is worth a thousand letters. In the midst of his great
+success Geoffrey was wretched at heart, yet it seemed to him that if
+he once more could have Beatrice at his side, though only as a friend,
+he would find rest and happiness.
+
+
+
+When a man's heart is thus set upon an object, his reason is soon
+convinced of its innocence, even of its desirability, and a kindly
+fate will generally contrive to give him the opportunity of ruin which
+he so ardently desires.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XIX
+
+                        GEOFFREY HAS A VISITOR
+
+And Beatrice--had she fared better during these long months? Alas, not
+at all. She had gone away from the Bryngelly Station on that autumn
+morning of farewell sick at heart, and sick at heart she had remained.
+Through all the long winter months sorrow and bitterness had been her
+portion, and now in the happiness of spring, sorrow and bitterness
+were with her still. She loved him, she longed for his presence, and
+it was denied to her. She could not console herself as can some women,
+nor did her deep passion wear away; on the contrary, it seemed to grow
+and gather with every passing week. Neither did she wish to lose it,
+she loved too well for that. It was better to be thus tormented by
+conscience and by hopelessness than to lose her cause of pain.
+
+One consolation Beatrice had and one only: she knew that Geoffrey did
+not forget her. His letters told her this. These letters indeed were
+everything to her--a woman can get so much more comfort out of a
+letter than a man. Next to receiving them she loved to answer them.
+She was a good and even a brilliant letter writer, but often and often
+she would tear up what she had written and begin again. There was not
+much news in Bryngelly; it was difficult to make her letters amusing.
+Also the farcical nature of the whole proceeding seemed to paralyse
+her. It was ridiculous, having so much to say, to be able to say
+nothing. Not that Beatrice wished to indite love-letters--such an idea
+had never crossed her mind, but rather to write as they had talked.
+Yet when she tried to do so the results were not satisfactory to her,
+the words looked strange on paper--she could not send them.
+
+In Geoffrey's meteor-like advance to fame and fortune she took the
+keenest joy and interest, far more than he did indeed. Though, like
+that of most other intelligent creatures, her soul turned with
+loathing from the dreary fustian of politics, she would religiously
+search the parliamentary column from beginning to end on the chance of
+finding his name or the notice of a speech by him. The law reports
+also furnished her with a happy hunting-ground in which she often
+found her game.
+
+But they were miserable months. To rise in the morning, to go through
+the round of daily duty--thinking of Geoffrey; to come home wearied,
+and finally to seek refuge in sleep and dreams of him--this was the
+sum of them. Then there were other troubles. To begin with, things had
+gone from bad to worse at the Vicarage. The tithes scarcely came in at
+all, and every day their poverty pinched them closer. Had it not been
+for Beatrice's salary it was difficult to see how the family could
+have continued to exist. She gave it almost all to her father now,
+only keeping back a very small sum for her necessary clothing and such
+sundries as stamps and writing paper. Even then, Elizabeth grumbled
+bitterly at her extravagance in continuing to buy a daily paper,
+asking what business she had to spend sixpence a week on such a
+needless luxury. But Beatrice would not make up her mind to dock the
+paper with its occasional mention of Geoffrey.
+
+Again, Owen Davies was a perpetual anxiety to her. His infatuation for
+herself was becoming notorious; everybody saw it except her father.
+Mr. Granger's mind was so occupied with questions connected with tithe
+that fortunately for Beatrice little else could find an entry. Owen
+dogged her about; he would wait whole hours outside the school or by
+the Vicarage gate merely to speak a few words to her. Sometimes when
+at length she appeared he seemed to be struck dumb, he could say
+nothing, but would gaze at her with his dull eyes in a fashion that
+filled her with vague alarm. He never ventured to speak to her of his
+love indeed, but he looked it, which was almost as bad. Another thing
+was that he had grown jealous. The seed which Elizabeth had planted in
+his mind had brought forth abundantly, though of course Beatrice did
+not know that this was her sister's doing.
+
+On the very morning that Geoffrey went away Mr. Davies had met her as
+she was walking back from the station and asked her if Mr. Bingham had
+gone. When she replied that this was so, she had distinctly heard him
+murmur, "Thank God! thank God!" Subsequently she discovered also that
+he bribed the old postman to keep count of the letters which she sent
+and received from Geoffrey.
+
+These things filled Beatrice with alarm, but there was worse behind.
+Mr. Davies began to send her presents, first such things as prize
+pigeons and fowls, then jewellery. The pigeons and fowls she could not
+well return without exciting remark, but the jewellery she sent back
+by one of the school children. First came a bracelet, then a locket
+with his photograph inside, and lastly, a case that, when she opened
+it, which her curiosity led her to do, nearly blinded her with light.
+It was a diamond necklace, and she had never seen such diamonds
+before, but from their size and lustre she knew that each stone must
+be worth hundreds of pounds. Beatrice put it in her pocket and carried
+it until she met him, which she did in the course of that afternoon.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she said before he could speak, and handing him the
+package, "this has been sent to me by mistake. Will you kindly take it
+back?"
+
+He took it, abashed.
+
+"Mr. Davies," she went on, looking him full in the eyes, "I hope that
+there will be no more such mistakes. Please understand that I cannot
+accept presents from you."
+
+"If Mr. Bingham had sent it, you would have accepted it," he muttered
+sulkily.
+
+Beatrice turned and flashed such a look on him that he fell back and
+left her. But it was true, and she knew that it was true. If Geoffrey
+had given her a sixpence with a hole in it, she would have valued it
+more than all the diamonds on earth. Oh! what a position was hers. And
+it was wrong, too. She had no right to love the husband of another
+woman. But right or wrong the fact remained: she did love him.
+
+And the worst of it was that, as she well knew, sooner or later all
+this about Mr. Davies must come to the ears of her father, and then
+what would happen? One thing was certain. In his present poverty-
+stricken condition he would move heaven and earth to bring about her
+marriage to this rich man. Her father never had been very scrupulous
+where money was concerned, and the pinch of want was not likely to
+make him more so.
+
+Nor, we may be sure, did all this escape the jealous eye of Elizabeth.
+Things looked black for her, but she did not intend to throw up the
+cards on that account. Only it was time to lead trumps. In other
+words, Beatrice must be fatally compromised in the eyes of Owen
+Davies, if by any means this could be brought about. So far things had
+gone well for her schemes. Beatrice and Geoffrey loved each other, of
+that Elizabeth was certain. But the existence of this secret,
+underhand affection would avail her naught unless it could be ripened
+into acts. Everybody is free to indulge in secret predilections, but
+if once they are given way to, if once a woman's character is
+compromised, then the world avails itself of its opportunities and
+destroys her. What man, thought Elizabeth, would marry a compromised
+woman? If Beatrice could be compromised, Owen Davies would not take
+her to wife--therefore this must be brought about.
+
+It sounds wicked and unnatural. "Impossible that sister should so
+treat sister," the reader of this history may say, thinking of her
+own, and of her affectionate and respectable surroundings. But it is
+not impossible. If you, who doubt, will study the law reports, and no
+worse occupation can be wished to you, you will find that such things
+are possible. Human nature can rise to strange heights, and it can
+also fall to depths beyond your fathoming. Because a thing is without
+parallel in your own small experience it in no way follows that it
+cannot be.
+
+Elizabeth was a very remorseless person; she was more--she was a woman
+actuated by passion and by greed: the two strongest motives known to
+the human heart. But with her recklessness she united a considerable
+degree of intelligence, or rather of intellect. Had she been a savage
+she might have removed her sister from her path by a more expeditious
+way; being what she was, she merely strove to effect the same end by a
+method not punishable by law, in short, by murdering her reputation.
+Would she be responsible if her sister went wrong, and was thus
+utterly discredited in the eyes of this man who wished to marry her,
+and whom Elizabeth wished to marry? Of course not; that was Beatrice's
+affair. But she could give her every chance of falling into
+temptation, and this it was her fixed design to do.
+
+Circumstances soon gave her an opportunity. The need of money became
+very pressing at the Vicarage. They had literally no longer the
+wherewithal to live. The tithe payers absolutely refused to fulfil
+their obligations. As it happened, Jones, the man who had murdered the
+auctioneer, was never brought to trial. He died shortly after his
+arrest in a fit of /delirium tremens/ and nervous prostration brought
+on by the sudden cessation of a supply of stimulants, and an example
+was lost, that, had he been duly hanged, might have been made of the
+results of defying the law. Mr. Granger was now too poor to institute
+any further proceedings, which, in the state of public feeling in
+Wales, might or might not succeed; he could only submit, and
+submission meant beggary. Indeed he was already a beggar. In this
+state of affairs he took counsel with Elizabeth, pointing out that
+they must either get money or starve. Now the only possible way to get
+money was by borrowing it, and Mr. Granger's suggestion was that he
+should apply to Owen Davies, who had plenty. Indeed he would have done
+so long ago, but that the squire had the reputation of being an
+exceedingly close-fisted man.
+
+But this proposition did not at all suit Elizabeth's book. Her great
+object had been to conceal Mr. Davies's desires as regards Beatrice
+from her father, and her daily dread was that he might become
+acquainted with them from some outside source. She knew very well that
+if her father went up to the Castle to borrow money it would be lent,
+or rather given, freely enough; but she also knew that the lender
+would almost certainly take the opportunity, the very favourable
+opportunity, to unfold his wishes as regards the borrower's daughter.
+The one thing would naturally lead to the other--the promise of her
+father's support of Owen's suit would be the consideration for the
+money received. How gladly that support would be given was also
+obvious to her, and with her father pushing Beatrice on the one side
+and Owen Davies pushing her on the other, how could Elizabeth be sure
+that she would not yield? Beatrice would be the very person to be
+carried away by an idea of duty. Their father would tell her that he
+had got the money on this undertaking, and it was quite possible that
+her pride might bring her to fulfil a bond thus given, however
+distasteful the deed might be to her personally. No, her father must
+at all hazards be prevented from seeking assistance from Owen Davies.
+And yet the money must be had from somewhere, or they would be ruined.
+
+Ah, she had it--Geoffrey Bingham should lend the money! He could well
+afford it now, and she shrewdly guessed that he would not grudge the
+coat off his back if he thought that by giving it he might directly or
+indirectly help Beatrice. Her father must go up to town to see him,
+she would have no letter-writing; one never knows how a letter may be
+read. He must see Mr. Bingham, and if possible bring him down to
+Bryngelly. In a moment every detail of the plot became clear to
+Elizabeth's mind, and then she spoke.
+
+"You must not go to Mr. Davies, father," she said; "he is a hard man,
+and would only refuse and put you in a false position; you must go to
+Mr. Bingham. Listen: he is rich now, and he is very fond of you and of
+Beatrice. He will lend you a hundred pounds at once. You must go to
+London by the early train to-morrow, and drive straight to his
+chambers and see him. It will cost two pounds to get there and back,
+but that cannot be helped; it is safer than writing, and I am sure
+that you will not go for nothing. And see here, father, bring Mr.
+Bingham back with you for a few days if you can. It will be a little
+return for his kindness, and I know that he is not well. Beatrice had
+a letter from him in which he said that he was so overworked that he
+thought he must take a little rest soon. Bring him back for Whit-
+Sunday."
+
+Mr. Granger hesitated, demurred, and finally yielded. The weak,
+querulous old farmer clergyman, worn out with many daily cares and
+quite unsupported by mental resources, was but a tool in Elizabeth's
+able hands. He did not indeed feel any humiliation at the idea of
+trying to borrow the cash, for his nature was not finely strung, and
+money troubles had made him callous to the verge of unscrupulousness;
+but he did not like the idea of a journey to London, where he had not
+been for more than twenty years, and the expenditure that it entailed.
+Still he acted as Elizabeth bade him, even to keeping the expedition
+secret from Beatrice. Beatrice, as her sister explained to him, was
+proud as Lucifer, and might raise objections if she knew that he was
+going to London to borrow money of Mr. Bingham. This indeed she would
+certainly have done.
+
+On the following afternoon--it was the Friday before Whit-Sunday, and
+the last day of the Easter sittings--Geoffrey sat in his chambers, in
+the worst possible spirits, thoroughly stale and worn out with work.
+There was a consultation going on, and his client, a pig-headed
+Norfolk farmer, who was bent upon proceeding to trial with some
+extraordinary action for trespass against his own landlord, was
+present with his solicitor. Geoffrey in a few short, clear words had
+explained the absurdity of the whole thing, and strongly advised him
+to settle, for the client had insisted on seeing him, refusing to be
+put off with a written opinion. But the farmer was not satisfied, and
+the solicitor was now endeavouring to let the pure light of law into
+the darkness of his injured soul.
+
+Geoffrey threw himself back in his chair, pushed the dark hair from
+his brow, and pretended to listen. But in a minute his mind was far
+away. Heavens, how tired he was! Well, there would be rest for a few
+days--till Tuesday, when he had a matter that must be attended to--the
+House had risen and so had the courts. What should he do with himself?
+Honoria wished to go and stay with her brother, Lord Garsington, and,
+for a wonder, to take Effie with her. He did not like it, but he
+supposed that he should have to consent. One thing was, /he/ would not
+go. He could not endure Garsington, Dunstan, and all their set. Should
+he run down to Bryngelly? The temptation was very great; that would be
+happiness indeed, but his common sense prevailed against it. No, it
+was better that he should not go there. He would leave Bryngelly
+alone. If Beatrice wished him to come she would have said so, and she
+had never even hinted at such a thing, and if she had he did not think
+that he would have gone. But he lacked the heart to go anywhere else.
+He would stop in town, rest, and read a novel, for Geoffrey, when he
+found time, was not above this frivolous occupation. Possibly, under
+certain circumstances, he might even have been capable of writing one.
+At that moment his clerk entered, and handed him a slip of paper with
+something written on it. He opened it idly and read:
+
+ "Revd. Mr. Granger to see you. Told him you were engaged, but he
+  said he would wait."
+
+Geoffrey started violently, so violently that both the solicitor and
+the obstinate farmer looked up.
+
+"Tell the gentleman that I will see him in a minute," he said to the
+retreating clerk, and then, addressing the farmer, "Well, sir, I have
+said all that I have to say. I cannot advise you to continue this
+action. Indeed, if you wish to do so, you must really direct your
+solicitor to retain some other counsel, as I will not be a party to
+what can only mean a waste of money. Good afternoon," and he rose.
+
+The farmer was convoyed out grumbling. In another moment Mr. Granger
+entered, dressed in a somewhat threadbare suit of black, and his thin
+white hair hanging, as usual, over his eyes. Geoffrey glanced at him
+with apprehension, and as he did so noticed that he had aged greatly
+during the last seven months. Had he come to tell him some ill news of
+Beatrice--that she was ill, or dead, or going to be married?
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Granger?" he said, as he stretched out his hand,
+and controlling his voice as well as he could. "How are you? This is a
+most unexpected pleasure."
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" answered the old man, while he seated
+himself nervously in a chair, placing his hat with a trembling hand
+upon the floor beside him. "Yes, thank you, I am pretty well, not very
+grand--worn out with trouble as the sparks fly upwards," he added,
+with a vague automatic recollection of the scriptural quotation.
+
+"I hope that Miss Elizabeth and Be--that your daughters are well
+also," said Geoffrey, unable to restrain his anxiety.
+
+"Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Bingham. Elizabeth isn't very grand either,
+complains of a pain in her chest, a little bilious perhaps--she always
+is bilious in the spring."
+
+"And Miss Beatrice?"
+
+"Oh, I think she's well--very quiet, you know, and a little pale,
+perhaps; but she is always quiet--a strange woman Beatrice, Mr.
+Bingham, a very strange woman, quite beyond me! I do not understand
+her, and don't try to. Not like other women at all, takes no pleasure
+in things seemingly; curious, with her good looks--very curious. But
+nobody understands Beatrice."
+
+Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. "And how are tithes being paid,
+Mr. Granger? not very grandly, I fear. I saw that scoundrel Jones died
+in prison."
+
+Mr. Granger woke up at once. Before he had been talking almost at
+random; the subject of his daughters did not greatly interest him.
+What did interest him was this money question. Nor was it very
+wonderful; the poor narrow-minded old man had thought about money till
+he could scarcely find room for anything else, indeed nothing else
+really touched him closely. He broke into a long story of his wrongs,
+and, drawing a paper from his breast pocket, with shaking finger
+pointed out to Geoffrey how that his clerical income for the last six
+months had been at the rate of only forty pounds a year, upon which
+sum even a Welsh clergyman could not consider himself passing rich.
+Geoffrey listened and sympathised; then came a pause.
+
+"That's how we've been getting on at Bryngelly, Mr. Bingham," Mr.
+Granger said presently, "starving, pretty well starving. It's only you
+who have been making money; we've been sitting on the same dock-leaf
+while you have become a great man. If it had not been for Beatrice's
+salary--she's behaved very well about the salary, has Beatrice--I am
+sure I don't understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she
+keeps; I know that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter,
+because she got a cough from it--we should have been in the workhouse,
+and that's where we shall be yet," and he rubbed the back of his
+withered hand across his eyes.
+
+Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe herself
+--Beatrice shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak while
+/he/ lived in luxury! It made him sick to think of it. For a moment he
+could say nothing.
+
+"I have come here--I've come," went on the old man in a broken voice,
+broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear
+lest it should be refused, "to ask you if you could lend me a little
+money. I don't know where to turn, I don't indeed, or I would not do
+it, Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could
+lend me a hundred pounds I'd give you note of hand for it and try to
+pay it back little by little; we might take twenty pounds a year from
+Beatrice's salary----"
+
+"Don't, please--do not talk of such a thing!" ejaculated the horrified
+Geoffrey. "Where the devil is my cheque-book? Oh, I know, I left it in
+Bolton Street. Here, this will do as well," and he took up a draft
+note made out to his order, and, rapidly signing his name on the back
+of it, handed it to Mr. Granger. It was in payment of the fees in the
+great case of Parsons and Douse and some other matters. Mr. Granger
+took the draft, and, holding it close to his eyes, glanced at the
+amount; it was £200.
+
+"But this is double what I asked for," he said doubtfully. "Am I to
+return you £100?"
+
+"No, no," answered Geoffrey, "I daresay that you have some debts to
+pay. Thank Heaven, I can get on very well and earn more money than I
+want. Not enough clothing--it is shocking to think of!" he added, more
+to himself than to his listener.
+
+The old man rose, his eyes full of tears. "God bless you," he said,
+"God bless you. I do not know how to thank you--I don't indeed," and
+he caught Geoffrey's hand between his trembling palms and pressed it.
+
+"Please do not say any more, Mr. Granger; it really is only a matter
+of mutual obligation. No, no, I don't want any note of hand. If I were
+to die it might be used against you. You can pay me whenever it is
+convenient."
+
+"You are too good, Mr. Bingham," said the old clergyman. "Where could
+another man be found who would lend me £200 without security?" (where
+indeed!) "By the way," he added, "I forgot; my mind is in such a
+whirl. Will you come back with me for a few days to Bryngelly? We
+shall all be so pleased if you can. Do come, Mr. Bingham; you look as
+though you want a change, you do indeed."
+
+Geoffrey dropped his hand heavily on the desk. But half an hour before
+he had made up his mind not to go to Bryngelly. And now----
+
+The vision of Beatrice rose before his eyes. Beatrice who had gone
+cold all winter and never told him one word of their biting poverty--
+the longing for the sight of Beatrice came into his heart, and like a
+hurricane swept the defences of his reason to the level ground.
+Temptation overwhelmed him; he no longer struggled against it. He must
+see her, if it was only to say good-bye.
+
+"Thank you," he said quietly, lifting his bowed head. "Yes, I have
+nothing particular to do for the next day or two. I think that I will
+come. When do you go back?"
+
+"Well, I thought of taking the night mail, but I feel so tired. I
+really don't know. I think I shall go by the nine o'clock train
+to-morrow."
+
+"That will suit me very well," said Geoffrey; "and now what are you
+going to do to-night? You had better come and dine and sleep at my
+house. No dress clothes? Oh, never mind; there are some people coming
+but they won't care; a clergyman is always dressed. Come along and I
+will get that draft cashed. The bank is shut, but I can manage it."
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XX
+
+                          BACK AT BRYNGELLY
+
+Geoffrey and Mr. Granger reached Bolton Street about six o'clock. The
+drawing-room was still full of callers. Lady Honoria's young men
+mustered in great force in those days. They were very inoffensive
+young men and Geoffrey had no particular objection to them. Only he
+found it difficult to remember all their names. When Geoffrey entered
+the drawing-room there were no fewer than five of them, to say nothing
+of two stray ladies, all superbly dressed and sitting metaphorically
+at Honoria's very pretty feet. Otherwise their contributions to the
+general store of amusement did not amount to much, for her ladyship
+did most of the talking.
+
+Geoffrey introduced Mr. Granger, whom Honoria could not at first
+remember. Nor did she receive the announcement that he was going to
+dine and stay the night with any particular enthusiasm. The young men
+melted away at Geoffrey's advent like mists before a rising sun. He
+greeted them civilly enough, but with him they had nothing in common.
+To tell the truth they were a little afraid of him. This man with his
+dark handsome face sealed with the stamp of intellect, his powerful-
+looking form (ill dressed, according to their standard) and his great
+and growing reputation, was a person with whom they had no sympathy,
+and who, they felt, had no sympathy with them. We talk as though there
+is one heaven and one hell for all of us, but here must be some
+mistake. An impassable gulf yawns between the different classes of
+mankind. What has such a man as Geoffrey to do with the feeble male
+and female butterflies of a London drawing-room? There is only one
+link between them: they live on the same planet.
+
+When the fine young men and the two stray ladies had melted away,
+Geoffrey took Mr. Granger up to his room. Coming downstairs again he
+found Lady Honoria waiting for him in the study.
+
+"Is that individual really going to dine and sleep here?" she asked.
+
+"Certainly, Honoria, and he has brought no dress clothes," he
+answered.
+
+"Really, Geoffrey, it is too bad of you," said the lady with some
+pardonable irritation. "Why do you bring people to dinner in this
+promiscuous way? It will quite upset the table. Just fancy asking an
+old Welsh clergyman to dine, who has not the slightest pretensions to
+being a gentleman, when one has the Prime Minister and a Bishop coming
+--and a clergyman without dress clothes too. What has he come for?"
+
+"He came to see me on business, and as to the people coming to dinner,
+if they don't like it they can grumble when they go home. By the way,
+Honoria, I am going down to Wales for a day or two to-morrow. I want a
+change."
+
+"Indeed! Going to see the lovely Beatrice, I suppose. You had better
+be careful, Geoffrey. That girl will get you into a mess, and if she
+does there are plenty of people who are ready to make an example of
+you. You have enemies enough, I can tell you. I am not jealous, it is
+not in my line, but you are too intimate with that girl, and you will
+be sorry for it one day."
+
+"Nonsense," said Geoffrey angrily, but nevertheless he felt that Lady
+Honoria's words were words of truth. It struck him, moreover, that she
+must feel this strongly, or she would not have spoken in that tone.
+Honoria did not pose as a household philosopher. Still he would not
+draw back now. His heart was set on seeing Beatrice.
+
+"Am I to understand," went on his wife, "that you still object to my
+staying with the Garsingtons? I think it is a little hard if I do not
+make a fuss about your going to see your village paragon, that you
+should refuse to allow me to visit my own brother."
+
+Geoffrey felt that he was being bargained with. It was degrading, but
+in the extremity of his folly he yielded.
+
+"Go if you like," he said shortly, "but if you take Effie, mind she is
+properly looked after, that is all," and he abruptly left the room.
+
+Lady Honoria looked after him, slowly nodding her handsome head. "Ah,"
+she said to herself, "I have found out how to manage you now. You have
+your weak point like other people, Master Geoffrey--and it spells
+Beatrice. Only you must not go too far. I am not jealous, but I am not
+going to have a scandal for fifty Beatrices. I will not allow you to
+lose your reputation and position. Just imagine a man like that pining
+for a village girl--she is nothing more! And they talk about his being
+so clever. Well, he always liked ladies' society; that is his failing,
+and now he has burnt his fingers. They all do sooner or later,
+especially these clever men. The women flatter them, that's it. Of
+course the girl is trying to get hold of him, and she might do worse,
+but so surely as my name is Honoria Bingham I will put a spoke in her
+wheel before she has done. Bah! and they laugh at the power of women
+when a man like Geoffrey, with all the world to lose, grows love-sick
+for a pretty face; it is a /very/ pretty face by the way. I do believe
+that if I were out of the way he would marry her. But I am in the way,
+and mean to stay there. Well, it is time to dress for dinner. I only
+hope that old clown of a clergyman won't do something ridiculous. I
+shall have to apologise for him."
+
+Dinner-time had come; it was a quarter past eight, and the room was
+filled with highly bred people all more or less distinguished. Mr.
+Granger had duly appeared, arrayed in his threadbare black coat,
+relieved, however, by a pair of Geoffrey's dress shoes. As might have
+been expected, the great folk did not seem surprised at his presence,
+or to take any particular notice of his attire, the fact being that
+such people never are surprised. A Zulu chief in full war dress would
+only excite a friendly interest in their breasts. On the contrary they
+recognised vaguely that the old gentleman was something out of the
+common run, and as such worth cultivating. Indeed the Prime Minister,
+hearing casually that he was a clergyman from Wales, asked to be
+introduced to him, and at once fell into conversation about tithes, a
+subject of which Mr. Granger was thoroughly master.
+
+Presently they went down to dinner, Mr. Granger escorting the wife of
+the Bishop, a fat and somewhat apoplectic lady, blessed with an
+excellent appetite. On his other side was the Prime Minister, and
+between the two he got on very well, especially after a few glasses of
+wine. Indeed, both the apoplectic wife of the Bishop and the head of
+Her Majesty's Government were subsequently heard to declare that Mr.
+Granger was a very entertaining person. To the former he related with
+much detail how his daughter had saved their host's life, and to the
+latter he discoursed upon the subject of tithes, favouring him with
+his ideas of what legislation was necessary to meet the question.
+Somewhat to his own surprise, he found that his views were received
+with attention and even with respect. In the main, too, they received
+the support of the Bishop, who likewise felt keenly on the subject of
+tithes. Never before had Mr. Granger had such a good dinner nor
+mingled with company so distinguished. He remembered both till his
+dying day.
+
+Next morning Geoffrey and Mr. Granger started before Lady Honoria was
+up. Into the details of their long journey to Wales (in a crowded
+third-class carriage) we need not enter. Geoffrey had plenty to think
+of, but his fears had vanished, as fears sometimes do when we draw
+near to the object of them, and had been replaced by a curious
+expectancy. He saw now, or thought he saw, that he had been making a
+mountain out of a molehill. Probably it meant nothing at all. There
+was no real danger. Beatrice liked him, no doubt; possibly she had
+even experienced a fit of tenderness towards him. Such things come and
+such things go. Time is a wonderful healer of moral distempers, and
+few young ladies endure the chains of an undesirable attachment for a
+period of seven whole months. It made him almost blush to think that
+this might be so, and that the gratuitous extension of his misfortune
+to Beatrice might be nothing more than the working of his own
+unconscious vanity--a vanity which, did she know of it, would move her
+to angry laughter.
+
+He remembered how once, when he was quite a young fellow, he had been
+somewhat smitten with a certain lady, who certainly, if he might judge
+from her words and acts, reciprocated the sentiment. And he remembered
+also, how when he met that lady some months afterwards she treated him
+with a cold indifference, indeed almost with an insolence, that quite
+bewildered him, making him wonder how the same person could show in
+such different lights, till at length, mortified and ashamed by his
+mistake, he had gone away in a rage and seen her face no more. Of
+course he had set it down to female infidelity; he had served her
+turn, she had made a fool of him, and that was all she wanted. Now he
+might enjoy his humiliation. It did not occur to him that it might be
+simple "cussedness," to borrow an energetic American term, or that she
+had not really changed, but was angry with him for some reason which
+she did not choose to show. It is difficult to weigh the motives of
+women in the scales of male experience, and many other men besides
+Geoffrey have been forced to give up the attempt and to console
+themselves with the reflection that the inexplicable is generally not
+worth understanding.
+
+Yes, probably it would be the same case over again. And yet, and yet--
+was Beatrice of that class? Had she not too much of a man's
+straightforwardness of aim to permit her to play such tricks? In the
+bottom of his soul he thought that she had, but he would not admit it
+to himself. The fact of the matter was that, half unknowingly, he was
+trying to drug his conscience. He knew that in his longing to see her
+dear face once more he had undertaken a dangerous thing. He was about
+to walk with her over an abyss on a bridge which might bear them, or--
+might break. So long as he walked there alone it would be well, but
+would it bear them /both?/ Alas for the frailty of human nature, this
+was the truth; but he would not and did not acknowledge it. He was not
+going to make love to Beatrice, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of
+her society. In friendship there could be no harm.
+
+It is not difficult thus to still the qualms of an uneasy mind, more
+especially when the thing in question at its worst is rather an
+offence against local custom than against natural law. In many
+countries of the world--in nearly all countries, indeed, at different
+epochs of their history--it would have been no wrong that Geoffrey and
+Beatrice should love each other, and human nature in strong temptation
+is very apt to override artificial barriers erected to suit the
+convenience or promote the prosperity of particular sections of
+mankind. But, as we have heard, even though all things may be lawful,
+yet all things are not expedient. To commit or even to condone an act
+because the principle that stamps it as wrong will admit of argument
+on its merits is mere sophistry, by the aid of which we might prove
+ourselves entitled to defy the majority of laws of all calibres. Laws
+vary to suit the generations, but each generation must obey its own,
+or confusion will ensue. A deed should be judged by its fruits; it may
+even be innocent in itself, yet if its fruits are evil the doer in a
+sense is guilty.
+
+Thus in some countries to mention the name of your mother-in-law
+entails the most unpleasant consequences on that intimate relation.
+Nobody can say that to name the lady is a thing wicked in itself; yet
+the man who, knowing the penalties which will ensue, allows himself,
+even in a fit of passion against that relative, to violate the custom
+and mention her by name is doubtless an offender. Thus, too, the
+result of an entanglement between a woman and a man already married
+generally means unhappiness and hurt to all concerned, more especially
+to the women, whose prospects are perhaps irretrievably injured
+thereby. It is useless to point to the example of the patriarchs, some
+foreign royal families, and many respectable Turks; it is useless to
+plead that the love is deep and holy love, for which a man or woman
+might well live and die, or to show extenuating circumstances in the
+fact of loneliness, need of sympathy, and that the existing marriage
+is a hollow sham. The rule is clear. A man may do most things except
+cheat at cards or run away in action; a woman may break half-a-dozen
+hearts, or try to break them, and finally put herself up at auction
+and take no harm at all--but neither of them may in any event do
+/this/.
+
+Not that Geoffrey, to do him justice, had any such intentions. Most
+men are incapable of plots of that nature. If they fall, it is when
+the voice of conscience is lost in the whirlwind of passion, and
+counsel is darkened by the tumultuous pleadings of the heart. Their
+sin is that they will, most of them, allow themselves to be put in
+positions favourable to the development of these disagreeable
+influences. It is not safe to light cigarettes in a powder factory. If
+Geoffrey had done what he ought to have done, he would never have gone
+to Bryngelly, and there would have been no story to tell, or no more
+than there usually is.
+
+
+
+At length Mr. Granger and his guest reached Bryngelly; there was
+nobody to meet them, for nobody knew that they were coming, so they
+walked up to the Vicarage. It was strange to Geoffrey once more to
+pass by the little church through those well-remembered, wind-torn
+pines and see that low long house. It seemed wonderful that all should
+still be just as it was, that there should be no change at all, when
+he himself had seen so much. There was Beatrice's home; where was
+Beatrice?
+
+He passed into the house like a man in a dream. In another moment he
+was in the long parlour where he had spent so many happy hours, and
+Elizabeth was greeting him. He shook hands with her, and as he did so,
+noticed vaguely that she too was utterly unchanged. Her straw-coloured
+hair was pushed back from the temples in the same way, the mouth wore
+the same hard smile, her light eyes shone with the same cold look; she
+even wore the same brown dress. But she appeared to be very pleased to
+see him, as indeed she was, for the game looked well for Elizabeth.
+Her father kissed her hurriedly, and bustled from the room to lock up
+his borrowed cash, leaving them together.
+
+Somehow Geoffrey's conversational powers failed him. Where was
+Beatrice? she ought to be back from school. It was holiday time
+indeed. Could she be away?
+
+He made an effort, and remarked absently that things seemed very
+unchanged at Bryngelly.
+
+"You are looking for Beatrice," said Elizabeth, answering his thought
+and not his words. "She has gone out walking, but I think she will be
+back soon. Excuse me, but I must go and see about your room."
+
+Geoffrey hung about a little, then he lit his pipe and strolled down
+to the beach, with a vague unexpressed idea of meeting Beatrice. He
+did not meet Beatrice, but he met old Edward, who knew him at once.
+
+"Lord, sir," he said, "it's queer to see you here again, specially
+when I thinks as how I saw you first, and you a dead 'un to all
+purposes, with your mouth open, and Miss Beatrice a-hanging on to your
+hair fit to pull your scalp off. You never was nearer old Davy than
+you was that night, sir, nor won't be. And now you've been spared to
+become a Parliament man, I hears, and much good may you do there--it
+will take all your time, sir--and I think, sir, that I should like to
+drink your health."
+
+Geoffrey put his hand in his pocket and gave the old man a sovereign.
+He could afford to do so now.
+
+"Does Miss Beatrice go out canoeing now?" he asked while Edward
+mumbled his astonished thanks.
+
+"At times, sir--thanking you kindly; it ain't many suvrings as comes
+my way--though I hate the sight on it, I do. I'd like to stave a hole
+in the bottom of that there cranky concern; it ain't safe, and that's
+the fact. There'll be another accent out of it one of these fine days
+and no coming to next time. But, Lord bless you, it's her way of
+pleasuring herself. She's a queer un is Miss Beatrice, and she gets
+queerer and queerer, what with their being so tight screwed up at the
+Vicarage, no tithes and that, and one thing and another. Not but what
+I'm thinking, sir," he added in a portentous whisper, "as the squire
+has got summut to do with it. He's a courting of her, he is; he's as
+hard after her as a dog fish after a stray herring, and why she can't
+just say yes and marry him I'm sure I don't know."
+
+"Perhaps she doesn't like him," said Geoffrey coldly.
+
+"May be, sir, may be; maids all have their fancies, in whatssever walk
+o' life it has pleased God to stick 'em, but it's a wonderful pity, it
+is. He ain't no great shakes, he ain't, but he's a sound man--no girl
+can't want a sounder--lived quiet all his days you see, sir, and
+what's more he's got the money, and money's tight up at the Vicarage,
+sir. Gals must give up their fancies sometimes, sir. Lord! a brace of
+brats and she'd forget all about 'em. I'm seventy years old and I've
+seen their ways, sir, though in a humble calling. You should say a
+word to her, sir; she'd thank you kindly five years after. You'd do
+her a good turn, sir, you would, and not a bad un as the saying goes,
+and give it the lie--no, beg your pardon, that is the other way round
+--she's bound to do you the bad turn having saved your life, though I
+don't see how she could do that unless, begging your pardon, she made
+you fall in love with her, being married, which though strange
+wouldn't be wunnerful seeing what she is and seeing how I has been in
+love with her myself since she was seven, old missus and all, who died
+eight years gone and well rid of the rheumatics."
+
+Beatrice was one of the few subjects that could unlock old Edward's
+breast, and Geoffrey retired before his confusing but suggestive
+eloquence. Hurriedly bidding the old man good-night he returned to the
+house, and leaning on the gate watched the twilight dying on the bosom
+of the west.
+
+Suddenly, a bunch of wild roses in her girdle, Beatrice emerged from
+the gathering gloom and stood before him face to face.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXI
+
+                           THE THIRD APPEAL
+
+Face to face they stood, while at the vision of her sweetness his
+heart grew still. Face to face, and the faint light fell upon her
+tender loveliness and died in her deep eyes, and the faint breeze
+fragrant with the breath of pines gently stirred her hair. Oh, it was
+worth living to see her thus!
+
+"I beg your pardon," she said in a puzzled tone, stepping forward to
+pass the gate.
+
+"/Beatrice!/"
+
+She gave a little cry, and clutched the railing, else she would have
+fallen. One moment she stayed so, looking up towards his face that was
+hid in the deepening shadow--looking with wild eyes of hope and fear
+and love.
+
+"Is it you," she said at length, "or another dream?"
+
+"It is I, Beatrice!" he answered, amazed.
+
+She recovered herself with an effort.
+
+"Then why did you frighten me so?" she asked. "It was unkind--oh, I
+did not mean to say anything cross. What did I say? I forget. I am so
+glad that you have come!" and she put her hand to her forehead and
+looked at him again as one might gaze at a ghost from the grave.
+
+"Did you not expect me?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+"Expect you? no. No more than I expected----" and she stopped
+suddenly.
+
+"It is very odd," he said; "I thought you knew that your father was
+going to ask me down. I returned from London with him."
+
+"From London," she murmured. "I did not know; Elizabeth did not tell
+me anything about it. I suppose that she forgot."
+
+"Here I am at any rate, and how are you?"
+
+"Oh, well now, quite well. There, I am all right again. It is very
+wrong to frighten people in that way, Mr. Bingham," she added in her
+usual voice. "Let me pass through the gate and I will shake hands with
+you--if," she added, in a tone of gentle mockery, "one may shake hands
+with so great a man. But I told you how it would be, did I not, just
+before we were drowned together, you know? How is Effie?"
+
+"Effie flourishes," he answered. "Do you know, you do not look very
+grand. Your father told me that you had a cold in the winter," and
+Geoffrey shivered as he thought of the cause.
+
+"Oh, thank you, I have nothing to complain of. I am strong and well.
+How long do you stay here?"
+
+"Not long. Perhaps till Tuesday morning, perhaps till Monday."
+
+Beatrice sighed. Happiness is short. She had not brought him here, she
+would not have lifted a finger to bring him here, but since he had
+come she wished that he was going to stay longer.
+
+"It is supper time," she said; "let us go in."
+
+So they went in and ate their supper. It was a happy meal. Mr. Granger
+was in almost boisterous spirits. It is wonderful what a difference
+the possession of that two hundred pounds made in his demeanour; he
+seemed another man. It was true that a hundred of it must go in paying
+debts, but a hundred would be left, which meant at least a year's
+respite for him. Elizabeth, too, relaxed her habitual grimness; the
+two hundred pounds had its influence on her also, and there were other
+genial influences at work in her dark secret heart. Beatrice knew
+nothing of the money and sat somewhat silent, but she too was happy
+with the wild unreal happiness that sometimes visits us in dreams.
+
+As for Geoffrey, if Lady Honoria could have seen him she would have
+stared in astonishment. Of late he had been a very silent man, many
+people indeed had found him a dull companion. But under the influence
+of Beatrice's presence he talked and talked brilliantly. Perhaps he
+was unconsciously striving to show at his very best before her, as a
+man naturally does in the presence of a woman whom he loves. So
+brilliantly did he talk that at last they all sat still and listened
+to him, and they might have been worse employed.
+
+At length supper was done, and Elizabeth retired to her room.
+Presently, too, Mr. Granger was called out to christen a sick baby and
+went grumbling, and they were left alone. They sat in the window-place
+and looked out at the quiet night.
+
+"Tell me about yourself," said Beatrice.
+
+So he told her. He narrated all the steps by which he had reached his
+present position, and showed her how from it he might rise to the
+topmost heights of all. She did not look at him, and did not answer
+him, but once when he paused, thinking that he had talked enough about
+himself, she said, "Go on; tell me some more."
+
+At last he had told her all.
+
+"Yes," she said, "you have the power and the opportunity, and you will
+one day be among the foremost men of your generation."
+
+"I doubt it," he said with a sigh. "I am not ambitious. I only work
+for the sake of work, not for what it will bring. One day I daresay
+that I shall weary of it all and leave it. But while I do work, I like
+to be among the first in my degree."
+
+"Oh, no," she answered, "you must not give it up; you must go on and
+on. Promise me," she continued, looking at him for the first time--
+"promise me that while you have health and strength you will persevere
+till you stand alone and quite pre-eminent. Then you can give it up."
+
+"Why should I promise you this, Beatrice?"
+
+"Because I ask it of you. Once I saved your life, Mr. Bingham, and it
+gives me some little right to direct its course. I wish that the man
+whom I saved to the world should be among the first men in the world,
+not in wealth, which is an accident, but in intellect and force.
+Promise me this and I shall be happy."
+
+"I promise you," he said, "I promise that I will try to rise because
+you ask it, not because the prospect attracts me; but as he spoke his
+heart was wrung. It was bitter to hear her speak thus of a future in
+which she would have no share, which, as her words implied, would be a
+thing utterly apart from her, as much apart as though she were dead.
+
+"Yes," he said again, "you gave me my life, and it makes me very
+unhappy to think that I can give you nothing in return. Oh, Beatrice,
+I will tell you what I have never told to any one. I am lonely and
+wretched. With the exception of yourself, I do not think that there is
+anybody who really cares for--I mean who really sympathises with me in
+the world. I daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a
+humiliating thing to say, and, in a fashion, a selfish thing. I never
+should have said it to any living soul but you. What is the use of
+being great when there is nobody to work for? Things might have been
+different, but the world is a hard place. If you--if you----"
+
+At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the
+tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it. Then
+there was a moment's pause, and very gently she drew her hand away and
+thrust it in her bosom.
+
+"You have your wife to share your fortune," she said; "you have Effie
+to inherit it, and you can leave your name to your country."
+
+Then came a heavy pause.
+
+"And you," he said, breaking it, "what future is there for you?"
+
+She laughed softly. "Women have no future and they ask none. At least
+I do not now, though once I did. It is enough for them if they can
+ever so little help the lives of others. That is their happiness, and
+their reward is--rest."
+
+
+
+Just then Mr. Granger came back from his christening, and Beatrice
+rose and went to bed.
+
+"Looks a little pale, doesn't she, Mr. Bingham?" said her father. "I
+think she must be troubled in her mind. The fact is--well, there is no
+reason why I should not tell you; she thinks so much of you, and you
+might say a word to brighten her up--well, it's about Mr. Davies. I
+fancy, you know, that she likes him and is vexed because he does not
+come forward. Well, you see--of course I may be mistaken, but I have
+sometimes thought that he may. I have seen him look as if he was
+thinking of it, though of course it is more than Beatrice has got any
+right to expect. She's only got herself and her good looks to give
+him, and he's a rich man. Think of it, Mr. Bingham," and the old
+gentleman turned up his eyes piously, "just think what a thing it
+would be for her, and indeed for all of us, if it should please God to
+send a chance like that in her way; she would be rich for life, and
+such a position! But it is possible; one never knows; he might take a
+fancy to her. At any rate, Mr. Bingham, I think you could cheer her up
+a little; there is no need for her to give up hope yet."
+
+Geoffrey burst into a short grim laugh. The idea of Beatrice
+languishing for Owen Davies, indeed the irony of the whole position,
+was too much for his sense of humour.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I daresay that it might be a good match for her, but
+I do not know how she would get on with Mr. Davies."
+
+"Get on! why, well enough, of course. Women are soft, and can squeeze
+into most holes, especially if they are well lined. Besides, he may be
+a bit heavy, but I think she is pining for him, and it's a pity that
+she should waste her life like that. What, are you going to bed? Well,
+good-night--good-night."
+
+Geoffrey did go to bed, but not to sleep. For a long while he lay
+awake, thinking. He thought of the last night which he had spent in
+this little room, of its strange experiences, of all that had happened
+since, and of the meeting of to-day. Could he, after that meeting, any
+longer doubt what were the feelings with which Beatrice regarded him?
+It was difficult to so, and yet there was still room for error. Then
+he thought of what old Edward had said to him, and of what Mr. Granger
+had said with reference to Beatrice and Owen Davies. The views of both
+were crudely and even vulgarly expressed, but they coincided, and,
+what was more, there was truth in them, and he knew it. The idea of
+Beatrice marrying Mr. Davies, to put it mildly, was repulsive to him;
+but had he any claim to stand between her and so desirable a
+settlement in life? Clearly, he had not, his conscience told him so.
+
+Could it be right, moreover, that this kind of tie which existed
+between them should be knitted more closely? What would it mean?
+Trouble, and nothing but trouble, more especially to Beatrice, who
+would fret her days away to no end. He had done wrong in coming here
+at all, he had done wrong in taking her hand. He would make the only
+reparation in his power (as though in such a case as that of Beatrice
+reparation were now possible)! He would efface himself from her life
+and see her no more. Then she might learn to forget him, or, at the
+worst, to remember him with but a vague regret. Yes, cost what it
+might, he would force himself to do it before any actual mischief
+ensued. The only question was, should he not go further? Should he not
+tell her that she would do well to marry Mr. Davies?
+
+Pondering over this most painful question, at last he went to sleep.
+
+When men in Geoffrey's unhappy position turn penitent and see the
+error of their ways, the prudent resolves that ensue are apt to
+overshoot the mark and to partake of an aggressive nature. Not
+satisfied with leaving things alone, they must needs hasten to
+proclaim their new-found virtue to the partner of their fault, and
+advertise their infallible specific (to be taken by the partner) for
+restoring the /status quo ante/. Sometimes as a consequence of this
+pious zeal they find themselves misunderstood, or even succeed in
+precipitating the catastrophe which they laudably desire to prevent.
+
+
+
+The morrow was Whit-Sunday, and a day that Geoffrey had occasion to
+remember for the rest of his life. They all met at breakfast and
+shortly afterwards went to church, the service being at half-past ten.
+By way of putting into effect the good resolutions with which he was
+so busy paving an inferno of his own, Geoffrey did not sit by
+Beatrice, but took a seat at the end of the little church, close to
+the door, and tried to console himself by looking at her.
+
+It was a curious sullen-natured day, and although there was not very
+much sun the air was as hot as though they were in midsummer. Had they
+been in a volcanic region, Geoffrey would have thought that such
+weather preceded a shock of earthquake. As it was he knew that the
+English climate was simply indulging itself at the expense of the
+population. But as up to the present, the season had been cold, this
+knowledge did not console him. Indeed he felt so choked in the stuffy
+little church that just before the sermon (which he happened to be
+aware was /not/ written by Beatrice) he took an opportunity to slip
+out unobserved. Not knowing where to go, he strolled down to the
+beach, on which there was nobody to be seen, for, as has been
+observed, Bryngelly slept on Sundays. Presently, however, a man
+approached walking rapidly, and to all appearance aimlessly, in whom
+he recognised Owen Davies. He was talking to himself while he walked,
+and swinging his arms. Geoffrey stepped aside to let him pass, and as
+he did so was surprised and even shocked to see the change in the man.
+His plump healthy-looking face had grown thin, and wore a half sullen,
+half pitiful expression; there were dark circles round his blue eyes,
+once so placid, and his hair would have been the better for cutting.
+Geoffrey wondered if he had had an illness. At that moment Owen
+chanced to look round and saw him.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Bingham?" he said. "I heard that you were here.
+They told me at the station last night. You see this is a small place
+and one likes to know who comes and goes," he added as though in
+excuse.
+
+He walked on and Geoffrey walked with him.
+
+"You do not look well, Mr. Davies," he said. "Have you been laid up?"
+
+"No, no," he answered, "I am quite right; it is only my mind that is
+ill."
+
+"Indeed," said Geoffrey, thinking that he certainly did look strange.
+"Perhaps you live too much alone and it depresses you."
+
+"Yes, I live alone, because I can't help myself. What is a man to do,
+Mr. Bingham, when the woman he loves will not marry him, won't look at
+him, treats him like dirt?"
+
+"Marry somebody else," suggested Geoffrey.
+
+"Oh, it is easy for you to say that--you have never loved anybody, and
+you don't understand. I cannot marry anybody else, I want her only."
+
+"Her? Whom?"
+
+"Who! why, Beatrice--whom else could a man want to marry, if once he
+had seen her. But she will not have me; she hates me."
+
+"Really," said Geoffrey.
+
+"Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell
+you," and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoarsely in his ear:
+"Because she loves /you/, Mr. Bingham."
+
+"I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies," said Geoffrey shaking his arm
+free, "I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off
+your head."
+
+"Don't be angry with me," he answered. "It is true. I have watched her
+and I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why
+does she always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh,
+Mr. Bingham," Owen went on piteously, "be merciful--you have your wife
+and lots of women to make love to if you wish--leave me Beatrice. If
+you don't I think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her,
+ever since she was a child, and now my love travels faster and grows
+stronger every day, and carries me away with it like a rock rolling
+down a hill. You can only bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her
+everything, as much money as she wants, all that she wants, and I will
+make her a good husband; I will never leave her side."
+
+"I have no doubt that would be delightful for her," answered Geoffrey;
+"but does it not strike you that all this is just a little
+undignified? These remarks, interesting as they are, should be made to
+Miss Granger, not to me, Mr. Davies."
+
+"I know," he said, "but I don't care; it is my only chance, and what
+do I mind about being undignified? Oh, Mr. Bingham, I have never loved
+any other woman, I have been lonely all my days. Do not stand in my
+path now. If you only knew what I have suffered, how I have prayed God
+night after night to give me Beatrice, you would help me. Say that you
+will help me! You are one of those men who can do anything; she will
+listen to you. If you tell her to marry me she will do so, and I shall
+bless you my whole life."
+
+Geoffrey looked upon this abject suppliant with the most unmitigated
+scorn. There is always something contemptible in the sight of one man
+pleading to another for assistance in his love affairs--that is a
+business which he should do for himself. How much greater, then, is
+the humiliation involved when the amorous person asks the aid of one
+whom he believes to be his rival--his successful rival--in the lady's
+affection?
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Davies," Geoffrey said, "I think that I have had
+enough of this. I am not in a position to force Miss Granger to accept
+advances which appear to be unwelcome according to your account. But
+if I get an opportunity I will do this: I will tell her what you say.
+You really must manage the rest for yourself. Good morning to you, Mr.
+Davies."
+
+He turned sharply and went while Owen watched him go.
+
+"I don't believe him," he groaned to himself. "He will try to make her
+his lover. Oh, God help me--I cannot bear to think of it. But if he
+does, and I find him out, let him be careful. I will ruin him, yes, I
+will ruin him! I have the money and I can do it. Ah, he thinks me a
+fool, they all think me a fool, but I haven't been quiet all these
+years for nothing. I can make a noise if necessary. And if he is a
+villain, God will help me to destroy him. I have prayed to God, and
+God will help me."
+
+Then he went back to the Castle. Owen Davies was a type of the class
+of religious men who believe that they can enlist the Almighty on the
+side of their desires, provided only that those desires receive the
+sanction of human law or custom.
+
+
+
+Thus within twenty-four hours Geoffrey received no less than three
+appeals to help the woman whom he loved to the arms of a distasteful
+husband. No wonder then that he grew almost superstitious about the
+matter.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXII
+
+                           A NIGHT OF STORM
+
+That afternoon the whole Vicarage party walked up to the farm to
+inspect another litter of young pigs. It struck Geoffrey, remembering
+former editions, that the reproductive powers of Mr. Granger's old sow
+were something little short of marvellous, and he dreamily worked out
+a calculation of how long it would take her and her progeny to produce
+a pig to every square yard of the area of plucky little Wales. It
+seemed that the thing could be done in six years, which was absurd, so
+he gave up calculating.
+
+He had no words alone with Beatrice that afternoon. Indeed, a certain
+coldness seemed to have sprung up between them. With the almost
+supernatural quickness of a loving woman's intuition, she had divined
+that something was passing in his mind, inimical to her most vital
+interests, so she shunned his company, and received his conventional
+advances with a politeness which was as cold as it was crushing. This
+did not please Geoffrey; it is one thing (in her own interests, of
+course) to make up your mind heroically to abandon a lady whom you do
+not wish to compromise, and quite another to be snubbed by that lady
+before the moment of final separation. Though he never put the idea
+into words or even defined it in his mind--for Geoffrey was far too
+anxious and unhappy to be flippant, at any rate in thought--he would
+at heart have wished her to remain the same, indeed to wax ever
+tenderer, till the fatal time of parting arrived, and even to show
+appreciation of his virtuous conduct.
+
+But to the utter destruction of most such hands as Geoffrey held,
+loving women never will play according to the book. Their conduct
+imperils everything, for it is obvious that it takes two to bring an
+affair of this nature to a dignified conclusion, even when the stakes
+are highest, and the matter is one of life and death. Beatrice after
+all was very much of a woman, and she did not behave much better than
+any other woman would have done. She was angry and suspicious, and she
+showed it, with the result that Geoffrey grew angry also. It was cruel
+of her, he thought, considering all things. He forgot that she could
+know nothing of what was in his mind, however much she might guess;
+also as yet he did not know the boundless depth and might of her
+passion for him, and all that it meant to her. Had he realised this he
+would have acted very differently.
+
+
+
+They came home and took tea, then Mr. Granger and Elizabeth made ready
+to go to evening service. To Geoffrey's dismay Beatrice did the same.
+He had looked forward to a quiet walk with her--really this was not to
+be borne. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, she was ready the
+first, and he got a word with her.
+
+"I did not know that you were going to church," he said; "I thought
+that we might have had a walk together. Very likely I shall have to go
+away early to-morrow morning."
+
+"Indeed," answered Beatrice coldly. "But of course you have your work
+to attend to. I told Elizabeth that I was coming to church, and I must
+go; it is too sultry to walk; there will be a storm soon."
+
+At this moment Elizabeth came in.
+
+"Well, Beatrice," she said, "are you coming to church? Father has gone
+on."
+
+Beatrice pretended not to hear, and reflected a moment. He would go
+away and she would see him no more. Could she let slip this last hour?
+Oh, she could not do it!
+
+In that moment of reflection her fate was sealed.
+
+"No," she answered slowly, "I don't think that I am coming; it is too
+sultry to go to church. I daresay that Mr. Bingham will accompany
+you."
+
+Geoffrey hastily disclaimed any such intention, and Elizabeth started
+alone. "Ah!" she said to herself, "I thought that you would not come,
+my dear."
+
+"Well," said Geoffrey, when she had well gone, "shall we go out?"
+
+"I think it is pleasanter here," answered Beatrice.
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, don't be so unkind," he said feebly.
+
+"As you like," she replied. "There is a fine sunset--but I think that
+we shall have a storm."
+
+They went out, and turned up the lonely beach. The place was utterly
+deserted, and they walked a little way apart, almost without speaking.
+The sunset was magnificent; great flakes of golden cloud were driven
+continually from a home of splendour in the west towards the cold
+lined horizon of the land. The sea was still quiet, but it moaned like
+a thing in pain. The storm was gathering fast.
+
+"What a lovely sunset," said Geoffrey at length.
+
+"It is a fatal sort of loveliness," she answered; "it will be a bad
+night, and a wet morrow. The wind is rising; shall we turn?"
+
+"No, Beatrice, never mind the wind. I want to speak to you, if you
+will allow me to do so."
+
+"Yes," said Beatrice, "what about, Mr. Bingham."
+
+To make good resolutions in a matter of this sort is comparatively
+easy, but the carrying of them out presents some difficulties.
+Geoffrey, conscience-stricken into priggishness, wished to tell her
+that she would do well to marry Owen Davies, and found the matter
+hard. Meanwhile Beatrice preserved silence.
+
+"The fact is," he said at length, "I most sincerely hope you will
+forgive me, but I have been thinking a great deal about you and your
+future welfare."
+
+"That is very kind of you," said Beatrice, with an ominous humility.
+
+This was disconcerting, but Geoffrey was determined, and he went on in
+a somewhat flippant tone born of the most intense nervousness and
+hatred of his task. Never had he loved her so well as now in this
+moment when he was about to counsel her to marry another man. And yet
+he persevered in his folly. For, as so often happens, the shrewd
+insight and knowledge of the world which distinguished Geoffrey as a
+lawyer, when dealing with the affairs of others, quite deserted him in
+this crisis of his own life and that of the woman who worshipped him.
+
+"Since I have been here," he said, "I have had made to me no less than
+three appeals on your behalf and by separate people--by your father,
+who fancies that you are pining for Owen Davies; by Owen Davies, who
+is certainly pining for you; and by old Edward, intervening as a kind
+of domestic /amicus curiæ/."
+
+"Indeed," said Beatrice, in a voice of ice.
+
+"All these three urged the same thing--the desirability of your
+marrying Owen Davies."
+
+Beatrice's face grew quite pale, her lips twitched and her grey eyes
+flashed angrily.
+
+"Really," she said, "and have /you/ any advice to give on the subject,
+Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"Yes, Beatrice, I have. I have thought it over, and I think that--
+forgive me again--that if you can bring yourself to it, perhaps you
+had better marry him. He is not such a bad sort of man, and he is well
+off."
+
+They had been walking rapidly, and now they were reaching the spot
+known as the "Amphitheatre," that same spot where Owen Davies had
+proposed to Beatrice some seven months before.
+
+Beatrice passed round the projecting edge of rock, and walked some way
+towards the flat slab of stone in the centre before she answered.
+While she did so a great and bitter anger filled her heart. She saw,
+or thought she saw, it all. Geoffrey wished to be rid of her. He had
+discerned an element of danger in their intimacy, and was anxious to
+make that intimacy impossible by pushing her into a hateful marriage.
+Suddenly she turned and faced him--turned like a thing at bay. The
+last red rays of the sunset struck upon her lovely face made more
+lovely still by its stamp of haughty anger: they lay upon her heaving
+breast. Full in the eyes she looked him with those wide angry eyes of
+hers--never before had he seen her so imperial a mien. Her dignity and
+the power of her presence literally awed him, for at times Beatrice's
+beauty was of that royal stamp which when it hides a heart, is a
+compelling force, conquering and born to conquer.
+
+"Does it not strike you, Mr. Bingham," she said quietly, "that you are
+taking a very great liberty? Does it not strike you that no man who is
+not a relation has any right to speak to a woman as you have spoken to
+me?--that, in short, you have been guilty of what in most people would
+be an impertinence? What right have you to dictate to me as to whom I
+should or should not marry? Surely of all things in the world that is
+my own affair."
+
+Geoffrey coloured to the eyes. As would have been the case with most
+men of his class, he felt her accusation of having taken a liberty, of
+having presumed upon an intimacy, more keenly than any which she could
+have brought against him.
+
+"Forgive me," he said humbly. "I can only assure you that I had no
+such intention. I only spoke--ill-judgedly, I fear--because--because I
+felt driven to it."
+
+Beatrice took no notice of his words, but went on in the same cold
+voice.
+
+"What right have you to speak of my affairs with Mr. Davies, with an
+old boatman, or even with my father? Had I wished you to do so I
+should have asked you. By what authority do you constitute yourself an
+intermediary for the purpose of bringing about a marriage which you
+are so good as to consider would be to my pecuniary interest? Do you
+not know that such a matter is one which the woman concerned, the
+woman whose happiness and self-respect are at stake, alone can judge
+of? I have nothing more to say except this. I said just now that you
+had been guilty of what would in most people be an impertinence. Well,
+I will add something. In this case, Mr. Bingham, there are
+circumstances which make it--a cruel insult!"
+
+She stopped speaking, then suddenly, without the slightest warning,
+burst into passionate weeping. As she did so, the first rush of the
+storm passed over them, winnowing the air as with a thousand eagles'
+wings, and was lost on the moaning depths beyond.
+
+The light went out of the sky. Now Geoffrey could only see the faint
+outlines of her weeping face. One moment he hesitated and one only;
+then Nature prevailed against him, for the next she was in his arms.
+
+Beatrice scarcely resisted him. Her energies seemed to fail her, or
+perhaps she had spent them in her bitter words. Her head fell upon his
+shoulder, and there she sobbed her fill. Presently she lifted it and
+their lips met in a first long kiss. It was finished; this was the end
+of it--and thus did Geoffrey prosper Owen Davies's suit.
+
+"Oh, you are cruel, cruel!" he whispered in her ear. "You must have
+known I loved you, Beatrice, that I spoke against myself because I
+thought it to be my duty. You must have known that, to my sin and
+sorrow, I have always loved you, that you have never been an hour from
+my mind, that I have longed to see your face like a sick man for the
+light. Tell me, did you not know it, Beatrice?"
+
+"How should I know?" she answered very softly; "I could only guess,
+and if indeed you love me how could you wish me to marry another man?
+I thought that you had learned my weakness and took this way to
+reproach me. Oh, Geoffrey, what have we done? What is there between
+you and me--except our love?"
+
+"It would have been better if we had been drowned together at the
+first," he said heavily.
+
+"No, no," she answered, "for then we never should have loved one
+another. Better first to love, and then to die!"
+
+"Do not speak so," he said; "let us sit here and be happy for a little
+while to-night, and leave trouble till to-morrow."
+
+And, where on a bygone day Beatrice had tarried with another wooer,
+side by side they sat upon the great stone and talked such talk as
+lovers use.
+
+Above them moaned the rising gale, though sheltered as they were by
+cliffs its breath scarcely stirred their hair. In front of them the
+long waves boomed upon the beach, while far out to sea the crescent
+moon, draped in angry light, seemed to ride the waters like a boat.
+
+
+
+And were they alone with their great bliss, or did they only dream?
+Nay, they were alone with love and lovers' joys, and all the truth was
+told, and all their doubts were done. Now there was an end of hopes
+and fears; now reason fell and Love usurped his throne, and at that
+royal coming Heaven threw wide her gates. Oh, Sweetest and most dear!
+Oh, Dearest and most sweet! Oh, to have lived to find this happy hour
+--oh, in this hour to die!
+
+See heaviness is behind us, see now we are one. Blow, you winds, blow
+out your stormy heart; we know the secret of your strength, you rush
+to your desire. Fall, deep waters of the sea, fall in thunder at the
+feet of earth; we hear the music of your pleading.
+
+Earth, and Seas, and Winds, sing your great chant of love! Heaven and
+Space and Time, echo back the melody! For Life has called to us the
+answer of his riddle! Heart to heart we sit, and lips to lips, and we
+are more wise than Solomon, and richer than barbarian kings, for
+Happiness is ours.
+
+To this end were we born, Dearest and most sweet, and from all time
+predestinate! To this end, Sweetest and most dear, do we live and die,
+in death to find completer unity. For here is that secret of the world
+which wise men search and cannot find, and here too is the gate of
+Heaven.
+
+Look into my eyes, and let me gaze on yours, and listen how these
+things shall be. The world is but a mockery, and a shadow is our
+flesh, for where once they were there shall be naught. Only Love is
+real; Love shall endure till all the suns are dead, and yet be young.
+
+Kiss me, thou Conqueror, for Destiny is overcome, Sorrow is gone by;
+and the flame that we have hallowed upon this earthly altar shall
+still burn brightly, and yet more bright, when yonder stars have lost
+their fire.
+
+But alas! words cannot give a fitting form to such a song as this. Let
+music try! But music also folds her wings. For in so supreme an hour
+
+ "A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,"
+
+and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be
+written.
+
+
+
+They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the
+frenzy of a passion gross in its very essence. Let those think it who
+will, but to dreamers let them leave their dreams. Why then, at such a
+time, do visions come to children of the world like Beatrice and
+Geoffrey? Why do their doubts vanish, and what is that breath from
+heaven which they seem to feel upon their brow? The intoxication of
+earthly love born of the meeting of youth and beauty. So be it! Slave,
+bring more such wine and let us drink--to Immortality and to those
+dear eyes that mirror forth a spirit's face!
+
+Such loves indeed are few. For they must be real and deep, and natures
+thus shaped are rare, nor do they often cross each other's line of
+life. Yes, there are few who can be borne so high, and none can
+breathe that ether long. Soon the wings which Love lent them in his
+hour of revelation will shrink and vanish, and the borrowers will fall
+back to the level of this world, happy if they escape uncrushed.
+Perchance even in their life-days, they may find these spirit wings
+again, overshadowing the altar of their vows in the hour of earthly
+marriage, if by some happy fate, marriage should be within their
+reach, or like the holy pinions of the goddess Nout, folded about a
+coffin, in the time of earthly death. But scant are the occasions, and
+few there are who know them.
+
+
+
+Thus soared Beatrice and Geoffrey while the wild night beat around
+them, making a fit accompaniment to their stormy loves. And thus they
+too fell from heaven to earth.
+
+"We must be going, Geoffrey; it grows late," said Beatrice. "Oh,
+Geoffrey, Geoffrey, what have we done? What can be the end of all
+this? It will bring trouble on you, I know that it must. The old
+saying will come true. I saved your life, and I shall bring ruin on
+you!"
+
+It is characteristic of Beatrice that already she was thinking of the
+consequences to Geoffrey, not of those to herself.
+
+"Beatrice," said Geoffrey, "we are in a desperate position. Do you
+wish to face it and come away with me, far away to the other side of
+the world?"
+
+"No, no," she answered vehemently, "it would be your ruin to abandon
+the career that is before you. What part of the world could you go to
+where you would not be known? Besides there is your wife to think of.
+Ah, God, your wife--what would she say of me? You belong to her, you
+have no right to desert her. And there is Effie too. No, Geoffrey, no,
+I have been wicked enough to learn to love you--oh, as you were never
+loved before, if it is wicked to do what one cannot help--but I am not
+bad enough for this. Walk quicker, Geoffrey; we shall be late, and
+they will suspect something."
+
+Poor Beatrice, the pangs of conscience were finding her out!
+
+"We are in a dreadful position," he said again. "Oh, dearest, I have
+been to blame. I should never have come back here. It is my fault; and
+though I never thought of this, I did my best to please you."
+
+"And I thank you for it," she answered. "Do not deceive yourself,
+Geoffrey. Whatever happens, promise me never for one moment to believe
+that I reproached or blamed you. Why should I blame you because you
+won my heart? Let me sooner blame the sea on which we floated, the
+beach where we walked, the house in which we lived, and the Destiny
+that brought us together. I am proud and glad to love you, dear, but I
+am not so selfish as to wish to ruin you: Geoffrey--I had rather die."
+
+"Don't talk so," he said, "I cannot bear it. What are we to do? Am I
+to go away and see you no more? How can we live so, Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, Geoffrey," she answered heavily, taking him by the hand and
+gazing up into his face, "you are to go away and see me no more, not
+for years and years. This is what we have brought upon ourselves, it
+is the price that we must pay for this hour which has gone. You are to
+go away to-morrow, that we may be put out of temptation, and you must
+come back no more. Sometimes I shall write to you, and sometimes
+perhaps you will write to me, till the thing becomes a burden, then
+you can stop. And whether you forget me or not--and, Geoffrey, I do
+not think you will--you will know that I shall never forget you, whom
+I saved from the sea--to love me."
+
+There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words,
+instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey bent
+at heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle,
+gathering snow. What was he to do, how could he leave her? And yet she
+was right. He must go, and go quickly, lest his strength might fail
+him, and hand in hand they should pass a bourne from which there is no
+return.
+
+"Heaven help us, Beatrice," he said. "I will go to-morrow morning and,
+if I can, I will keep away."
+
+"You /must/ keep away. I will not see you any more. I will not bring
+trouble on you, Geoffrey."
+
+"You talk of bringing trouble on me," he said; "you say nothing of
+yourself, and yet a man, even a man with eyes on him like myself, is
+better fitted to weather such a storm. If it ruined me, how much more
+would it ruin you?"
+
+They were at the gate of the Vicarage now, and the wind rushed so
+strongly through the firs that she needed to put her lips quite close
+to his ear to make her words heard.
+
+"Stop, one minute," she said, "perhaps you do not quite understand.
+When a woman does what I have done, it is because she loves with all
+her life and heart and soul, because all these are a part of her love.
+For myself, I no longer care anything--I have /no/ self away from you;
+I have ceased to be of myself or in my own keeping. I am of you and in
+yours. For myself and my own fate or name I think no more; with my
+eyes open and of my own free will I have given everything to you, and
+am glad and happy to give it. But for you I still do care, and if I
+took any step, or allowed you to take any that could bring sorrow on
+you, I should never forgive myself. That is why we must part,
+Geoffrey. And now let us go in; there is nothing more to say, except
+this: if you wish to bid me good-bye, a last good-bye, dear Geoffrey,
+I will meet you to-morrow morning on the beach."
+
+"I shall leave at half-past eight," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Then we will meet at seven," Beatrice said, and led the way into the
+house.
+
+Elizabeth and Mr. Granger were already seated at supper. They supped
+at nine on Sunday nights; it was just half-past.
+
+"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "we began to think that you two
+must have been out canoeing and got yourselves drowned in good earnest
+this time. What have you been doing?"
+
+"We have had a long walk," answered Geoffrey; "I did not know that it
+was so late."
+
+"One wants to be pleased with one's company to walk far on such a
+night as this," put in Elizabeth maliciously.
+
+"And so we were--at least I was," Geoffrey answered with perfect
+truth, "and the night is not so bad as you might think, at least under
+the lee of the cliffs. It will be worse by and by!"
+
+Then they sat down and made a desperate show of eating supper.
+Elizabeth, the keen-eyed, noticed that Geoffrey's hand was shaking.
+Now what, she wondered, would make the hand of a strong man shake like
+a leaf? Deep emotion might do it, and Elizabeth thought that she
+detected other signs of emotion in them both, besides that of
+Geoffrey's shaking hand. The plot was working well, but could it be
+brought to a climax? Oh, if he would only throw prudence to the winds
+and run away with Beatrice, so that she might be rid of her, and free
+to fight for her own hand.
+
+Shortly after supper both Elizabeth and Beatrice went to bed, leaving
+their father with Geoffrey.
+
+"Well," said Mr. Granger, "did you get a word with Beatrice? It was
+very kind of you to go that long tramp on purpose. Gracious, how it
+blows! we shall have the house down presently. Lightning, too, I
+declare."
+
+"Yes," answered Geoffrey, "I did."
+
+"Ah, I hope you told her that there was no need for her to give up
+hope of him yet, of Mr. Davies, I mean?"
+
+"Yes, I told her that--that is if the greater includes the less," he
+added to himself.
+
+"And how did she take it?"
+
+"Very badly," said Geoffrey; "she seemed to think that I had no right
+to interfere."
+
+"Indeed, that is strange. But it doesn't mean anything. She's grateful
+enough to you at heart, depend upon it she is, only she did not like
+to say so. Dear me, how it blows; we shall have a night of it, a
+regular gale, I declare. So you are going away to-morrow morning.
+Well, the best of friends must part. I hope that you will often come
+and see us. Good-bye."
+
+Once more a sense of the irony of the position overcame Geoffrey, and
+he smiled grimly as he lit his candle and went to bed. At the back of
+the house was a long passage, which terminated at one end in the room
+where he slept, and at the other in that occupied by Elizabeth and
+Beatrice. This passage was lit by two windows, and built out of it
+were two more rooms--that of Mr. Granger, and another which had been
+Effie's. The windows of the passage, like most of the others in the
+Vicarage, were innocent of shutters, and Geoffrey stood for a moment
+at one of them, watching the lightning illumine the broad breast of
+the mountain behind. Then looking towards the door of Beatrice's room,
+he gazed at it with the peculiar reverence that sometimes afflicts
+people who are very much in love, and, with a sigh, turned and sought
+his own.
+
+He could not sleep, it was impossible. For nearly two hours he lay
+turning from side to side, and thinking till his brain seemed like to
+burst. To-morrow he must leave her, leave her for ever, and go back to
+his coarse unprofitable struggle with the world, where there would be
+no Beatrice to make him happy through it all. And she, what of her?
+
+The storm had lulled a little, now it came back in strength, heralded
+by the lightning. He rose, threw on a dressing-gown, and sat by a
+window watching it. Its tumult and fury seemed to ease his heart of
+some little of its pain; in that dark hour a quiet night would have
+maddened him.
+
+In eight hours--eight short hours--this matter would be ended so far
+as concerned their actual intercourse. It would be a secret locked for
+ever in their two breasts, a secret eating at their hearts, cruel as
+the worm that dieth not. Geoffrey looked up and threw out his heart's
+thought towards his sleeping love. Then once more, as in a bygone
+night, there broke upon his brain and being that mysterious spiritual
+sense. Stronger and more strong it grew, beating on him in heavy
+unnatural waves, till his reason seemed to reel and sink, and he
+remembered naught but Beatrice, knew naught save that her very life
+was with him now.
+
+He stretched out his arms towards the place where she should be.
+
+"Beatrice," he whispered to the empty air, "Beatrice! Oh, my love! my
+sweet! my soul! Hear me, Beatrice!"
+
+There came a pause, and ever the unearthly sympathy grew and gathered
+in his heart, till it seemed to him as though separation had lost its
+power and across dividing space they were mingled in one being.
+
+A great gust shook the house and passed away along the roaring depths.
+
+Oh! what was this? Silently the door opened, and a white draped form
+passed its threshold. He rose, gasping; a terrible fear, a terrible
+joy, took possession of him. The lightning flared out wildly in the
+eastern sky. There in the fierce light she stood before him--she,
+Beatrice, a sight of beauty and of dread. She stood with white arms
+outstretched, with white uncovered feet, her bosom heaving softly
+beneath her night-dress, her streaming hair unbound, her lips apart,
+her face upturned, and a stamp of terrifying calm.
+
+ "In the wide, blind eyes uplift
+  Thro' the darkness and the drift."
+
+Great Heaven, she was asleep!
+
+Hush! she spoke.
+
+"You called me, Geoffrey," she said, in a still, unnatural voice. "You
+called me, my beloved, and I--have--come."
+
+He rose aghast, trembling like an aspen with doubt and fear, trembling
+at the sight of the conquering glory of the woman whom he worshipped.
+
+See! She drew on towards him, and she was /asleep/. Oh, what could he
+do?
+
+Suddenly the draught of the great gale rushing through the house
+caught the opened door and crashed it to.
+
+She awoke with a wild stare of terror.
+
+"Oh, God, where am I?" she cried.
+
+"Hush, for your life's sake!" he answered, his faculties returning.
+"Hush! or you are lost."
+
+But there was no need to caution here to silence, for Beatrice's
+senses failed her at the shock, and she sank swooning in his arms.
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXIII
+
+                            A DAWN OF RAIN
+
+That crash of the closing door did not awake Beatrice only; it awoke
+both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Elizabeth sat up in bed straining her
+eyes through the gloom to see what had happened. They fell on
+Beatrice's bed--surely--surely----
+
+Elizabeth slipped up, cat-like she crept across the room and felt with
+her hand at the bed. Beatrice was not there. She sprang to the blind
+and drew it, letting in such light as there was, and by it searched
+the room. She spoke: "Beatrice, where are you?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"Ah--h," said Elizabeth aloud; "I understand. At last--at last!"
+
+What should see do? Should she go and call her father and put them to
+an open shame? No. Beatrice must come back some time. The knowledge
+was enough; she wanted the knowledge to use if necessary. She did not
+wish to ruin her sister unless in self-defence, or rather, for the
+cause of self-advancement. Still less did she wish to injure Geoffrey,
+against whom she had no grudge. So she peeped along the passage, then
+returning, crept back to her bed like a snake into a hole and watched.
+
+Mr. Granger, hearing the crash, thought that the front door had blown
+open. Rising, he lit a candle and went to see.
+
+But of all this Geoffrey knew nothing, and Beatrice naturally less
+than nothing.
+
+She lay senseless in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder, her
+heavy hair streamed down his side almost to his knee. He lifted her,
+touched her on the forehead with his lips and laid her on the bed.
+What was to be done? Bring her back to life? No, he dared not--not
+here. While she lay thus her helplessness protected her; but if once
+more she was a living, loving woman here and so--oh, how should they
+escape? He dared not touch her or look towards her--till he had made
+up his mind. It was soon done. Here she must not bide, and since of
+herself she could not go, why he must take her now, this moment!
+However far Geoffrey fell short of virtue's stricter standard, let
+this always be remembered in his favour.
+
+He opened the door, and as he did so, thought that he heard some one
+stirring in the house. And so he did; it was Mr. Granger in the
+sitting-room. Hearing no more, Geoffrey concluded that it was the
+wind, and turning, groped his way to the bed where Beatrice lay as
+still as death. For one moment a horrible fear struck him that she
+might be dead. He had heard of cases of somnambulists who, on being
+startled from their unnatural sleep, only woke to die. It might be so
+with her. Hurriedly he placed his hand upon her breast. Yes, her heart
+stirred--faintly indeed, but still it stirred. She had only swooned.
+Then he set his teeth, and placing his arms about her, lifted her as
+though she were a babe. Beatrice was no slip of a girl, but a well-
+grown woman of full size. He never felt her weight; it seemed nothing
+to him. Stealthily as one bent on midnight murder, he stepped with her
+to the door and through it into the passage. Then supporting her with
+one arm, he closed the door with his left hand. Stealthily in the
+gloom he passed along the corridor, his bare feet making no noise upon
+the boarded floor, till he reached the bisecting passage leading from
+the sitting-rooms.
+
+He glanced up it apprehensively, and what he saw froze the blood in
+his veins, for there coming down it, not eight paces from him, was Mr.
+Granger, holding a candle in his hand. What could be done? To get back
+to his room was impossible--to reach that of Beatrice was also
+impossible. With an effort he collected his thoughts, and like a flash
+of light it passed into his mind that the empty room was not two paces
+from him. A stride and he had reached it. Oh, where was the handle?
+and oh, if the room should be locked! By a merciful chance it was not.
+He stepped through the door, knocking Beatrice's feet against the
+framework as he did so, closed it--to shut it he had no time--and
+stood gasping behind it.
+
+The gleam of light drew nearer. Merciful powers! he had been seen--the
+old man was coming in. What could he say? Tell the truth, that was
+all; but who would believe such a story? why, it was one that he
+should scarcely care to advance in a court of law. Could he expect a
+father to believe it--a father finding a man crouched like a thief
+behind a door at the dead of night with his lovely daughter senseless
+in his arms? He had already thought of going straight to Mr. Granger,
+but had abandoned the idea as hopeless. Who would believe this tale of
+sleep-walking? For the first time in his life Geoffrey felt terribly
+afraid, both for Beatrice and himself; the hair rose on his head, his
+heart stood still, and a cold perspiration started on to his face.
+
+"It's very odd," he heard the old man mutter to himself; "I could
+almost swear that I saw something white go into that room. Where's the
+handle? If I believed in ghosts--hullo! my candle has blown out! I
+must go and hunt for a match. Don't quite like going in there without
+a light."
+
+For the moment they were saved. The fierce draught rushing through the
+open crack of the door from the ill-fitting window had extinguished
+the candle.
+
+Geoffrey waited a few seconds to allow Mr. Granger to reach his room,
+and then once more started on his awful journey. He passed out of the
+room in safety; happily Beatrice showed no signs of recovery. A few
+quick steps and he was at her own door. And now a new terror seized
+him. What if Elizabeth was also walking the house or even awake? He
+thought of putting Beatrice down at the door and leaving her there,
+but abandoned the idea. To begin with, her father might see her, and
+then how could her presence be accounted for? or if he did not, she
+would certainly suffer ill effects from the cold. No, he must risk it,
+and at once, though he would rather have faced a battery of guns. The
+door fortunately was ajar. Geoffrey opened it with his foot, entered,
+and with his foot pushed it to again. Suddenly he remembered that he
+had never been in the room, and did not know which bed belonged to
+Beatrice. He walked to the nearest; a deep-drawn breath told him that
+it was the wrong one. Drawing some faint consolation from the fact
+that Elizabeth was evidently asleep, he groped his way to the second
+bed through the deep twilight of the room. The clothes were thrown
+back. He laid Beatrice down and threw them over her. Then he fled.
+
+As he reached the door he saw Mr. Granger's light disappear into his
+own room and heard his door close. After that it seemed to him that he
+took but two steps and was in his own place.
+
+He burst out laughing; there was as much hysteria in the laugh as a
+man gives way to. His nerves were shattered by struggle, love and
+fear, and sought relief in ghastly merriment. Somehow the whole scene
+reminded him of one in a comic opera. There was a ludicrous side to
+it. Supposing that the political opponents, who already hated him so
+bitterly, could have seen him slinking from door to door at midnight
+with an unconscious lady in his arms--what would they have said?
+
+He ceased laughing; the fit passed--indeed it was no laughing matter.
+Then he thought of the first night of their strange communion, that
+night before he had returned to London. The seed sown in that hour had
+blossomed and borne fruit indeed. Who would have dreamed it possible
+that he should thus have drawn Beatrice to him? Well, he ought to have
+known. If it was possible that the words which floated through her
+mind could arise in his as they had done upon that night, what was not
+possible? And were there not other words, written by the same master-
+hand, which told of such things as these:
+
+"'Now--now,' the door is heard;
+  Hark, the stairs! and near--
+  Nearer--and here--
+ 'Now'! and at call the third,
+  She enters without a word.
+
+  Like the doors of a casket shrine,
+  See on either side,
+  Her two arms divide
+  Till the heart betwixt makes sign,
+ 'Take me, for I am thine.'
+
+  First, I will pray. Do Thou
+  That ownest the soul,
+  Yet wilt grant control
+  To another, nor disallow
+  For a time, restrain me now!"
+
+Did they not run thus? Oh, he should have known! This he could plead,
+and this only--that control had been granted to him.
+
+But how would Beatrice fare? Would she come to herself safely? He
+thought so, it was only a fainting fit. But when she did recover, what
+would she do? Nothing rash, he prayed. And what could be the end of it
+all? Who might say? How fortunate that the sister had been so sound
+asleep. Somehow he did not trust Elizabeth--he feared her.
+
+Well might Geoffrey fear her! Elizabeth's sleep was that of a weasel.
+She too was laughing at this very moment, laughing, not loud but long
+--the laugh of one who wins.
+
+She had seen him enter, his burden in his arms; saw him come with it
+to her own bedside, and had breathed heavily to warn him of his
+mistake. She had watched him put Beatrice on her bed, and heard him
+sigh and turn away; nothing had escaped her. As soon as he was gone,
+she had risen and crept up to Beatrice, and finding that she was only
+in a faint had left her to recover, knowing her to be in no danger.
+Elizabeth was not a nervous person. Then she had listened till at
+length a deep sigh told her of the return of her sister's
+consciousness. After this there was a pause, till presently Beatrice's
+long soft breaths showed that she had glided from swoon to sleep.
+
+The slow night wore away, and at length the cold dawn crept through
+the window. Elizabeth still watching, for she was not willing to lose
+a single scene of a drama so entrancing in itself and so important to
+her interests, saw her sister suddenly sit up in bed and press her
+hands to her forehead, as though she was striving to recall a dream.
+Then Beatrice covered her eyes with her hands and groaned heavily.
+Next she looked at her watch, rose, drank a glass of water, and
+dressed herself, even to the putting on of an old grey waterproof with
+a hood to it, for it was wet outside.
+
+"She is going to meet her lover," thought Elizabeth. "I wish I could
+be there to see that too, but I have seen enough."
+
+She yawned and appeared to wake. "What, Beatrice, going out already in
+this pouring rain?" she said, with feigned astonishment.
+
+"Yes, I have slept badly and I want to get some air," answered
+Beatrice, starting and colouring; "I suppose that it was the storm."
+
+"Has there been a storm?" said Elizabeth, yawning again. "I heard
+nothing of it--but then so many things happen when one is asleep of
+which one knows nothing at the time," she added sleepily, like one
+speaking at random. "Mind that you are back to say good-bye to Mr.
+Bingham; he goes by the early train, you know--but perhaps you will
+see him out walking," and appearing to wake up thoroughly, she raised
+herself in bed and gave her sister one piercing look.
+
+Beatrice made no answer; that look sent a thrill of fear through her.
+Oh; what had happened! Or was it all a dream? Had she dreamed that she
+stood face to face with Geoffrey in his room before a great darkness
+struck her and overwhelmed her? Or was it an awful truth, and if a
+truth, how came she here again? She went to the pantry, found a morsel
+of bread and ate it, for faintness still pursued her. Then feeling
+better, she left the house and set her face towards the beach.
+
+
+
+It was a dreary morning. The great wind had passed; now it only blew
+in little gusts heavy with driving rain. The sea was sullen and grey
+and grand. It beat in thunder on the shore and flew over the sunken
+rocks in columns of leaden spray. The whole earth seemed one
+desolation, and all its grief was centred in this woman's broken
+heart.
+
+Geoffrey, too, was up. How he had passed the remainder of that tragic
+night we need not inquire--not too happily we may be sure. He heard
+the front door close behind Beatrice, and followed out into the rain.
+
+On the beach, some half of a mile away, he found her gazing at the
+sea, a great white gull wheeling about her head. No word of greeting
+passed between them; they only grasped each other's hands and looked
+into each other's hollow eyes.
+
+"Come under the shelter of the cliff," he said, and she came. She
+stood beneath the cliff, her head bowed low, her face hidden by the
+hood, and spoke.
+
+"Tell me what has happened," she said; "I have dreamed something, a
+worse dream than any that have gone before--tell me if it is true. Do
+not spare me."
+
+And Geoffrey told her all.
+
+When he had finished she spoke again.
+
+"By what shall I swear," she said, "that I am not the thing which you
+must think me? Geoffrey, I swear by my love for you that I am
+innocent. If I came--oh, the shame of it! if I came--to your room last
+night, it was my feet which led me, not my mind that led my feet. I
+went to sleep, I was worn out, and then I knew no more till I heard a
+dreadful sound, and saw you before me in a blaze of light, after which
+there was darkness."
+
+"Oh, Beatrice, do not be distressed," he answered. "I saw that you
+were asleep. It is a dreadful thing which has happened, but I do not
+think that we were seen."
+
+"I do not know," she said. "Elizabeth looked at me very strangely this
+morning, and she sees everything. Geoffrey, for my part, I neither
+know nor care. What I do care for is, what must /you/ think of me? You
+must believe, oh!--I cannot say it. And yet I am innocent. Never,
+never did I dream of this. To come to you--thus--oh, it is shameless!"
+
+"Beatrice, do not talk so. I tell you I know it. Listen--I drew you. I
+did not mean that you should come. I did not think that you would
+come, but it was my doing. Listen to me, dear," and he told her that
+which written words can ill express.
+
+When he had finished, she looked up, with another face; the deep
+shadow of her shame had left her. "I believe you, Geoffrey," she said,
+"because I know that you have not invented this to shield me, for I
+have felt it also. See by it what you are to me. You are my master and
+my all. I cannot withstand you if I would. I have little will apart
+from yours if you choose to gainsay mine. And now promise me this upon
+your word. Leave me uninfluenced; do not draw me to you to be your
+ruin. I make no pretence, I have laid my life at your feet, but while
+I have any strength to struggle against it, you shall never take it up
+unless you can do so to your own honour, and that is not possible. Oh,
+my dear, we might have been very happy together, happier than men and
+women often are, but it is denied to us. We must carry our cross, we
+must crucify the flesh upon it; perhaps so--who can say?--we may
+glorify the spirit. I owe you a great deal. I have learnt much from
+you, Geoffrey. I have learned to hope again for a Hereafter. Nothing
+is left to me now--but that--that and an hour hence--your memory.
+
+"Oh, why should I weep? It is ungrateful, when I have your love, for
+which this misery is but a little price to pay. Kiss me, dear, and go
+--and never see me more. You will not forget me, I know now that you
+will /never/ forget me all your life. Afterwards--perhaps--who can
+tell? If not, why then--it will indeed be best--to die."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is not well to linger over such a scene as this. After all, too, it
+is nothing. Only another broken heart or so. The world breaks so many
+this way and the other that it can have little pleasure in gloating
+over such stale scenes of agony.
+
+Besides we must not let our sympathies carry us away. Geoffrey and
+Beatrice deserved all they got; they had no business to put themselves
+into such a position. They had defied the customs of their world, and
+the world avenged itself upon them and their petty passions. What
+happens to the worm that tries to burrow on the highways? Grinding
+wheels and crushing feet; these are its portion. Beatrice and Geoffrey
+point a moral and adorn a tale. So far as we can see and judge there
+was no need for them to have plunged into that ever-running river of
+human pain. Let them struggle and drown, and let those who are on the
+bank learn wisdom from the sight, and hold out no hand to help them.
+
+Geoffrey drew a ring from his finger and gave it to his love. It was a
+common flat-sided silver ring that had been taken from the grave of a
+Roman soldier: one peculiarity it had, however; on its inner surface
+were roughly cut the words, "ave atque vale." Greeting and farewell!
+It was a fitting gift to pass between people in their position.
+Beatrice, trembling sorely, whispered that she would wear it on her
+heart, upon her hand she could not put it yet awhile--it might be
+recognised.
+
+Then thrice did they embrace there upon the desolate shore, once, as
+it were, for past joy, once for present pain, and once for future
+hope, and parted. There was no talk of after meetings--they felt them
+to be impossible, at any rate for many years. How could they meet as
+indifferent friends? Too much they loved for that. It was a final
+parting, than which death had been less dreadful--for Hope sits ever
+by the bed of death--and misery crushed them to the earth.
+
+
+
+He left her, and happiness went out of his life as at nightfall the
+daylight goes out of the day. Well, at least he had his work to go to.
+But Beatrice, poor woman, what had she?
+
+Geoffrey left her. When he had gone some thirty paces he turned again
+and gazed his last upon her. There she stood or rather leant, her hand
+resting against the wet rock, looking after him with her wide grey
+eyes. Even through the drizzling rain he could see the gleam of her
+rich hair, the marking of her lovely face, and the carmine of her
+lips. She motioned to him to go on. He went, and when he had traversed
+a hundred paces looked round once more. She was still there, but now
+her face was a blur, and again the great white gull hovered about her
+head.
+
+Then the mist swept up and hid her.
+
+
+
+Ah, Beatrice, with all your brains you could never learn those simple
+principles necessary to the happiness of woman; principles inherited
+through a thousand generations of savage and semi-civilized
+ancestresses. To accept the situation and the master that situation
+brings with it--this is the golden rule of well-being. Not to put out
+the hand of your affection further than you can draw it back, this is
+another, at least not until you are quite sure that its object is well
+within your grasp. If by misfortune, or the anger of the Fates, you
+are endowed with those deeper qualities, those extreme capacities of
+self-sacrificing affection, such as ruined your happiness, Beatrice,
+keep them in stock; do not expose them to the world. The world does
+not believe in them; they are inconvenient and undesirable; they are
+even immoral. What the world wants, and very rightly, in a person of
+your attractiveness is quiet domesticity of character, not the
+exhibition of attributes which though they might qualify you for the
+rank of heroine in a Greek drama, are nowadays only likely to qualify
+you for the reprobation of society.
+
+What? you would rather keep your love, your reprehensible love which
+never can be satisfied, and bear its slings and arrows, and die
+hugging a shadow to your heart, straining your eyes into the darkness
+of that beyond whither you shall go--murmuring with your pale lips
+that /there/ you will find reason and fulfilment? Why it is folly.
+What ground have you to suppose that you will find anything of the
+sort? Go and take the opinion of some scientific person of eminence
+upon this infatuation of yours and those vague visions of glory that
+shall be. He will explain it clearly enough, will show you that your
+love itself is nothing but a natural passion, acting, in your case, on
+a singularly sensitive and etherealised organism. Be frank with him,
+tell him of your secret hopes. He will smile tenderly, and show you
+how those also are an emanation from a craving heart, and the innate
+superstitions of mankind. Indeed he will laugh and illustrate the
+absurdity of the whole thing by a few pungent examples of what would
+happen if these earthly affections could be carried beyond the grave.
+Take what you can /now/ will be the burden of his song, and for
+goodness' sake do not waste your precious hours in dreams of a To Be.
+
+Beatrice, the world does not want your spirituality. It is not a
+spiritual world; it has no clear ideas upon the subject--it pays its
+religious premium and works off its aspirations at its weekly church
+going, and would think the person a fool who attempted to carry
+theories of celestial union into an earthly rule of life. It can
+sympathise with Lady Honoria; it can hardly sympathise with /you/.
+
+And yet you will still choose this better part: you will still "live
+and love, and lose."
+
+ "With blinding tears and passionate beseeching,
+  And outstretched arms through empty silence reaching."
+
+Then, Beatrice, have your will, sow your seed of tears, and take your
+chance. You may find that you were right and the worldlings wrong, and
+you may reap a harvest beyond the grasp of their poor imaginations.
+And if you find that they are right and /you/ are wrong, what will it
+matter to you who sleep? For of this at least you are sure. If there
+is no future for such earthly love as yours, then indeed there is none
+for the children of this world and all their troubling.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIV
+
+                     LADY HONORIA TAKES THE FIELD
+
+Geoffrey hurried to the Vicarage to fetch his baggage and say good-
+bye. He had no time for breakfast, and he was glad of it, for he could
+not have eaten a morsel to save his life. He found Elizabeth and her
+father in the sitting-room.
+
+"Why, where have you been this wet morning, Mr. Bingham?" said Mr.
+Granger.
+
+"I have been for a walk with Miss Beatrice; she is coming home by the
+village," he answered. "I don't mind rain, and I wanted to get as much
+fresh air as I could before I go back to the mill. Thank you--only a
+cup of tea--I will get something to eat as I go."
+
+"How kind of him," reflected Mr. Granger; "no doubt he has been
+speaking to Beatrice again about Owen Davies."
+
+"Oh, by the way," he added aloud, "did you happen to hear anybody
+moving in the house last night, Mr. Bingham, just when the storm was
+at its height? First of all a door slammed so violently that I got up
+to see what it was, and as I came down the passage I could almost have
+sworn that I saw something white go into the spare room. But my candle
+went out and by the time that I had found a light there was nothing to
+be seen."
+
+"A clear case of ghosts," said Geoffrey indifferently. It was indeed a
+"case of ghosts," and they would, he reflected, haunt him for many a
+day.
+
+"How very odd," put in Elizabeth vivaciously, her keen eyes fixed
+intently on his face. "Do you know I thought that I twice saw the door
+of our room open and shut in the most mysterious fashion. I think that
+Beatrice must have something to do with it; she is so uncanny in her
+ways."
+
+Geoffrey never moved a muscle, he was trained to keep his countenance.
+Only he wondered how much this woman knew. She must be silenced
+somehow.
+
+"Excuse me for changing the subject," he said, "but my time is short,
+and I have none to spare to hunt the 'Vicarage Ghost.' By the way,
+there's a good title for somebody. Mr. Granger, I believe that I may
+speak of business matters before Miss Elizabeth?"
+
+"Certainly, Mr. Bingham," said the clergyman; "Elizabeth is my right
+hand, and has the best business head in Bryngelly."
+
+Geoffrey thought that this was very evident, and went on. "I only want
+to say this. If you get into any further difficulties with your
+rascally tithe-payers, mind and let me know. I shall always be glad to
+help you while I can. And now I must be going."
+
+He spoke thus for two reasons. First, naturally enough, he meant to
+make it his business to protect Beatrice from the pressure of poverty,
+and well knew that it would be useless to offer her direct assistance.
+Secondly, he wished to show Elizabeth that it would not be to the
+advantage of her family to quarrel with him. If she /had/ seen a
+ghost, perhaps this fact would make her reticent on the subject. He
+did not know that she was playing a much bigger game for her own hand,
+a game of which the stakes were thousands a year, and that she was
+moreover mad with jealousy and what, in such a woman, must pass for
+love.
+
+Elizabeth made no comment on his offer, and before Mr. Granger's
+profuse thanks were nearly finished, Geoffrey was gone.
+
+
+
+Three weeks passed at Bryngelly, and Elizabeth still held her hand.
+Beatrice, pale and spiritless, went about her duties as usual.
+Elizabeth never spoke to her in any sense that could awaken her
+suspicions, and the ghost story was, or appeared to be, pretty well
+forgotten. But at last an event occurred that caused Elizabeth to take
+the field. One day she met Owen Davies walking along the beach in the
+semi-insane way which he now affected. He stopped, and, without
+further ado, plunged into conversation.
+
+"I can't bear it any longer," he said wildly, throwing up his arms. "I
+saw her yesterday, and she cut me short before I could speak a word. I
+have prayed for patience and it will not come, only a Voice seemed to
+say to me that I must wait ten days more, ten short days, and then
+Beatrice, my beautiful Beatrice, would be my wife at last."
+
+"If you go on in this way, Mr. Davies," said Elizabeth sharply, her
+heart filled with jealous anger, "you will soon be off your head. Are
+you not ashamed of yourself for making such a fuss about a girl's
+pretty face? If you want to get married, marry somebody else."
+
+"Marry somebody else," he said dreamily; "I don't know anybody else
+whom I could marry except you, and you are not Beatrice."
+
+"No," answered Elizabeth angrily, "I should hope that I have more
+sense, and if you wanted to marry me you would have to set about it in
+a different way from this. I am not Beatrice, thank Heaven, but I am
+her sister, and I warn you that I know more about her than you do. As
+a friend I warn you to be careful. Supposing that Beatrice were not
+worthy of you, you would not wish to marry her, would you?"
+
+Now Owen Davies was at heart somewhat afraid of Elizabeth, like most
+other people who had the privilege of her acquaintance. Also, apart
+from matters connected with his insane passion, he was very fairly
+shrewd. He suspected Elizabeth of something, he did not know of what.
+
+"No, no, of course not," he said. "Of course I would not marry her if
+she was not fit to be my wife--but I must know that first, before I
+talk of marrying anybody else. Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. It will
+soon be settled now; it cannot go on much longer now. My prayers will
+be answered, I know they will."
+
+"You are right there, Owen Davies," thought Elizabeth, as she looked
+after him with ineffable bitterness, not to say contempt. "Your
+prayers shall be answered in a way that will astonish you. You shall
+not marry Beatrice, and you shall marry /me/. The fish has been on the
+line long enough, now I must begin to pull in."
+
+Curiously enough it never really occurred to Elizabeth that Beatrice
+herself might prove to be the true obstacle to the marriage she
+plotted to prevent. She knew that her sister was fond of Geoffrey
+Bingham, but, when it came to the point that she would absolutely
+allow her affection to interfere with so glorious a success in life,
+she never believed for one moment. Of course she thought it was
+possible that if Beatrice could get possession of Geoffrey she might
+prefer to do so, but failing him, judging from her own low and vulgar
+standard, Elizabeth was convinced that she would take Owen. It did not
+seem possible that what was so precious in her own eyes might be
+valueless and even hateful to those of her sister. As for that little
+midnight incident, well, it was one thing and marriage was another.
+People forget such events when they marry; sometimes even they marry
+in order to forget them.
+
+Yes, she must strike, but how? Elizabeth had feelings like other
+people. She did not mind ruining her sister and rival, but she would
+very much prefer it should not be known that hers was the hand to cut
+her down. Of course, if the worst came to the worst, she must do it.
+Meanwhile, might not a substitute be found--somebody in whom the act
+would seem not one of vengeance, but of virtue? Ah! she had it: Lady
+Honoria! Who could be better for such a purpose than the cruelly
+injured wife? But then how should she communicate the facts to her
+ladyship without involving herself? Again she hit upon a device much
+favoured by such people--"un vieux truc mais toujours bon"--the
+pristine one of an anonymous letter, which has the startling merit of
+not committing anybody to anything. An anonymous letter, to all
+appearance written by a servant: it was the very thing! Most likely it
+would result in a searching inquiry by Lady Honoria, in which event
+Elizabeth, of course against her will, would be forced to say what she
+knew; almost certainly it would result in a quarrel between husband
+and wife, which might induce the former to show his hand, or even to
+take some open step as regards Beatrice. She was sorry for Geoffrey,
+against whom she had no ill feeling, but it could not be helped; he
+must be sacrificed.
+
+That very evening she wrote her letter and sent it to be posted by an
+old servant living in London. It was a master-piece in its way,
+especially phonetically. This precious epistle, which was most
+exceedingly ill writ in a large coarse hand, ran thus:
+
+ "My Ladi,--My consence druvs me to it, much again my will. I've
+  tried hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i
+  heve knowed good and peur and also for the sakes of your evil
+  usband that wulf in scheeps cloathin. But when i think on you my
+  ladi a lorful legel wife gud and virtus and peur and of the things
+  as i hev seen which is enuf to bring a blush to the face of a
+  stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to rite your ladishipp as
+  follers. Your ladishipp forgif me but on the nite of whittsundey
+  last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room of your
+  bad usband--as I was to mi sham ther to se. Afterward more nor an
+  hour, she cum out ain being carred /in his harmes/. And if your
+  ladishipp dont believ me, let your ladishipp rite to miss
+  elizbeth, as had this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,
+
+                                                        "The Riter."
+
+In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria,
+bearing a London post-mark. She read and re-read it, and soon mastered
+its meaning. Then, after a night's thought, she took the "Riter's"
+advice and wrote to Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her
+own), vehemently repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply
+that should dissipate this foul slander from her mind for ever.
+
+The answer came by return. It was short and artful.
+
+ "Dear Lady Honoria Bingham," it ran, "you must forgive me if I
+  decline to answer the questions in your letter. You will easily
+  understand that between a desire to preserve a sister's reputation
+  and an incapacity (to be appreciated by every Christian) to speak
+  other than the truth--it is possible for a person to be placed in
+  the most cruel of positions--a position which I am sure will
+  command even your sympathy, though under such circumstances I have
+  little right to expect any from a wife believing herself to have
+  been cruelly wronged. Let me add that nothing short of the
+  compulsion of a court of law will suffice to unseal my lips as to
+  the details of the circumstances (which are, I trust,
+  misunderstood) alluded to in the malicious anonymous letter of
+  which you inclose a copy."
+
+That very evening, as the Fates would have it, Lady Honoria and her
+husband had a quarrel. As usual, it was about Effie, for on most other
+subjects they preserved an armed neutrality. Its details need not be
+entered into, but at last Geoffrey, who was in a sadly irritable
+condition of mind, fairly lost his temper.
+
+"The fact is," he said, "that you are not fit to look after the child.
+You only think of yourself, Honoria."
+
+She turned on him with a dangerous look upon her cold and handsome
+face.
+
+"Be careful what you say, Geoffrey. It is you who are not fit to have
+charge of Effie. Be careful lest I take her away from you altogether,
+as I can if I like."
+
+"What do you mean by that threat?" he asked.
+
+"Do you want to know? Then I will tell you. I understand enough law to
+be aware that a wife can get a separation from an unfaithful husband,
+and what is more, can take away his children."
+
+"Again I ask what you mean," said Geoffrey, turning cold with anger.
+
+"I mean this, Geoffrey. That Welsh girl is your mistress. She passed
+the night of Whit-Sunday in your room, and was carried from it in your
+arms."
+
+"It is a lie," he said; "she is nothing of the sort. I do not know who
+gave you this information, but it is a slanderous lie, and somebody
+shall suffer for it."
+
+"Nobody will suffer for it, Geoffrey, because you will not dare to
+stir the matter up--for the girl's sake if not for your own. Can you
+deny that you were seen carrying her in your arms from your room on
+Whit-Sunday night? Can you deny that you are in love with her?"
+
+"And supposing that I am in love with her, is it to be wondered at,
+seeing how you treat me and have treated me for years?" he answered
+furiously. "It is utterly false to say that she is my mistress."
+
+"You have not answered my question," said Lady Honoria with a smile of
+triumph. "Were you seen carrying that woman in your arms and from your
+room at the dead of night? Of course it meant nothing, nothing at all.
+Who would dare to asperse the character of this perfect, lovely, and
+intellectual schoolmistress? I am not jealous, Geoffrey----"
+
+"I should think not, Honoria, seeing how things are."
+
+"I am not jealous, I repeat, but please understand that I will not
+have this go on, in your own interests and mine. Why, what a fool you
+must be. Don't you know that a man who has risen, as you have, has a
+hundred enemies ready to spring on him like a pack of wolves and tear
+him to pieces? Why many even of those who fawn upon you and flatter
+you to your face, hate you bitterly in secret, because you have
+succeeded where they have failed. Don't you know also that there are
+papers here in London which would give hundreds of pounds for the
+chance of publishing such a scandal as this, especially against a
+powerful political opponent. Let it once come out that this obscure
+girl is your mistress----"
+
+"Honoria, I tell you she is nothing of the sort. It is true I carried
+her from my room in a fainting fit, but she came there in her sleep."
+
+Lady Honoria laughed. "Really, Geoffrey, I wonder that you think it
+worth while to tell me such nonsense. Keep it for the divorce court,
+if ever we get there, and see what a jury says to it. Look here; be
+sensible. I am not a moralist, and I am not going to play the outraged
+wife unless you force me to it. I do not mean to take any further
+notice of this interesting little tale as against you. But if you go
+on with it, beware! I will not be made to look a fool. If you are
+going to be ruined you can be ruined by yourself. I warn you frankly,
+that at the first sign of it, I shall put myself in the right by
+commencing proceedings against you. Now, of course, I know this, that
+in the event of a smash, you would be glad enough to be rid of me in
+order that you might welcome your dear Beatrice in my place. But there
+are two things to remember: first, that you could not marry her,
+supposing you to be idiot enough to wish to do so, because I should
+only get a judicial separation, and you would still have to support
+me. Secondly, if I go, Effie goes with me, for I have a right to claim
+her at law; and that fact, my dear Geoffrey, makes me mistress of the
+situation, because I do not suppose that you would part with Effie
+even for the sake of Miss Beatrice. And now I will leave you to think
+it over."
+
+And with a little nod she sailed out of the room, completely
+victorious. She was indeed, reflected Geoffrey, "mistress of the
+situation." Supposing that she brought a suit against him where would
+he be? She must have evidence, or she would not have known the story.
+The whole drama had clearly been witnessed by someone, probably either
+by Elizabeth or the servant girl, and that some one had betrayed it to
+Honoria and possibly to others. The thought made him sick. He was a
+man of the world, and a practical lawyer, and though, indeed, they
+were innocent, he knew that under the circumstances few would be found
+to believe it. At the very best there must be a terrible and shocking
+scandal, and Beatrice would lose her good name. He placed himself in
+the position of counsel for the petitioner in a like case, and thought
+how he would crush and crumple such a defence in his address to the
+jury. A probable tale forsooth!
+
+Undoubtedly, too, Honoria would be acting wisely from her point of
+view. Public sympathy would be with her throughout. He knew that, as
+it was, he was believed generally to owe much of his success to his
+handsome and high-born wife. Now it would be said that he had used her
+as a ladder and then thrown her over. With all this, however, he might
+cope; he could even bear with the vulgar attacks of a vulgar press,
+and the gibes and jeers of his political and personal enemies, but to
+lose Effie he could not bear. And if such a case were brought against
+him it was almost certain that he would lose her, for, if he was
+worsted, custody of the child would be given to the injured wife.
+
+Then there was Beatrice to be considered. The same malicious tongue
+that had revealed this matter to Honoria would probably reveal it to
+the rest of the world, and even if he escaped the worst penalties of
+outraged morality, they would certainly be wreaked upon her.
+Beatrice's reputation would be blasted, her employment lost, and her
+life made a burden to her. Yes, decidedly, Honoria had the best of the
+position; decidedly, also, she spoke words of weight and common sense.
+
+What was to be done? Was there no way out of it? All that night as
+Geoffrey sat in the House, his arms folded on his breast, and to
+appearance intently listening to the long harangues of the Opposition,
+this question haunted him. He argued the situation out this way and
+that way, till at the last he came to a conclusion. Either he must
+wait for the scandal to leak out, let Beatrice be ruined, and direct
+his efforts to the softening of Honoria, and generally to self-
+preservation, or he must take the bull by the horns, must abandon his
+great career and his country and seek refuge in another land, say
+America, taking Beatrice and Effie with him. Once the child was out of
+the jurisdiction, of course no court could force her from him.
+
+Of the two courses, even in so far as he himself was concerned, what
+between the urgency of the matter and the unceasing pressure of his
+passion, Geoffrey inclined to the latter. The relations between
+himself and Honoria had for years been so strained, so totally
+different from those which should exist between man and wife, that
+they greatly mitigated in his mind the apparent iniquity of such a
+step. Nor would he feel much compunction at removing the child from
+her mother, for there was no love lost between the two, and as time
+went on he guessed shrewdly there would be less and less. For the
+rest, he had some seventeen thousand pounds in hand; he would take
+half and leave Honoria half. He knew that he could always earn a
+living wherever he went, and probably much more than a living, and of
+whatever he earned a strict moiety should be paid to Honoria. But
+first and above everything, there was Beatrice to be considered. She
+must be saved, even if he ruined himself to save her.
+
+Lady Honoria, it is scarcely necessary to say, had little idea that
+she was driving her husband to such dangerous and determined councils.
+She wanted to frighten Geoffrey, not to lose him and all he meant to
+her; this was the last thing that she would wish to do. She did not
+greatly care about the Beatrice incident, but her shrewd common sense
+told her that it might well be used as an engine to ruin them all.
+Therefore she spoke as she did speak, though in reality matters would
+have to be bad indeed before she sought the aid of a court of law,
+where many things concerning herself might come to the light of day
+which she would prefer to leave in darkness.
+
+Nor did she stop here; she determined to attack Geoffrey's position in
+another way, namely, through Beatrice herself. For a long time Honoria
+hesitated as to the method of this attack. She had some knowledge of
+the world and of character, and from what she knew of Beatrice she
+came to the sound conclusion that she was not a woman to be
+threatened, but rather one to be appealed to. So after much thought
+she wrote to her thus:--
+
+ "A story, which I still hesitate to believe, has come to me by
+  means of anonymous letters, as to your conduct with my husband. I
+  do not wish to repeat it now, further than to say that, if true,
+  it establishes circumstances which leave no doubt as to the
+  existence of relations so intimate between you as to amount to
+  guilt. It may not be true or it may, in which latter event I wish
+  to say this: With your morality I have nothing to do; it is your
+  affair. Nor do I wish to plead to you as an injured wife or to
+  reproach you, for there are things too wicked for mere reproach.
+  But I will say this: if the story is true, I must presume that you
+  have some affection for the partner of your shame. I put myself
+  out of the question, and in the name of that affection, however
+  guilty it may be, I ask you to push matters no further. To do so
+  will be to bring its object to utter ruin. /If you care for him,
+  sever all connection with him utterly and for ever./ Otherwise he
+  will live to curse and hate you. Should you neglect this advice,
+  and should the facts that I have heard become public property, I
+  warn you, as I have already warned him, that in self-preservation
+  and for the sake of self-respect, I shall be forced to appeal to
+  the law for my remedy. Remember that his career is at stake, and
+  that in losing it and me he will lose also his child. Remember
+  that if this comes about it will be through /you/. Do not answer
+  this, it will do no good, for I shall naturally put no faith in
+  your protestations, but if you are in any way or measure guilty of
+  this offence, appealing to you as one woman to another, and for
+  the sake of the man who is dear to both, I say do your best to
+  redeem the evil, /by making all further communication between
+  yourself and him an impossibility/.                        H.B."
+
+It was a clever letter; Lady Honoria could not have devised one more
+powerful to work on a woman like Beatrice. The same post that took it
+to her took another from Geoffrey himself. It was long, though
+guarded, and need not be quoted in its entirety, but it put the whole
+position before her in somewhat veiled language, and ended by saying,
+"Marriage I cannot give you, only life-long love. In other
+circumstances to offer this would be an insult, but if things should
+be as a I fear, it is worth your consideration. I do not say to you
+/come/, I say come /if you wish/. No, Beatrice, I will not put this
+cruel burden of decision upon you. I say /come!/ I do not command you
+to come, because I promised to leave you uninfluenced. But I pray you
+to do so. Let us put an end to this wretchedness, and count the world
+well lost as our price of love. Come, dearest Beatrice--to leave me no
+more till death. I put my life in your hands; if you take it up,
+whatever trouble you may have to face, you will never lose my
+affection or esteem. Do not think of me, think of yourself. You have
+given me your love as you once gave me my life. I owe something in
+return; I cannot see you shamed and make no offer of reparation.
+Indeed, so far as I am concerned, I shall think all I lose as nothing
+compared to what I gain in gaining you. Will you come? If so, we will
+leave this country and begin afresh elsewhere. After all, it matters
+little, and will matter less when everything is said and done. My life
+has for years been but as an unwholesome dream. The one real thing,
+the one happy thing that I have found in it has been our love. Do not
+let us throw it away, Beatrice."
+
+By return of post he received this answer written in pencil.
+
+ "No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+That was all.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXV
+
+                      ELIZABETH SHOWS HER TEETH
+
+Hard had been Beatrice's hours since that grey morning of separation.
+She must bear all the inner wretchedness of her lot; she must conceal
+her grief, must suffer the slings and arrows of Elizabeth's sharp
+tongue, and strive to keep Owen Davies at a distance. Indeed, as the
+days went on, this last task grew more and more portentous. The man
+was quite unmanageable; his passion, which was humiliating and hateful
+to Beatrice, became the talk of the place. Everybody knew of it,
+except her father, and even his eyes began to be opened.
+
+One night--it was the same upon which Geoffrey and Honoria
+respectively had posted their letters to Beatrice--anybody looking
+into the little room at Bryngelly Castle, which served its owner for
+all purposes except that of sleeping, would have witnessed a very
+strange sight. Owen Davies was walking to and fro--walking rapidly
+with wild eyes and dishevelled hair. At the turn of each length of the
+apartment he would halt, and throwing his arms into the air ejaculate:
+
+"Oh, God, hear me, and give me my desire! Oh, God, answer me!"
+
+For two long hours thus he walked and thus cried aloud, till at length
+he sank panting and exhausted into a chair. Suddenly he raised his
+head, and appeared to listen intently.
+
+"The Voice," he said aloud; "the Voice again. What does it say?
+To-morrow, to-morrow I must speak; and I shall win her."
+
+He sprang up with a shout, and once more began his wild march. "Oh,
+Beatrice!" he said, "to-morrow you will promise to marry me; the Voice
+says so, and soon, soon, perhaps in one short month, you will be my
+own--mine only! Geoffrey Bingham shall not come between us then, for I
+will watch you day and night. You shall be my very, very own--my own
+beautiful Beatrice," and he stretched out his arms and clasped at the
+empty air--a crazy and unpleasant sight to see.
+
+And so he walked and spoke till the dawn was grey in the east. This
+occurred on the Friday night. It was on the following morning that
+Beatrice, the unfortunate and innocent object of these amorous
+invocations, received the two letters. She had gone to the post-office
+on her way to the school, on the chance of there being a note from
+Geoffrey. Poor woman, his letters were the one bright thing in her
+life. From motives of prudence they were written in the usual semi-
+formal style, but she was quick to read between the lines, and,
+moreover, they came from his dear hand.
+
+There was the letter sure enough, and another in a woman's writing.
+She recognised the hand as that of Lady Honoria, which she had often
+seen on envelopes directed to Geoffrey, and a thrill of fear shot
+through her. She took the letters, and walking as quickly as she could
+to the school, locked herself in her own little room, for it was not
+yet nine o'clock, and looked at them with a gathering terror. What was
+in them? Why did Lady Honoria write to her? Which should she read
+first? In a moment Beatrice had made up her mind. She would face the
+worst at once. With a set face she opened Lady Honoria's letter,
+unfolded it, and read. We already know its contents. As her mind
+grasped them her lips grew ashy white, and by the time that the
+horrible thing was done she was nigh to fainting.
+
+Anonymous letters! oh, who could have done this cruel thing?
+Elizabeth, it must be Elizabeth, who saw everything, and thus stabbed
+her in the back. Was it possible that her own sister could treat her
+so? She knew that Elizabeth disliked her; she could never fathom the
+cause, still she knew the fact. But if this were her doing, then she
+must hate her, and most bitterly; and what had she done to earn such
+hate? And now Geoffrey was in danger on her account, danger of ruin,
+and how could she prevent it? This was her first idea. Most people
+might have turned to their own position and been content to leave
+their lover to fight his own battle. But Beatrice thought little of
+herself. He was in danger, and how could she protect him? Why here in
+the letter was the answer! "If you care for him sever all connection
+with him utterly, and for ever. Otherwise, he will live to curse and
+hate you." No, no! Geoffrey would never do that. But Lady Honoria was
+quite right; in his interest, for his sake, she must sever all
+connection with him--sever it utterly and for ever. But how--how?
+
+She thrust the letter into her dress--a viper would have been a more
+welcome guest--and opened Geoffrey's.
+
+It told the same tale, but offered a different solution. The tears
+started to her eyes as she read his offer to take her to him for good
+and all, and go away with her to begin life afresh. It seemed a
+wonderful thing to Beatrice that he should be willing to sacrifice so
+much upon such a worthless altar as her love--a wonderful and most
+generous thing. She pressed the senseless paper to her heart, then
+kissed it again and again. But she never thought of yielding to this
+great temptation, never for one second. He prayed her to come, but
+that she would not do while her will remained. What, /she/ bring
+Geoffrey to ruin? No, she had rather starve in the streets or perish
+by slow torture. How could he ever think that she would consent to
+such a scheme? Indeed she never would; she had brought enough trouble
+on him already. But oh, she blessed him for that letter. How deeply
+must he love her when he could offer to do this for her sake!
+
+Hark! the children were waiting; she must go and teach. The letter,
+Geoffrey's dear letter, could be answered in the afternoon. So she
+thrust it in her breast with the other, but closer to her heart, and
+went.
+
+
+
+That afternoon as Mr. Granger, in a happy frame of mind--for were not
+his debts paid, and had he not found a most convenient way of
+providing against future embarrassment?--was engaged peaceably in
+contemplating his stock over the gate of his little farm buildings, he
+was much astonished suddenly to discover Owen Davies at his elbow.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Davies?" he said; "how quietly you must have
+come."
+
+"Yes," answered Owen absently. "The fact is, I have followed you
+because I want to speak to you alone--quite alone."
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Davies--well, I am at your service. What is wrong? You
+don't look very well."
+
+"Oh, I am quite well, thank you. I never was better; and there's
+nothing wrong, nothing at all. Everything is going to be bright now, I
+know that full surely."
+
+"Indeed," said Mr. Granger, again looking at him with a puzzled air,
+"and what may you want to see me about? Not but what I am always at
+your service, as you know," he added apologetically.
+
+"This," he answered, suddenly seizing the clergyman by the coat in a
+way that made him start.
+
+"What--my coat, do you mean?"
+
+"Don't be so foolish, Mr. Granger. No, about Beatrice."
+
+"Oh. indeed, Mr. Davies. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope? I think
+that she does her duties to the satisfaction of the committee, though
+I admit that the arithmetic----"
+
+"No! no, no! It is not about the school. I don't wish her to go to the
+school any more. I love her, Mr. Granger, I love her dearly, and I
+want to marry her."
+
+The old man flushed with pleasure. Was it possible? Did he hear
+aright? Owen Davies, the richest man in that part of Wales, wanted to
+marry his daughter, who had nothing but her beauty. It must be too
+good to be true!
+
+"I am indeed flattered," he said. "It is more than she could expect--
+not but what Beatrice is very good-looking and very clever," he added
+hastily, fearing lest he was detracting from his daughter's market
+value.
+
+"Good-looking--clever; she is an angel," murmured Owen.
+
+"Oh, yes, of course she is," said her father, "that is, if a woman--
+yes, of course--and what is more, I think she's very fond of you. I
+think she is pining for you. I've though so for a long time."
+
+"Is she?" said Owen anxiously. "Then all I have to say is that she
+takes a very curious way of showing it. She won't say a word to me;
+she puts me off on every occasion. But it will be all right now--all
+right now."
+
+"Oh, there, there, Mr. Davies, maids will be maids until they are
+wives. We know about all that," said Mr. Granger sententiously.
+
+His would-be son-in-law looked as though he knew very little about it
+indeed, although the inference was sufficiently obvious.
+
+"Mr. Granger," he said, seizing his hand, "I want to make Beatrice my
+wife--I do indeed."
+
+"Well, I did not suppose otherwise, Mr. Davies."
+
+"If you help me in this I will do whatever you like as to money
+matters and that sort of thing, you know. She shall have as fine a
+settlement as any woman in Wales. I know that goes a long way with a
+father, and I shall raise no difficulties."
+
+"Very right and proper, I am sure," said Mr. Granger, adopting a
+loftier tone as he discovered the advantages of his position. "But of
+course on such matters I shall take the advice of a lawyer. I daresay
+that Mr. Bingham would advise me," he added, "as a friend of the
+family, you know. He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he
+wouldn't charge anything."
+
+"Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham," answered Owen anxiously. "I will do
+anything you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I'll pay the bill
+myself. But never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice
+first. Come along at once."
+
+"Eh, but hadn't you better arrange that part of the business
+privately?"
+
+"No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had
+better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won't speak
+to her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as
+God directed me to do, and then it will be all right--I know it will."
+
+Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical
+sort, and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen
+Davies's matrimonial intentions.
+
+"Ah, well," he said, "I see what you mean; marriages are made in
+heaven; yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I
+daresay that we shall find Beatrice in."
+
+So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet
+perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd
+about the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering
+occasionally to himself.
+
+In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.
+
+"Where is Beatrice?" asked her father.
+
+"I don't know," she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and
+troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.
+
+"Ah, Beatrice," said her father, "we were just asking for you."
+
+She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly
+perceived that some new danger threatened her.
+
+"Indeed," she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness
+born of fear. "What is it, father?"
+
+Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the
+door. It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the
+two persons principally concerned.
+
+"Don't go," said Owen Davies excitedly, "don't go, either of you; what
+I have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say
+it before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops."
+
+Elizabeth glared at him fiercely--glared first at him and then at the
+innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why
+had she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before?
+But the heart of Beatrice, who sat momentarily expecting to be
+publicly denounced, grew ever fainter. The waters of desolation were
+closing in over her soul.
+
+Mr. Granger sat down firmly and worked himself into the seat of his
+chair, as though to secure an additional fixedness of tenure.
+Elizabeth set her teeth, and leaned her elbow on the table, holding
+her hand so as to shade her face. Beatrice drooped upon her seat like
+a fading lily, or a prisoner in the dock. She was opposite to them,
+and Owen Davies, his face alight with wild enthusiasm, stood up and
+addressed them all like the counsel for the prosecution.
+
+"Last autumn," he began, speaking to Mr. Granger, who might have been
+a judge uncertain as to the merits of the case, "I asked your daughter
+Beatrice to marry me."
+
+Beatrice gave a sigh, and collected her scattered energies. The storm
+had burst at last, and she must face it.
+
+"I asked her to marry me, and she told me to wait a year. I have
+waited as long as I could, but I could not wait the whole year. I have
+prayed a great deal, and I am bidden to speak."
+
+Elizabeth made a gesture of impatience. She was a person of strong
+common sense, and this mixture of religion and eroticism disgusted
+her. She also know that the storm had burst, and that /she/ must face
+it.
+
+"So I come to tell you that I love your daughter Beatrice, and want to
+make her my wife. I have never loved anybody else, but I have loved
+her for years; and I ask your consent."
+
+"Very flattering, very flattering, I am sure, especially in these hard
+times," said Mr. Granger apologetically, shaking his thin hair down
+over his forehead, and then rumpling it up again. "But you see, Mr.
+Davies, you don't want to marry me" (here Beatrice smiled faintly)--
+"you want to marry my daughter, so you had better ask her direct--at
+least I suppose so."
+
+Elizabeth made a movement as though to speak, then changed her mind
+and listened.
+
+"Beatrice," said Owen Davies, "you hear. I ask you to marry me."
+
+There was a pause. Beatrice, who had sat quite silent, was gathering
+up her strength to answer. Elizabeth, watching her from beneath her
+hand, thought that she read upon her face irresolution, softening into
+consent. What she really saw was but doubt as to the fittest and most
+certain manner of refusal. Like lightning it flashed into Elizabeth's
+mind that she must strike now, or hold her hand for ever. If once
+Beatrice spoke that fatal "yes," her revelations might be of no avail.
+And Beatrice would speak it; she was sure she would. It was a golden
+road out of her troubles.
+
+"Stop!" said Elizabeth in a shrill, hard voice. "Stop! I must speak;
+it is my duty as a Christian. I must tell the truth. I cannot allow an
+honest man to be deceived."
+
+There was an awful pause. Beatrice broke it. Now she saw all the
+truth, and knew what was at hand. She placed her hand upon her heart
+to still its beating.
+
+"Oh, Elizabeth," she said, "in our dead mother's name----" and she
+stopped.
+
+"Yes," answered her sister, "in our dead mother's name, which you have
+dishonoured, I will do it. Listen, Owen Davies, and father: Beatrice,
+who sits there"--and she pointed at her with her thin hand--"/Beatrice
+is a scarlet woman!/"
+
+"I really don't understand," gasped Mr. Granger, while Owen looked
+round wildly, and Beatrice sunk her head upon her breast.
+
+"Then I will explain," said Elizabeth, still pointing at her sister.
+"She is Geoffrey Bingham's /mistress/. On the night of Whit-Sunday
+last she rose from bed and went into his room at one in the morning. I
+saw her with my own eyes. Afterwards she was brought back to her bed
+in his arms--I saw it with my own eyes, and I heard him kiss her."
+(This was a piece of embroidery on Elizabeth's part.) "She is his
+lover, and has been in love with him for months. I tell you this, Owen
+Davies, because, though I cannot bear to bring disgrace upon our name
+and to defile my lips with such a tale, neither can I bear that you
+should marry a girl, believing her to be good, when she is what
+Beatrice is."
+
+"Then I wish to God that you had held your wicked tongue," said Mr.
+Granger fiercely.
+
+"No, father. I have a duty to perform, and I will perform it at any
+cost, and however much it pains me. You know that what I say is true.
+You heard the noise on the night of Whit-Sunday, and got up to see
+what it was. You saw the white figure in the passage--it was Geoffrey
+Bingham with Beatrice in his arms. Ah! well may she hang her head. Let
+her deny if it she can. Let her deny that she loves him to her shame,
+and that she was alone in his room on that night."
+
+Then Beatrice rose and spoke. She was pale as death and more beautiful
+in her shame and her despair than ever she had been before; her
+glorious eyes shone, and there were deep black lines beneath them.
+
+"My heart is my own," she said, "and I will make no answer to you
+about it. Think what you will. For the rest, it is not true. I am not
+what Elizabeth tells you that I am. I am /not/ Geoffrey Bingham's
+mistress. It is true that I was in his room that night, and it is true
+that he carried me back to my own. But it was in my sleep that I went
+there, not of my own free will. I awoke there, and fainted when I
+woke, and then at once he bore me back."
+
+Elizabeth laughed shrill and loud--it sounded like the cackle of a
+fiend.
+
+"In her sleep," she said; "oh, she went there in her sleep!"
+
+"Yes, Elizabeth, in my sleep. You do not believe me, but it is true.
+You do not wish to believe me. You wish to bring the sister whom you
+should love, who has never offended against you by act or word, to
+utter disgrace and ruin. In your cowardly spite you have written
+anonymous letters to Lady Honoria Bingham, to prevail upon her to
+strike the blow that should destroy her husband and myself, and when
+you fear that this has failed, you come forward and openly accuse us.
+You do this in the name of Christian duty; in the name of love and
+charity, you believe the worst, and seek to ruin us. Shame on you,
+Elizabeth! shame on you! and may the same measure that you have meted
+out to me never be paid back to you. We are no longer sisters.
+Whatever happens, I have done with you. Go your ways."
+
+Elizabeth shrank and quailed beneath her sister's scorn. Even her
+venomous hatred could not bear up against the flash of those royal
+eyes, and the majesty of that outraged innocence. She gasped and bit
+her lip till the blood started, but she said nothing.
+
+Then Beatrice turned to her father, and spoke in another and a
+pleading voice, stretching out her arms towards him.
+
+"Oh, father," she said, "at least tell me that /you/ believe me.
+Though you may think that I might love to all extremes, surely, having
+known me so many years, you cannot think that I would lie even for my
+love's sake."
+
+The old man looked wildly round, and shook his head.
+
+"In his room and in his arms," he said. "I saw it, it seems. You, too,
+who have never been known to walk in your sleep from a child; and you
+will not say that you do not love him--the scoundrel. It is wicked of
+Elizabeth--jealousy bitter as the grave. It is wicked of her to tell
+the tale; but as it is told, how can I say that I do not believe it?"
+
+Then Beatrice, her cup being full, once more dropped her head, and
+turned to go.
+
+"Stop," said Owen Davies in a hoarse voice, and speaking for the first
+time. "Hear what /I/ have to say."
+
+She lifted her eyes. "With you, Mr. Davies, I have nothing to do; I am
+not answerable to you. Go and help your accomplice," and she pointed
+to Elizabeth, "to cry this scandal over the whole world."
+
+"Stop," he said again. "I will speak. I believe that it is true. I
+believe that you are Geoffrey Bingham's mistress, curse him! but I do
+not care. I am still willing to marry you."
+
+Elizabeth gasped. Was this to be the end of her scheming? Would the
+blind passion of this madman prevail over her revelations, and
+Beatrice still become his rich and honoured wife, while she was left
+poor and disgraced? Oh, it was monstrous! Oh, she had never dreamed of
+this!"
+
+"Noble, noble!" murmured Mr. Granger; "noble! God bless you!"
+
+So the position was not altogether beyond recovery. His erring
+daughter might still be splendidly married; he might still look
+forward to peace and wealth in his old age.
+
+Only Beatrice smiled faintly.
+
+"I thank you," she said. "I am much honoured, but I could never have
+married you because I do not love you. You must understand me very
+little if you think that I should be the more ready to do so on
+account of the danger in which I stand," and she ceased.
+
+"Listen, Beatrice," Owen went on, an evil light shining on his heavy
+face, while Elizabeth sat astounded, scarcely able to believe her
+ears. "I want you, and I mean to marry you; you are more to me than
+all the world. I can give you everything, and you had better yield to
+me, and you shall hear no more of this. But if you won't, then this is
+what I will do. I will be revenged upon you--terribly revenged."
+
+Beatrice shook her head and smiled again, as though to bid him do his
+worst.
+
+"And look, Beatrice," he went on, waxing almost eloquent in his
+jealous despair, "I have another argument to urge on you. I will not
+only be revenged on you, I will be revenged upon your lover--on this
+Geoffrey Bingham."
+
+"/Oh!/" said Beatrice sharply, like one in pain. He had found the way
+to move her now, and with the cunning of semi-madness he drove the
+point home.
+
+"Yes, you may start--I will. I tell you that I will never rest till I
+have ruined him, and I am rich and can do it. I have a hundred
+thousand pounds, that I will spend on doing it. I have nothing to
+fear, except an action for libel. Oh, I am not a fool, though you
+think I am, I know. Well, I can pay for a dozen actions. There are
+papers in London that will be glad to publish all this--yes, the whole
+story--with plans and pictures too. Just think, Beatrice, what it will
+be when all England--yes, and all the world--is gloating over your
+shame, and half-a-dozen prints are using the thing for party purposes,
+clamouring for the disgrace of the man who ruined you, and whom you
+will ruin. He has a fine career; it shall be utterly destroyed. By
+God! I will hunt him to his grave, unless you promise to marry me,
+Beatrice. Do that, and not a word of this shall be said. Now answer."
+
+Mr. Granger sank back in his chair; this savage play of human passions
+was altogether beyond his experience--it overwhelmed him. As for
+Elizabeth, she bit her thin fingers, and glared from one to the other.
+"He reckons without me," she thought. "He reckons without me--I will
+marry him yet."
+
+But Beatrice leant for a moment against the wall and shut her eyes to
+think. Oh, she saw it all--the great posters with her name and
+Geoffrey's on them, the shameless pictures of her in his arms, the
+sickening details, the letters of the outraged matrons, the "Mothers
+of ten," and the moral-minded colonels--all, all! She heard the
+prurient scream of every male Elizabeth in England; the allusions in
+the House--the jeers, the bitter attacks of enemies and rivals. Then
+Lady Honoria would begin her suit, and it would all be dragged up
+afresh, and Geoffrey's fault would be on every lip, till he was
+/ruined/. For herself she did not care; but could she bring this on
+one whose only crime was that she had learned to love him? No, no; but
+neither could she marry this hateful man. And yet what escape was
+there? She flung herself upon her woman's wit, and it did not fail
+her. In a few seconds she had thought it all out and made up her mind.
+
+"How can I answer you at a moment's notice, Mr. Davies?" she said. "I
+must have time to think it over. To threaten such revenge upon me is
+not manly, but I know that you love me, and therefore I excuse it.
+Still, I must have time. I am confused."
+
+"What, another year? No, no," he said. "You must answer."
+
+"I do not ask a year or a month. I only ask for one week. If you will
+not give me that, then I will defy you, and you may do your worst. I
+cannot answer now."
+
+This was a bold stroke, but it told. Mr. Davies hesitated.
+
+"Give the girl a week," said her father to him. "She is not herself."
+
+"Very well; one week, no more," said he.
+
+"I have another stipulation to make," said Beatrice, "You are all to
+swear to me that for that week no word of this will pass your mouths;
+that for that week I shall not be annoyed or interfered with, or
+spoken to on the subject, not by one of you. If at the end of it I
+still refuse to accept your terms, you can do your worst, but till
+then you must hold your hand."
+
+Owen Davies hesitated; he was suspicious.
+
+"Remember," Beatrice went on, raising her voice, "I am a desperate
+woman. I may turn at bay, and do something which you do not expect,
+and that will be very little to the advantage of any of you. Do you
+swear?"
+
+"Yes," said Owen Davies.
+
+Then Beatrice looked at Elizabeth, and Elizabeth looked at her. She
+saw that the matter had taken a new form. She saw what her jealous
+folly had hitherto hidden from her--that Beatrice did not mean to
+marry Owen Davies, that she was merely gaining time to execute some
+purpose of her own. What this might be Elizabeth cared little so that
+it did not utterly extinguish chances that at the moment seemed faint
+enough. She did not want to push matters against her sister, or her
+lover Geoffrey, beyond the boundary of her own interests. Beatrice
+should have her week, and be free from all interference so far as she
+was concerned. She realised now that it was too late how great had
+been her error. Oh, if only she had sought Beatrice's confidence at
+first! But it had seemed to her impossible that she would really throw
+away such an opportunity in life.
+
+"Certainly I promise, Beatrice," she said mildly. "I do not swear, for
+'swear not at all,' you know. I only did what I thought my duty in
+warning Mr. Davies. If he chooses to go on with the matter, it is no
+affair of mine. I had no wish to hurt you, or Mr. Bingham. I acted
+solely from my religious convictions."
+
+"Oh, stop talking religion, Elizabeth, and practise it a little more!"
+said her father, for once in his life stirred out of his feeble
+selfishness. "We have all undertaken to keep our mouths sealed for
+this week."
+
+Then Beatrice left the room, and after her went Owen Davies without
+another word.
+
+"Elizabeth," said her father, rising, "you are a wicked woman! What
+did you do this for?"
+
+"Do you want to know, father?" she said coolly; "then I will tell you.
+Because I mean to marry Owen Davies myself. We must all look after
+ourselves in this world, you know; and that is a maxim which you never
+forget, for one. I mean to marry him; and though I seem to have
+failed, marry him I will, yet! And now you know all about it; and if
+you are not a fool, you will hold your tongue and let me be!" and she
+went also, leaving him alone.
+
+Mr. Granger held up his hands in astonishment. He was a selfish,
+money-seeking old man, but he felt that he did not deserve to have
+such a daughter as this.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXVI
+
+                         WHAT BEATRICE SWORE
+
+Beatrice went to her room, but the atmosphere of the place seemed to
+stifle her. Her brain was reeling, she must go out into the air--away
+from her tormentors. She had not yet answered Geoffrey's letter, and
+it must be answered by this post, for there was none on Sunday. It was
+half-past four--the post went out at five; if she was going to write,
+she should do so at once, but she could not do so here. Besides, she
+must find time for thought. Ah, she had it; she would take her canoe
+and paddle across the bay to the little town of Coed and write her
+letter there. The post did not leave Coed till half-past six. She put
+on her hat and jacket, and taking a stamp, a sheet of paper, and an
+envelope with her, slipped quietly from the house down to old Edward's
+boat-house where the canoe was kept. Old Edward was not there himself,
+but his son was, a boy of fourteen, and by his help Beatrice was soon
+safely launched. The sea glittered like glass, and turning southwards,
+presently she was paddling round the shore of the island on which the
+Castle stood towards the open bay.
+
+As she paddled her mind cleared, and she was able to consider the
+position. It was bad enough. She saw no light, darkness hemmed her in.
+But at least she had a week before her, and meanwhile what should she
+write to Geoffrey?
+
+Then, as she thought, a great temptation assailed Beatrice, and for
+the first time her resolution wavered. Why should she not accept
+Geoffrey's offer and go away with him--far away from all this misery?
+Gladly would she give her life to spend one short year at his dear
+side. She had but to say the word, and he would take her to him, and
+in a month from now they would be together in some foreign land,
+counting the world well lost, as he had said. Doubtless in time Lady
+Honoria would get a divorce, and they might be married. A day might
+even come when all this would seem like a forgotten night of storm and
+fear; when, surrounded by the children of their love, they would wend
+peaceably, happily, through the evening of their days towards a bourne
+robbed of half its terrors by the fact that they would cross it hand-
+in-hand.
+
+Oh, that would be well for her; but would it be well for him? When the
+first months of passion had passed by, would he not begin to think of
+all that he had thrown away for the sake of a woman's love? Would not
+the burst of shame and obloquy which would follow him to the remotest
+corners of the earth wear away his affection, till at last, as Lady
+Honoria said, he learned to curse and hate her. And if it did not--if
+he still loved her through it all--as, being what he was, he well
+might do--could she be the one to bring this ruin on him? Oh, it would
+have been more kind to let him drown on that night of the storm, when
+fate first brought them together to their undoing.
+
+No, no; once and for all, once and for ever, she would /not/ do it.
+Cruel as was her strait, heavy as was her burden, not one feather's
+weight of it should he carry, if by any means in her poor power she
+could hold it from his back. She would not even tell him of what had
+happened--at any rate, not now. It would distress him; he might take
+some desperate step; it was almost certain that he would do so. Her
+answer must be very short.
+
+She was quite close to Coed now, and the water lay calm as a pond. So
+calm was it that she drew the sheet of paper and the envelope from her
+pocket, and leaning forward, rested them on the arched covering of the
+canoe, and pencilled those words which we have already read.
+
+ "No, dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.--B."
+
+Thus she wrote. Then she paddled to the shore. A fisherman standing on
+the beach caught her canoe and pulled it up. Leaving it in his charge,
+she went into the quaint little town, directed and posted her letter,
+and bought some wool. It was an excuse for having been there should
+any one ask questions. After that she returned to her canoe. The
+fisherman was standing by it. She offered him sixpence for his
+trouble, but he would not take it.
+
+"No, miss," he said, "thanking you kindly--but we don't often get a
+peep at such sweet looks. It's worth sixpence to see you, it is. But,
+miss, if I may make so bold as to say so, it isn't safe for you to
+cruise about in that craft, any ways not alone."
+
+Beatrice thanked him and blushed a little. Vaguely it occurred to her
+that she must have more than a common share of beauty, when a rough
+man could be so impressed with it. That was what men loved women for,
+their beauty, as Owen Davies loved and desired her for this same cause
+and this only.
+
+Perhaps it was the same with Geoffrey--no, she did not believe it. He
+loved her for other things besides her looks. Only if she had not been
+beautiful, perhaps he would not have begun to love her, so she was
+thankful for her eyes and hair, and form.
+
+Could folly and infatuation go further? This woman in the darkest hour
+of her bottomless and unhorizoned despair, with conscience gnawing at
+her heart, with present misery pressing on her breast, and shame to
+come hanging over her like a thunder cloud, could yet feel thankful
+that she had won this barren love, the spring of all her woe. Or was
+her folly deep wisdom in disguise?--is there something divine in a
+passion that can so override and defy the worst agonies of life?
+
+She was at sea again now, and evening was falling on the waters softly
+as a dream. Well, the letter was posted. Would it be the last, she
+wondered? It seemed as though she must write no more letters. And what
+was to be done? She would /not/ marry Owen Davies--never would she do
+it. She could not so shamelessly violate her feelings, for Beatrice
+was a woman to whom death would be preferable to dishonour, however
+legal. No, for her own sake she would not be soiled with that
+disgrace. Did she do this, she would hold herself the vilest of the
+vile. And still less would she do it for Geoffrey's sake. Her instinct
+told her what he would feel at such a thing, though he might never say
+a word. Surely he would loathe and despise her. No, that idea was done
+with--utterly done with.
+
+Then what remained to her? She would not fly with Geoffrey, since to
+do so would be to ruin him. She would not marry Owen, and not to do so
+would still be to ruin Geoffrey. She was no fool, she was innocent in
+act, but she knew that her innocence would indeed be hard to prove--
+even her own father did not believe in it, and her sister would openly
+accuse her to the world. What then should she do? Should she hide
+herself in some remote half-civilised place, or in London? It was
+impossible; she had no money, and no means of getting any. Besides,
+they would hunt her out, both Owen Davies and Geoffrey would track her
+to the furthest limits of the earth. And would not the former think
+that Geoffrey had spirited her away, and at once put his threats into
+execution? Obviously he would. There was no hope in that direction.
+Some other plan must be found or her lover would still be ruined.
+
+So argued Beatrice, still thinking not of herself, but of Geoffrey, of
+that beloved one who was more to her than all the world, more, a
+thousand times, than her own safety or well-being. Perhaps she
+overrated the matter. Owen Davies, Lady Honoria, and even Elizabeth
+might have done all they threatened; the first of them, perhaps the
+first two of them, certainly would have done so. But still Geoffrey
+might have escaped destruction. Public opinion, or the sounder part of
+it, is sensibly enough hard to move in such a matter, especially when
+the person said to have been wronged is heart and soul on the side of
+him who is said to have wronged her.
+
+Moreover there might have been ways out of it, of which she knew
+nothing. But surrounded as she was by threatening powers--by Lady
+Honoria threatening actions in the Courts on one side, by Owen Davies
+threatening exposure on another, by Elizabeth ready and willing to
+give the most damning evidence on the third, to Beatrice the worst
+consequences seemed an absolutely necessary sequence. Then there was
+her own conscience arrayed against her. This particular charge was a
+lie, but it was not a lie that she loved Geoffrey, and to her the two
+things seemed very much the same thing. Hers was not a mind to draw
+fine distinctions in such matters. /Se posuit ut culpabilem/: she
+"placed herself as guilty," as the old Court rolls put it in miserable
+Latin, and this sense of guilt disarmed her. She did not realise the
+enormous difference recognised by the whole civilised world between
+thought and act, between disposing mind and inculpating deed. Beatrice
+looked at the question more from the scriptural point of view,
+remembering that in the Bible such fine divisions are expressly stated
+to be distinctions without a difference.
+
+Had she gone to Geoffrey and told him her whole story it is probable
+that he would have defied the conspiracy, faced it out, and possibly
+come off victorious. But, with that deadly reticence of which women
+alone are capable, this she did not and would not do. Sweet loving
+woman that she was, she would not burden him with her sorrows, she
+would bear them alone--little reckoning that thereby she was laying up
+a far, far heavier load for him to carry through all his days.
+
+So Beatrice accepted the statements of the plaintiff's attorney for
+gospel truth, and from that false standpoint she drew her auguries.
+
+
+
+Oh, she was weary! How lovely was the falling night, see how it
+brooded on the seas! and how clear were the waters--there a fish
+passed by her paddle--and there the first start sprang into the sky!
+If only Geoffrey were here to see it with her. Geoffrey! she had lost
+him; she was alone in the world now--alone with the sea and the stars.
+Well, they were better than men--better than all men except one.
+Theirs was a divine companionship, and it soothed her. Ah, how hateful
+had been Elizabeth's face, more hateful even than the half-crazed
+cunning of Owen Davies, when she stretched her hand towards her and
+called her "a scarlet woman." It was so like Elizabeth, this mixing up
+of Bible terms with her accusation. And after all perhaps it was true.
+--What was it, "Though thy sins be as scarlet, yet shall they be white
+as snow." But that was only if one repented. She did not repent, not
+in the least. Conscience, it is true, reproached her with a breach of
+temporal and human law, but her heart cried that such love as she had
+given was immortal and divine, and therefore set beyond the little
+bounds of time and man. At any rate, she loved Geoffrey and was proud
+and glad to love him. The circumstances were unfortunate, but she did
+not make the world or its social arrangements any more than she had
+made herself, and she could not help that. The fact remained, right or
+wrong--she loved him, loved him!
+
+How clear were the waters! What was that wild dream which she had
+dreamt about herself sitting at the bottom of the sea, and waiting for
+him--till at last he came. Sitting at the bottom of the sea--why did
+it strike her so strangely--what unfamiliar thought did it waken in
+her mind? Well, and why not? It would be pleasant there, better at any
+rate than on the earth. But things cannot be ended so; one is burdened
+with the flesh, and one must wear it till it fails. Why must she wear
+it? Was not the sea large enough to hide her bones? Look now, she had
+but to slip over the edge of the canoe, slip without a struggle into
+those mighty arms, and in a few short minutes it would all be done and
+gone!
+
+She gasped as the thought struck home. /Here/ was the answer to her
+questionings, the same answer that is given to every human troubling,
+to all earthly hopes and fears and strivings. One stroke of that black
+knife and everything would be lost or found. Would it be so great a
+thing to give her life for Geoffrey?--why she had well nigh done as
+much when she had known him but an hour, and now that he was all in
+all, oh, would it be so great a thing? If she died--died secretly,
+swiftly, surely--Geoffrey would be saved; they would not trouble him
+then, there would be no one to trouble about: Owen Davies could not
+marry her then, Geoffrey could not ruin himself over her, Elizabeth
+could pursue her no further. It would be well to do this thing for
+Geoffrey, and he would always love her, and beyond that black curtain
+there might be something better.
+
+They said that it was sin. Yes, it might be sin to act thus for
+oneself alone. But to do it for another--how of that! Was not the
+Saviour whom they preached a Man of Sacrifice? Would it be a sin in
+her to die for Geoffrey, to sacrifice herself that Geoffrey might go
+free?
+
+Oh, it would be no great merit. Her life was not so easy that she
+should fear this pure embrace. It would be better, far better, than to
+marry Owen Davies, than to desecrate their love and teach Geoffrey to
+despise her. And how else could she ward this trouble from him except
+by her death, or by a marriage that in her eyes was more dreadful than
+any death?
+
+
+
+She could not do it yet. She could not die until she had once more
+seen his face, even though he did not see hers. No, not to-night would
+she seek this swift solution. She had words to say--or words to write
+--before the end. Already they rushed in upon her mind!
+
+But if no better plan presented itself she would do it, she was sure
+that she would. It was a sin--well, let it be a sin; what did she care
+if she sinned for Geoffrey? He would not think the worse of her for
+it. And she had hope, yes, Geoffrey had taught her to hope. If there
+was a Hell, why it was here. And yet not all a Hell, for in it she had
+found her love!
+
+
+
+It grew dark; she could hear the whisper of the waves upon Bryngelly
+beach. It grew dark; the night was closing round. She paddled to
+within a few fathoms of the shore, and called in her clear voice.
+
+"Ay, ay, miss," answered old Edward from the beach. "Come in on the
+next wave."
+
+She came in accordingly and her canoe was caught and dragged high and
+dry.
+
+"What, Miss Beatrice," said the old man shaking his head and
+grumbling, "at it again! Out all alone in that thing," and he gave the
+canoe a contemptuous kick, "and in the dark, too. You want a husband
+to look after you, you do. You'll never rest till you're drowned."
+
+"No, Edward," she answered with a little laugh. "I don't suppose that
+I shall. There is no peace for the wicked above seas, you know. Now do
+not scold. The canoe is as safe as church in this weather and in the
+bay."
+
+"Oh, yes, it's safe enough in the calm and the bay," he answered, "but
+supposing it should come on to blow and supposing you should drift
+beyond the shelter of Rumball Point there, and get the rollers down on
+you--why you would be drowned in five minutes. It's wicked, miss,
+that's what it is."
+
+Beatrice laughed again and went.
+
+"She's a funny one she is," said the old man scratching his head as he
+looked after her, "of all the woman folk as ever I knowed she is the
+rummest. I sometimes thinks she wants to get drowned. Dash me if I
+haven't half a mind to stave a hole in the bottom of that there damned
+canoe, and finish it."
+
+Beatrice reached home a little before supper time. Her first act was
+to call Betty the servant and with her assistance to shift her bed and
+things into the spare room. With Elizabeth she would have nothing more
+to do. They had slept together since they were children, now she had
+done with her. Then she went in to supper, and sat through it like a
+statue, speaking no word. Her father and Elizabeth kept up a strained
+conversation, but they did not speak to her, nor she to them.
+Elizabeth did not even ask where she had been, nor take any notice of
+her change of room.
+
+One thing, however, Beatrice learnt. Her father was going on the
+Monday to Hereford by an early train to attend a meeting of clergymen
+collected to discuss the tithe question. He was to return by the last
+train on the Tuesday night, that is, about midnight. Beatrice now
+discovered that Elizabeth proposed to accompany him. Evidently she
+wished to see as little as possible of her sister during this week of
+truce--possibly she was a little afraid of her. Even Elizabeth might
+have a conscience.
+
+So she should be left alone from Monday morning till Tuesday night.
+One can do a good deal in forty hours.
+
+After supper Beatrice rose and left the room, without a word, and they
+were glad when she went. She frightened them with her set face and
+great calm eyes. But neither spoke to the other on the subject. They
+had entered into a conspiracy of silence.
+
+Beatrice locked her door and then sat at the window lost in thought.
+When once the idea of suicide has entered the mind it is apt to grow
+with startling rapidity. She reviewed the whole position; she went
+over all the arguments and searched the moral horizon for some
+feasible avenue of escape. But she could find none that would save
+Geoffrey, except this. Yes, she would do it, as many another wretched
+woman had done before her, not from cowardice indeed, for had she
+alone been concerned she would have faced the thing out, fighting to
+the bitter end--but for this reason only, it would cut off the dangers
+which threatened Geoffrey at their very root and source. Of course
+there must be no scandal; it must never be known that she had killed
+herself, or she might defeat her own object, for the story would be
+raked up. But she well knew how to avoid such a possibility; in her
+extremity Beatrice grew cunning as a fox. Yes, and there might be an
+inquest at which awkward questions would be asked. But, as she well
+knew also, before an inquest can be held there must be something to
+hold it on, and that something would not be there.
+
+
+
+And so in the utter silence of the night and in the loneliness of her
+chamber did Beatrice dedicate herself to sacrifice upon the altar of
+her immeasurable love. She would face the last agonies of death when
+the bloom of her youthful strength and beauty was but opening as a
+rose in June. She would do more, she would brave the threatened
+vengeance of the most High, coming before Him a self murderess, and
+with but one plea for pity--that she loved so well: /quia multum
+amavit/. Yes, she would do all this, would leave the warm world in the
+dawning summer of her days, and alone go out into the dark--alone
+would face those visions which might come--those Shapes of terror, and
+those Things of fear, that perchance may wait for sinful human kind.
+Alone she would go--oh, hand in hand with him it had been easy, but
+this must not be. The door of utter darkness would swing to behind
+her, and who could say if in time to come it should open to Geoffrey's
+following feet, or if he might ever find the path that she had trod.
+It must be done, it should be done! Beatrice rose from her seat with
+bright eyes and quick-coming breath, and swore before God, if God
+there were, that she would do it, trusting to Him for pardon and for
+pity, or failing these--for sleep.
+
+Yes, but first she must once more look upon Geoffrey's dear face--and
+then farewell!
+
+Pity her! poor mistaken woman, making of her will a Providence,
+rushing to doom. Pity her, but do not blame her overmuch, or if you
+do, then blame Judith and Jephtha's daughter and Charlotte Corday, and
+all the glorious women who from time to time have risen on this sordid
+world of self, and given themselves as an offering upon the altars of
+their love, their religion, their honour or their country!
+
+
+
+It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was to
+come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been,
+Beatrice lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVII
+
+                         THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
+
+Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
+feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class
+as usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she
+was with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of
+the Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
+father's oath.
+
+Nearly all the rest of the day and evening she spent in writing that
+which we shall read in time--only in the late afternoon she went out
+for a little while in her canoe. Another thing Beatrice did also: she
+called at the lodging of her assistant, the head school teacher, and
+told her it was possible that she would not be in her place on the
+Tuesday (Monday was, as it chanced, a holiday). If anybody inquired as
+to her absence, perhaps she would kindly tell them that Miss Granger
+had an appointment to keep, and had taken a morning's holiday in order
+to do so. She should, however, be back that afternoon. The teacher
+assented without suspicion, remarking that if Beatrice could not take
+a morning's holiday, she was sure she did not know who could.
+
+Next morning they breakfasted very early, because Mr. Granger and
+Elizabeth had to catch the train. Beatrice sat through the meal in
+silence, her calm eyes looking straight before her, and the others,
+gazing on them, and at the lovely inscrutable face, felt an
+indefinable fear creep into their hearts. What did this woman mean to
+do? That was the question they asked of themselves, though not of each
+other. That she meant to do something they were sure, for there was
+purpose written on every line of her cold face.
+
+Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
+flashed like an arrow into Beatrice's heart, and pierced it. This was
+the last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last
+time that she could ever see her father's and her sister's faces. For
+her sister, well, it might pass--for there are some things which even
+a woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive--but she loved her
+father. She loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-
+seeking had become endeared to her by long and wondering
+contemplation. Besides, he was her father; he gave her the life she
+was about to cast away. And she should never see him more. Not on that
+account did she hesitate in her purpose, which was now set in her
+mind, like Bryngelly Castle on its rock, but at the thought tears
+rushed unbidden to her eyes.
+
+Just then breakfast came to an end, and Elizabeth hurried from the
+room to fetch her bonnet.
+
+"Father," said Beatrice, "if you can before you go, I should like to
+hear you say that you do not believe that I told you what was false--
+about that story."
+
+"Eh, eh!" answered the old man nervously, "I thought that we had
+agreed to say nothing about the matter at present."
+
+"Yes, but I should like to hear you say it, father. It cuts me that
+you should think that I would lie to you, for in my life I have never
+wilfully told you what was not true;" and she clasped her hands about
+his arms, and looked into his face.
+
+He gazed at her doubtfully. Was it possible after all she was speaking
+the truth? No; it was not possible.
+
+"I can't, Beatrice," he said--"not that I blame you overmuch for
+trying to defend yourself; a cornered rat will show fight."
+
+"May you never regret those words," she said; "and now good-bye," and
+she kissed him on the forehead.
+
+At this moment Elizabeth entered, saying that it was time to start,
+and he did not return the kiss.
+
+"Good-bye, Elizabeth," said Beatrice, stretching out her hand. But
+Elizabeth affected not to see it, and in another moment they were
+gone. She followed them to the gate and watched them till they
+vanished down the road. Then she returned, her heart strained almost
+to bursting. But she wept no tear.
+
+Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to her father and her sister.
+
+"Elizabeth," said Mr. Granger, as they drew near to the station, "I am
+not easy in my thoughts about Beatrice. There was such a strange look
+in her eyes; it--in short, it frightens me. I have half a mind to give
+up Hereford, and go back," and he stopped upon the road, hesitating.
+
+"As you like," said Elizabeth with a sneer, "but I should think that
+Beatrice is big enough and bad enough to look after herself."
+
+"Before the God who made us," said the old man furiously, and striking
+the ground with his stick, "she may be bad, but she is not so bad as
+you who betrayed her. If Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman
+Judas; and I believe that you hate her, and would be glad to see her
+dead."
+
+Elizabeth made no answer. They were nearing the station, for her
+father had started on again, and there were people about. But she
+looked at him, and he never forgot the look. It was quite enough to
+chill him into silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.
+
+
+
+When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations. Her wild
+purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey's
+face in the House of Commons, if possible, and then return. She put on
+her bonnet and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple
+grey cloth, but on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it
+she thrust the letter which she had written on the previous day. A
+small hand-bag, with some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a
+cloak, made up the total of her baggage.
+
+The train, which did not stop at Bryngelly, left Coed at ten, and Coed
+was an hour and a half's walk. She must be starting. Of course, she
+would have to be absent for the night, and she was sorely puzzled how
+to account for her absence to Betty, the servant girl; the others
+being gone there was no need to do so to anybody else. But here
+fortune befriended her. While she was thinking the matter over, who
+should come in but Betty herself, crying. She had just heard, she
+said, that her little sister, who lived with their mother at a village
+about ten miles away, had been knocked down by a cart and badly hurt.
+Might she go home for the night? She could come back on the morrow,
+and Miss Beatrice could get somebody in to sleep if she was lonesome.
+
+Beatrice sympathised, demurred, and consented, and Betty started at
+once. As soon as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the house, put the
+key in her pocket, and started on her five miles' tramp. Nobody saw
+her leave the house, and she passed by a path at the back of the
+village, so that nobody saw her on the road. Reaching Coed Station
+quite unobserved, and just before the train was due, she let down her
+veil, and took a third-class ticket to London. This she was obliged to
+do, for her stock of money was very small; it amounted, altogether, to
+thirty-six shillings, of which the fare to London and back would cost
+her twenty-eight and fourpence.
+
+In another minute she had entered an empty carriage, and the train had
+steamed away.
+
+She reached Paddington about eight that night, and going to the
+refreshment room, dined on some tea and bread and butter. Then she
+washed her hands, brushed her hair, and started.
+
+Beatrice had never been in London before, and as soon as she left the
+station the rush and roar of the huge city took hold of her, and
+confused her. Her idea was to walk to the Houses of Parliament at
+Westminster. She would, she thought, be sure to see Geoffrey there,
+because she had bought a daily paper in which she had read that he was
+to be one of the speakers in a great debate on the Irish Question,
+which was to be brought to a close that night. She had been told by a
+friendly porter to follow Praed Street till she reached the Edgware
+Road, then to walk on to the Marble Arch, and ask again. Beatrice
+followed the first part of this programme--that is, she walked as far
+as the Edgware Road. Then it was that confusion seized her and she
+stood hesitating. At this juncture, a coarse brute of a man came up
+and made some remark to her. It was impossible for a woman like
+Beatrice to walk alone in the streets of London at night, without
+running the risk of such attentions. She turned from him, and as she
+did so, heard him say something about her beauty to a fellow Arcadian.
+Close to where she was stood two hansom cabs. She went to the first
+and asked the driver for how much he would take her to the House of
+Commons.
+
+"Two bob, miss," he answered.
+
+Beatrice shook her head, and turned to go again. She was afraid to
+spend so much on cabs, for she must get back to Bryngelly.
+
+"I'll take yer for eighteenpence, miss," called out the other driver.
+This offer she was about to accept when the first man interposed.
+
+"You leave my fare alone, will yer? Tell yer what, miss, I'm a
+gentleman, I am, and I'll take yer for a bob."
+
+She smiled and entered the cab. Then came a whirl of great gas-lit
+thoroughfares, and in a quarter of an hour they pulled up at the
+entrance to the House. Beatrice paid the cabman his shilling, thanked
+him, and entered, only once more to find herself confused with a
+vision of white statues, marble floors, high arching roofs, and
+hurrying people. An automatic policeman asked her what she wanted.
+Beatrice answered that she wished to get into the House.
+
+"Pass this way, then, miss--pass this way," said the automatic officer
+in a voice of brass. She passed, and passed, and finally found herself
+in a lobby, among a crowd of people of all sorts--seedy political
+touts, Irish priests and hurrying press-men. At one side of the lobby
+were more policemen and messengers, who were continually taking cards
+into the House, then returning and calling out names. Insensibly she
+drifted towards these policemen.
+
+"Ladies' Gallery, miss?" said a voice; "your order, please, though I
+think it's full."
+
+Here was a fresh complication. Beatrice had no order. She had no idea
+that one was necessary.
+
+"I haven't got an order," she said faintly. "I did not know that I
+must have one. Can I not get in without?"
+
+"Most certainly /not/, miss," answered the voice, while its owner,
+suspecting dynamite, surveyed her with a cold official eye. "Now make
+way, make way, please."
+
+Beatrice's grey eyes filled with tears, as she turned to go in
+bitterness of heart. So all her labour was in vain, and that which
+would be done must be done without the mute farewell she sought. Well,
+when sorrow was so much, what mattered a little more? She turned to
+go, but not unobserved. A certain rather youthful Member of
+Parliament, with an eye for beauty in distress, had been standing
+close to her, talking to a constituent. The constituent had departed
+to wherever constituents go--and many representatives, if asked, would
+cheerfully point out a locality suitable to the genus, at least in
+their judgment--and the member had overheard the conversation and seen
+Beatrice's eyes fill with tears. "What a lovely woman!" he had said to
+himself, and then did what he should have done, namely, lifted his hat
+and inquired if, as a member of the House, he could be of any service
+to her. Beatrice listened, and explained that she was particularly
+anxious to get into the Ladies' Gallery.
+
+"I think that I can help you, then," he said. "As it happens a lady,
+for whom I got an order, has telegraphed to say that she cannot come.
+Will you follow me? Might I ask you to give me your name?"
+
+"Mrs. Everston," answered Beatrice, taking the first that came into
+her head. The member looked a little disappointed. He had vaguely
+hoped that this lovely creature was unappropriated. Surely her
+marriage could not be satisfactory, or she would not look so sad.
+
+Then came more stairs and passages, and formalities, till presently
+Beatrice found herself in a kind of bird-cage, crowded to suffocation
+with every sort of lady.
+
+"I'm afraid--I am very much afraid----" began her new-found friend,
+surveying the mass with dismay.
+
+But at that moment, a stout lady in front feeling faint with the heat,
+was forced to leave the Gallery, and almost before she knew where she
+was, Beatrice was installed in her place. Her friend had bowed and
+vanished, and she was left to all purposes alone, for she never heeded
+those about her, though some of them looked at her hard enough,
+wondering at her form and beauty, and who she might be.
+
+She cast her eye down over the crowded House, and saw a vision of
+hats, collars, and legs, and heard a tumult of sounds: the sharp voice
+of a speaker who was rapidly losing his temper, the plaudits of the
+Government benches, the interruptions from the Opposition--yes, even
+yells, and hoots, and noises, that reminded her remotely of the
+crowing of cocks. Possibly had she thought of it, Beatrice would not
+have been greatly impressed with the dignity of an assembly, at the
+doors of which so many of its members seemed to leave their manners,
+with their overcoats and sticks; it might even have suggested the idea
+of a bear garden to her mind. But she simply did not think about it.
+She searched the House keenly enough, but it was to find one face, and
+one only--Ah! there he was.
+
+And now the House of Commons might vanish into the bottomless abyss,
+and take with it the House of Lords, and what remained of the British
+Constitution, and she would never miss them. For, at the best of
+times, Beatrice--in common with most of her sex--in all gratitude be
+it said, was /not/ an ardent politician.
+
+There Geoffrey sat, his arms folded--the hat pushed slightly from his
+forehead, so that she could see his face. There was her own beloved,
+whom she had come so far to see, and whom to-morrow she would dare so
+much to save. How sad he looked--he did not seem to be paying much
+attention to what was going on. She knew well enough that he was
+thinking of her; she could feel it in her head as she had often felt
+it before. But she dared not let her mind go out to him in answer,
+for, if once she did so, she knew also that he would discover her. So
+she sat, and fed her eyes upon his face, taking her farewell of it,
+while round her, and beneath her, the hum of the House went on, as
+ever present and as unnoticed as the hum of bees upon a summer noon.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had been so kind to her, sat down in the
+next seat to Geoffrey, and began to whisper to him, as he did so
+glancing once or twice towards the grating behind which she was. She
+guessed that he was telling him the story of the lady who was so
+unaccountably anxious to hear the debate, and how pretty she was. But
+it did not seem to interest Geoffrey much, and Beatrice was feminine
+enough to notice it, and to be glad of it. In her gentle jealousy, she
+did not like to think of Geoffrey as being interested in accounts of
+mysterious ladies, however pretty.
+
+At length a speaker rose--she understood from the murmur of those
+around her that he was one of the leaders of the Opposition, and
+commenced a powerful and bitter speech. She noticed that Geoffrey
+roused himself at this point, and began to listen with attention.
+
+"Look," said one of the ladies near her, "Mr. Bingham is taking notes.
+He is going to speak next--he speaks wonderfully, you know. They say
+that he is as good as anybody in the House, except Gladstone, and Lord
+Randolph."
+
+"Oh!" answered another lady. "Lady Honoria is not here, is she? I
+don't see her."
+
+"No," replied the first; "she is a dear creature, and so handsome too
+--just the wife for a rising man--but I don't think that she takes
+much interest in politics. Are not her dinners charming?"
+
+At this moment, a volley of applause from the Opposition benches
+drowned the murmured conversation.
+
+This speaker spoke for about three-quarters of an hour, and then at
+last Geoffrey stood up. One or two other members rose at the same
+time, but ultimately they gave way.
+
+He began slowly--and somewhat tamely, as it seemed to Beatrice, whose
+heart was in her mouth--but when he had been speaking for about five
+minutes, he warmed up. And then began one of the most remarkable
+oratorical displays of that Parliament. Geoffrey had spoken well
+before, and would speak well again, but perhaps he never spoke so well
+as he did upon that night. For nearly an hour and a half he held the
+House in chains, even the hoots and interruptions died away towards
+the end of his oration. His powerful presence seemed to tower in the
+place, like that of a giant among pigmies, and his dark, handsome
+face, lit with the fires of eloquence, shone like a lamp. He leaned
+forward with a slight stoop of his broad shoulders, and addressed
+himself, nominally to the Speaker, but really to the Opposition. He
+took their facts one by one, and with convincing logic showed that
+they were no facts; amid a hiss of anger he pulverised their arguments
+and demonstrated their motives. Then suddenly he dropped them
+altogether, and addressing himself to the House at large, and the
+country beyond the House, he struck another note, and broke out into
+that storm of patriotic eloquence which confirmed his growing
+reputation, both in Parliament and in the constituencies.
+
+Beatrice shut her eyes and listened to the deep, rich voice as it rose
+from height to height and power to power, till the whole place seemed
+full of it, and every contending sound was hushed.
+
+Suddenly, after an invocation that would have been passionate had it
+not been so restrained and strong, he stopped. She opened her eyes and
+looked. Geoffrey was seated as before, with his hat on. He had been
+speaking for an hour and a half, and yet, to her, it seemed but a few
+minutes since he rose. Then broke out a volley of cheers, in the midst
+of which a leader of the Opposition rose to reply, not in the very
+best of tempers, for Geoffrey's speech had hit them hard.
+
+He began, however, by complimenting the honourable member on his
+speech, "as fine a speech as he had listened to for many years,
+though, unfortunately, made from a mistaken standpoint and the wrong
+side of the House." Then he twitted the Government with not having
+secured the services of a man so infinitely abler than the majority of
+their "items," and excited a good deal of amusement by stating, with
+some sarcastic humour, that, should it ever be his lot to occupy the
+front Treasury bench, he should certainly make a certain proposal to
+the honourable member. After this good-natured badinage, he drifted
+off into the consideration of the question under discussion, and
+Beatrice paid no further attention to him, but occupied herself in
+watching Geoffrey drop back into the same apparent state of cold
+indifference, from which the necessity of action had aroused him.
+
+Presently the gentleman who had found her the seat came up and spoke
+to her, asking her how she was getting on. Very soon he began to speak
+of Geoffrey's speech, saying that it was one of the most brilliant of
+the session, if not the most brilliant.
+
+"Then Mr. Bingham is a rising man, I suppose?" Beatrice said.
+
+"Rising? I should think so," he answered. "They will get him into the
+Government on the first opportunity after this; he's too good to
+neglect. Very few men can come to the fore like Mr. Bingham. We call
+him the comet, and if only he does not make a mess of his chances by
+doing something foolish, there is no reason why he should not be
+Attorney-General in a few years."
+
+"Why should he do anything foolish?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, for no reason on earth, that I know of; only, as I daresay you
+have noticed, men of this sort are very apt to do ridiculous things,
+throw up their career, get into a public scandal, run away with
+somebody or something. Not that there should be any fear of such a
+thing where Mr. Bingham is concerned, for he has a charming wife, and
+they say that she is a great help to him. Why, there is the division
+bell. Good-bye, Mrs. Everston, I will come back to see you out."
+
+"Good-bye," Beatrice answered, "and in case I should miss you, I wish
+to say something--to thank you for your kindness in helping me to get
+in here to-night. You have done me a great service, a very great
+service, and I am most grateful to you."
+
+"It is nothing--nothing," he answered. "It has been a pleasure to help
+you. If," he added with some confusion, "you would allow me to call
+some day, the pleasure will be all the greater. I will bring Mr.
+Bingham with me, if you would like to know him--that is, if I can."
+
+Beatrice shook her head. "I cannot," she answered, smiling sadly. "I
+am going on a long journey to-morrow, and I shall not return here.
+Good-bye."
+
+In another second he was gone, more piqued and interested about this
+fair unknown than he had been about any woman for years. Who could she
+be? and why was she so anxious to hear the debate? There was a mystery
+in it somewhere, and he determined to solve it if he could.
+
+Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked
+back, and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition
+cheers, the victory of the Government was announced. Then came the
+usual formalities, and the members began to melt away. Beatrice saw
+the leader of the House and several members of the Government go up to
+Geoffrey, shake his hand, and congratulate him. Then, with one long
+look, she turned and went, leaving him in the moment of his triumph,
+that seemed to interest him so little, but which made Beatrice more
+proud at heart than if she had been declared empress of the world.
+
+Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over his
+fellow men--and well to die for him! Could she let her miserable
+existence interfere with such a life as his should be? Never, never!
+There should be no "public scandal" on her account.
+
+She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.
+Presently she was outside. By one of the gateways, and in the shadow
+of its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream
+past her. Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she
+caught the sound of Geoffrey's name, coupled with such words as
+"splendid speech," and other terms of admiration.
+
+"Move on, move on," said a policeman to her. Lifting her veil,
+Beatrice turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on
+himself, leaving her in peace. Presently she saw Geoffrey and the
+gentleman who had been so kind to her walking along together. They
+came through the gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and
+he never saw her. Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding
+herself in its shadow. Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit
+a cigar. The light of the match flared upon his face, that dark,
+strong face she loved so well. How tired he looked. A great longing
+took possession of her to step forward and speak to him, but she
+restrained herself almost by force.
+
+Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
+
+"Such a lovely woman," he was saying, "with the clearest and most
+beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I
+can't find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business."
+
+"You are falling in love, Tom," answered Geoffrey absently, as he
+threw away the match and walked on. "Don't do that; it is an unhappy
+thing to do," and he sighed.
+
+He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold
+horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She
+trembled so much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she
+looked after him, with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who
+had repented him of his forbearance, and was returning to send her
+away, stood astonished. The two men had gone about ten yards, when
+something induced Beatrice's friend to look back. His eye fell upon
+the white, agony-stricken face, now in the full glare of the gas lamp.
+
+Beatrice saw him turn, and understood her danger. "Oh, good-bye,
+Geoffrey!" she murmured, for a second allowing her heart to go forth
+towards him. Then realising what she had done, she dropped her veil,
+and went swiftly. The gentleman called "Tom"--she never learnt his
+name--stood for a moment dumbfounded, and at that instant Geoffrey
+staggered, as though he had been struck by a shot, turned quite white,
+and halted.
+
+"Why," said his companion, "there is that lady again; we must have
+passed quite close to her. She was looking after us, I saw her face in
+the gaslight--and I never want to see such another."
+
+Geoffrey seized him by the arm. "Where is she?" he asked, "and what
+was she like?"
+
+"She was there a second ago," he said, pointing to the pillar, "but
+I've lost her now--I fancy she went towards the railway station, but I
+could not see. Stop, is that she?" and he pointed to a tall person
+walking towards the Abbey.
+
+Quickly they moved to intercept her, but the result was not
+satisfactory, and they retreated hastily from the object of their
+attentions.
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice found herself opposite the entrance to the
+Westminster Bridge Station. A hansom was standing there; she got into
+it and told the man to drive to Paddington.
+
+Before the pair had retraced their steps she was gone. "She has
+vanished again," said "Tom," and went on to give a description of her
+to Geoffrey. Of her dress he had unfortunately taken little note. It
+might be one of Beatrice's, or it might not. It seemed almost
+inconceivable to Geoffrey that she should be masquerading about
+London, under the name of Mrs. Everston. And yet--and yet--he could
+have sworn--but it was folly!
+
+Suddenly he bade his friend good-night, and took a hansom. "The
+mystery thickens," said the astonished "Tom," as he watched him drive
+away. "I would give a hundred pounds to find out what it all means.
+Oh! that woman's face--it haunts me. It looked like the face of an
+angel bidding farewell to Heaven."
+
+But he never did find out any more about it, though the despairing
+eyes of Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still sometimes haunt
+his sleep.
+
+Geoffrey reflected rapidly. The thing was ridiculous, and yet it was
+possible. Beyond that brief line in answer to his letter, he had heard
+nothing from Beatrice. Indeed he was waiting to hear from her before
+taking any further step. But even supposing she were in London, where
+was he to look for her? He knew that she had no money, he could not
+stay there long. It occurred to him there was a train leaving Euston
+for Wales about four in the morning. It was just possible that she
+might be in town, and returning by this train. He told the cabman to
+drive to Euston Station, and on arrival, closely questioned a sleepy
+porter, but without satisfactory results.
+
+Then he searched the station; there were no traces of Beatrice. He did
+more; he sat down, weary as he was, and waited for an hour and a half,
+till it was time for the train to start. There were but three
+passengers, and none of them in the least resembled Beatrice.
+
+"It is very strange," Geoffrey said to himself, as he walked away. "I
+could have sworn that I felt her presence just for one second. It must
+have been nonsense. This is what comes of occult influences, and that
+kind of thing. The occult is a nuisance."
+
+If he had only gone to Paddington!
+
+
+
+                            CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+                         I WILL WAIT FOR YOU
+
+Beatrice drove back to Paddington, and as she drove, though her face
+did not change from its marble cast of woe the great tears rolled down
+it, one by one.
+
+They reached the deserted-looking station, and she paid the man out of
+her few remaining shillings--seeing that she was a stranger, he
+insisted upon receiving half-a-crown. Then, disregarding the
+astonished stare of a night porter, she found her way to the waiting
+room, and sat down. First she took the letter from her breast, and
+added some lines to it in pencil, but she did not post it yet; she
+knew that if she did so it would reach its destination too soon. Then
+she laid her head back against the wall, and utterly outworn, dropped
+to sleep--her last sleep upon this earth, before the longest sleep of
+all.
+
+And thus Beatrice waited and slept at Paddington, while her lover
+waited and watched at Euston.
+
+At five she woke, and the heavy cloud of sorrow, past, present, and to
+come, rushed in upon her heart. Taking her bag, she made herself as
+tidy as she could. Then she stepped outside the station into the
+deserted street, and finding a space between the houses, watched the
+sun rise over the waking world. It was her last sunrise, Beatrice
+remembered.
+
+She came back filled with such thoughts as might well strike the heart
+of a woman about to do the thing she had decreed. The refreshment bar
+was open now, and she went to it, and bought a cup of coffee and some
+bread and butter. Then she took her ticket, not to Bryngelly or to
+Coed, but to the station on this side of Bryngelly, and three miles
+from it. She would run less risk of being noticed there. The train was
+shunted up; she took her seat in it. Just as it was starting, an early
+newspaper boy came along, yawning. Beatrice bought a copy of the
+/Standard/, out of the one and threepence that was left of her money,
+and opened it at the sheet containing the leading articles. The first
+one began, "The most powerful, closely reasoned, and eloquent speech
+made last night by Mr. Bingham, the Member for Pillham, will, we feel
+certain, produce as great an effect on the country as it did in the
+House of Commons. We welcome it, not only on account of its value as a
+contribution to the polemics of the Irish Question, but as a positive
+proof of what has already been suspected, that the Unionist party has
+in Mr. Bingham a young statesman of a very high order indeed, and one
+whom remarkable and rapid success at the Bar has not hampered, as is
+too often the case, in the larger and less technical field of
+politics."
+
+And so on. Beatrice put the paper down with a smile of triumph.
+Geoffrey's success was splendid and unquestioned. Nothing could stop
+him now. During all the long journey she pleased her imagination by
+conjuring up picture after picture of that great future of his, in
+which she would have no share. And yet he would not forget her; she
+was sure of this. Her shadow would go with him from year to year, even
+to the end, and at times he might think how proud she would have been
+could she be present to record his triumphs. Alas! she did not
+remember that when all is lost which can make life beautiful, when the
+sun has set, and the spirit gone out of the day, the poor garish
+lights of our little victories can but ill atone for the glories that
+have been. Happiness and content are frail plants which can only
+flourish under fair conditions if at all. Certainly they will not
+thrive beneath the gloom and shadow of a pall, and when the heart is
+dead no triumphs, however splendid, and no rewards, however great, can
+compensate for an utter and irredeemable loss. She never guessed, poor
+girl, that time upon time, in the decades to be, Geoffrey would gladly
+have laid his honours down in payment for one year of her dear and
+unforgotten presence. She was too unselfish; she did not think that a
+man could thus prize a woman's love, and took it for an axiom that to
+succeed in life was his one real object--a thing to which so divine a
+gift as she had given Geoffrey is as nothing. It was therefore this
+Juggernaut of her lover's career that Beatrice would cast down her
+life, little knowing that thereby she must turn the worldly and
+temporal success, which he already held so cheap, to bitterness and
+ashes.
+
+At Chester Beatrice got out of the train and posted her letter to
+Geoffrey. She would not do so till then because it might have reached
+him too soon--before all was finished! Now it would be delivered to
+him in the House after everything had been accomplished in its order.
+She looked at the letter; it was, she thought, the last token that
+could ever pass between them on this earth. Once she pressed it to her
+heart, once she touched it with her lips, and then put it from her
+beyond recall. It was done; there was no going back now. And even as
+she stood the postman came up, whistling, and opening the box
+carelessly swept its contents into his canvas bag. Could he have known
+what lay among them he would have whistled no more that day.
+
+Beatrice continued her journey, and by three o'clock arrived safely at
+the little station next to Bryngelly. There was a fair at Coed that
+day, and many people of the peasant class got in here. Amidst the
+confusion she gave up her ticket to a small boy, who was looking the
+other way at the time, and escaped without being noticed by a soul.
+Indeed, things happened so that nobody in the neighbourhood of
+Bryngelly ever knew that Beatrice had been to London and back upon
+those dreadful days.
+
+Beatrice walked along the cliff, and in an hour was at the door of the
+Vicarage, from which she seemed to have been away for years. She
+unlocked it and entered. In the letter-box was a post-card from her
+father stating that he and Elizabeth had changed their plans and would
+not be back till the train which arrived at half-past eight on the
+following morning. So much the better, she thought. Then she
+disarranged the clothes upon her bed to make it seem as though it had
+been slept it, lit the kitchen fire, and put the kettle on to boil,
+and as soon as it was ready she took some food. She wanted all her
+nerve, and that could not be kept up without food.
+
+Shortly after this the girl Betty returned, and went about her duties
+in the house quite unconscious that Beatrice had been away from it for
+the whole night. Her sister was much better, she said, in answer to
+Beatrice's inquiries.
+
+When she had eaten what she could--it was not much--Beatrice went to
+her room, undressed herself, bathed, and put on clean, fresh things.
+Then she unbound her lovely hair, and did it up in a coronet upon her
+head. It was a fashion that she did not often adopt, because it took
+too much time, but on this day, of all days, she had a strange fancy
+to look her best. Also her hair had been done like this on the
+afternoon when Geoffrey first met her. Next she put on the grey dress
+once more which she had worn on her journey to London, and taking the
+silver Roman ring that Geoffrey had given her from the string by which
+she wore it about her neck, placed it on the third finger of her left
+hand.
+
+All this being done, Beatrice visited the kitchen and ordered the
+supper. She went further in her innocent cunning. Betty asked her what
+she would like for breakfast on the following morning, and she told
+her to cook some bacon, and to be careful how she cut it, as she did
+not like thick bacon. Then, after one long last look at the Vicarage,
+she started for the lodging of the head teacher of the school, and,
+having found her, inquired as to the day's work.
+
+Further, Beatrice told her assistant that she had determined to alter
+the course of certain lessons in the school. The Wednesday arithmetic
+class had hitherto been taken before the grammar class. On the morrow
+she had determined to change this; she would take the grammar class at
+ten and the arithmetic class at eleven, and gave her reasons for so
+doing. The teacher assented, and Beatrice shook hands with her and
+bade her good-night. She would have wished to say how much she felt
+indebted to her for her help in the school, but did not like to do so,
+fearing lest, in the light of pending events, the remark might be
+viewed with suspicion.
+
+Poor Beatrice, these were the only lies she ever told!
+
+She left the teacher's lodgings, and was about to go down to the beach
+and sit there till it was time, when she was met by the father of the
+crazed child, Jane Llewellyn.
+
+"Oh, Miss Beatrice," he said, "I have been looking for you everywhere.
+We are in sad trouble, miss. Poor Jane is in a raving fit, and talking
+about hell and that, and the doctor says she's dying. Can you come,
+miss, and see if you can do anything to quiet her? It's a matter of
+life and death, the doctor says, miss."
+
+Beatrice smiled sadly; matters of life and death were in the air. "I
+will come," she said, "but I shall not be able to stay long."
+
+How could she better spend her last hour?
+
+She accompanied the man to his cottage. The child, dressed only in a
+night-shirt, was raving furiously, and evidently in the last stage of
+exhaustion, nor could the doctor or her mother do anything to quiet
+her.
+
+"Don't you see," she screamed, pointing to the wall, "there's the
+Devil waiting for me? And, oh, there's the mouth of hell where the
+minister said I should go! Oh, hold me, hold me, hold me!"
+
+Beatrice walked up to her, took the thin little hands in hers, and
+looked her fixedly in the eyes.
+
+"Jane," she said. "Jane, don't you know me?"
+
+"Yes, Miss Granger," she said, "I know the lesson; I will say it
+presently."
+
+Beatrice took her in her arms, and sat down on the bed. Quieter and
+quieter grew the child till suddenly an awful change passed over her
+face.
+
+"She is dying," whispered the doctor.
+
+"Hold me close, hold me close!" said the child, whose senses returned
+before the last eclipse. "Oh, Miss Granger, I shan't go to hell, shall
+I? I am afraid of hell."
+
+"No, love, no; you will go to heaven."
+
+Jane lay still awhile. Then seeing the pale lips move, Beatrice put
+her ear to the child's mouth.
+
+"Will you come with me?" she murmured; "I am afraid to go alone."
+
+And Beatrice, her great grey eyes fixed steadily on the closing eyes
+beneath, whispered back so that no other soul could hear except the
+dying child:
+
+"Yes, I will come presently." But Jane heard and understood.
+
+"Promise," said the child.
+
+"Yes, I promise," answered Beatrice in the same inaudible whisper.
+"Sleep, dear, sleep; I will join you very soon."
+
+And the child looked up, shivered, smiled--and slept.
+
+Beatrice gave it back to the weeping parents and went her way. "What a
+splendid creature," said the doctor to himself as he looked after her.
+"She has eyes like Fate, and the face of Motherhood Incarnate. A great
+woman, if ever I saw one, but different from other women."
+
+Meanwhile Beatrice made her way to old Edward's boat-shed. As she
+expected, there was nobody there, and nobody on the beach. Old Edward
+and his son were at tea, with the rest of Bryngelly. They would come
+back after dark and lock up the boat-house.
+
+She looked at the sea. There were no waves, but the breeze freshened
+every minute, and there was a long slow swell upon the water. The
+rollers would be running beyond the shelter of Rumball Point, five
+miles away.
+
+The tide was high; it mounted to within ten yards of the end of the
+boat-house. She opened the door, and dragged out her canoe, closing
+the door again after her. The craft was light, and she was strong for
+a woman. Close to the boat-house one of the timber breakwaters, which
+are common at sea-side places, ran down into the water. She dragged
+the canoe to its side, and then pushed it down the beach till its bow
+was afloat. Next, mounting on the breakwater, she caught hold of the
+little chain in the bow, and walking along the timber baulks, pulled
+with all her force till the canoe was quite afloat. On she went,
+dragging it after her, till the waves washing over the breakwater
+wetted her shoes.
+
+Then she brought the canoe quite close, and, watching her opportunity,
+stepped into it, nearly falling into the water as she did so. But she
+recovered her balance, and sat down. In another minute she was
+paddling out to sea with all her strength.
+
+For twenty minutes or more she paddled unceasingly. Then she rested
+awhile, only keeping the canoe head on to the sea, which, without
+being rough, was running more and more freshly. There, some miles
+away, was the dark mass of Rumball Point. She must be off it before
+the night closed in. There would be sea enough there; no such craft as
+hers could live in it for five minutes, and the tide was on the turn.
+Anything sinking in those waters would be carried far away, and never
+come back to the shore of Wales.
+
+She turned her head and looked at Bryngelly, and the long familiar
+stretch of cliff. How fair it seemed, bathed in the quiet lights of
+summer afternoon. Oh! was there any afternoon where the child had
+gone, and where she was following fast?--or was it all night, black,
+eternal night, unbroken by the dram of dear remembered things?
+
+There were the Dog Rocks, where she had stood on that misty autumn
+day, and seen the vision of her coffined mother's face. Surely it was
+a presage of her fate. There beyond was the Bell Rock, where in that
+same hour Geoffrey and she had met, and behind it was the
+Amphitheatre, where they had told their love. Hark! what was that
+sound pealing faintly at intervals across the deep? It was the great
+ship's bell that, stirred from time to time by the wash of the high
+tide, solemnly tolled her passing soul.
+
+She paddled on; the sound of that death-knell shook her nerves, and
+made her feel faint and weak. Oh, it would have been easier had she
+been as she was a year ago, before she learned to love, and hand in
+hand had seen faith and hope re-arise from the depths of her stirred
+soul. Then being but a heathen, she could have met her end with all a
+heathen's strength, knowing what she lost, and believing, too, that
+she would find but sleep. And now it was otherwise, for in her heart
+she did not believe that she was about utterly to perish. What, could
+the body live on in a thousand forms, changed indeed but
+indestructible and immortal, while the spiritual part, with all its
+hopes and loves and fears, melted into nothingness? It could not be;
+surely on some new shore she should once again greet her love. And if
+it was not, how would they meet her in that under world, coming self-
+murdered, her life-blood on her hands? Would her mother turn away from
+her? and the little brother, whom she had loved, would he reject her?
+And what Voice of Doom might strike her into everlasting hopelessness?
+
+But, be the sin what it might, yet would she sin it for the sake of
+Geoffrey; ay, even if she must reap a harvest of eternal woe. She bent
+her head and prayed. "Oh, Power, that art above, from whom I come, to
+whom I go, have mercy on me! Oh, Spirit, if indeed thy name is Love,
+weigh my love in thy balance, and let it lift the scale of sin. Oh,
+God of Sacrifice, be not wroth at my deed of sacrifice and give me
+pardon, give me life and peace, that in a time to come I may win the
+sight of him for whom I die."
+
+A somewhat heathenish prayer indeed, and far too full of human passion
+for one about to leave the human shores. But, then--well, it was
+Beatrice who prayed--Beatrice, who could realise no heaven beyond the
+limits of her passion, who still thought more of her love than of
+saving her own soul alive. Perhaps it found a home--perhaps, like her
+who prayed it, it was lost upon the pitiless deep.
+
+Then Beatrice prayed no more. Short was her time. See, there sank the
+sun in glory; and there the great rollers swept along past the sullen
+headland, where the undertow met wind and tide. She would think no
+more of self; it was, it seemed to her, so small, this mendicant
+calling on the Unseen, not for others, but for self: aid for self,
+well-being for self, salvation for self--this doing of good that good
+might come to self. She had made her prayer, and if she prayed again
+it should be for Geoffrey, that he might prosper and be happy--that he
+might forgive the trouble her love had brought into his life. That he
+might forget her she could not pray. She had prayed her prayer and
+said her say, and it was done with. Let her be judged as it seemed
+good to Those who judge! Now she would fix her thoughts upon her love,
+and by its strength would she triumph over the bitterness of death.
+Her eyes flashed and her breast heaved: further out to sea, further
+yet--she would meet those rollers a knot or more from the point of the
+headland, that no record might remain.
+
+Was it her wrong if she loved him? She could not help it, and she was
+proud to love him. Even now, she would not undo the past. What were
+the lines that Geoffrey had read to her. They haunted her mind with a
+strange persistence--they took time to the beat of her falling paddle,
+and would not leave her:
+
+ "Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
+  Alas, my love, Love's eyes are very blind!
+  What would they have us do? Sunflowers and poppies
+  Stoop to the wind----"[*]
+
+[*] Oliver Madox Brown.
+
+Yes, yes, Love's eyes are very blind, but in their blindness there was
+more light than in all other earthly things. Oh, she could not live
+for him, and with him--it was denied to her--but she still could die
+for him, her darling, her darling!
+
+
+
+"Geoffrey, hear me--I die for you; accept my sacrifice, and forget me
+not." So!--she is in the rollers--how solemn they are with their hoary
+heads of foam, as one by one they move down upon her.
+
+The first! it towers high, but the canoe rides it like a cork. Look!
+the day is dying on the distant land, but still his glory shines
+across the sea. Presently all will be finished. Here the breeze is
+strong; it tears the bonnet from her head, it unwinds the coronet of
+braided locks, and her bright hair streams out behind her. Feel how
+the spray stings, striking like a whip. No, not this wave, she rides
+that also; she will die as she has lived--fighting to the last; and
+once more, never faltering, she sets her face towards the rollers and
+consigns her soul to doom.
+
+Ah! that struck her full. Oh, see! Geoffrey's ring has slipped from
+her wet hand, falling into the bottom of the boat. Can she regain it?
+she would die with that ring upon her finger--it is her marriage-ring,
+wedding her through death to Geoffrey, upon the altar of the sea. She
+stoops! oh, what a shock of water at her breast! What was it--what was
+it?--/Of once sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?/ She must soon
+learn now!
+
+"Geoffrey! hear me, Geoffrey!--I die, I die for you! I will wait for
+you at the foundations of the sea, on the topmost heights of heaven,
+in the lowest deeps of hell--wherever I am I will always wait for
+you!"
+
+It sinks--it has sunk--she is alone with God, and the cruel waters.
+The sun goes out! Look on that great white wave seething through the
+deepening gloom; hear it rushing towards her, big with fate.
+
+"Geoffrey, my darling--I will wait----"
+
+
+
+Farewell to Beatrice! The light went out of the sky and darkness
+gathered on the weltering sea. Farewell to Beatrice, and all her love
+and all her sin.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIX
+
+                         A WOMAN'S LAST WORD
+
+Geoffrey came down to breakfast about eleven o'clock on the morning of
+that day the first hours of which he had spent at Euston Station. Not
+seeing Effie, he asked Lady Honoria where she was, and was informed
+that Anne, the French /bonne/, said the child was not well and that
+she had kept her in bed to breakfast.
+
+"Do you mean to say that you have not been up to see what is the
+matter with her?" asked Geoffrey.
+
+"No, not yet," answered his wife. "I have had the dressmaker here with
+my new dress for the duchess's ball to-morrow; it's lovely, but I
+think that there is a little too much of that creamy lace about it."
+
+With an exclamation of impatience, Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He
+found Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed, her eyes wide
+open, and her little hands quite hot.
+
+"Send for the doctor at once," he said.
+
+The doctor came and examined the child, asking her if she had wet her
+feet lately.
+
+"Yes, I did, two days ago. I wet my feet in a puddle in the street,"
+she answered. "But Anne did say that they would soon get dry, if I
+held them to the fire, because my other boots was not clean. Oh, my
+head does ache, daddie."
+
+"Ah," said the doctor, and then covering the child up, took Geoffrey
+aside and told him that his daughter had a mild attack of inflammation
+of the lungs. There was no cause for anxiety, only she must be looked
+after and guarded from chills.
+
+Geoffrey asked if he should send for a trained nurse.
+
+"Oh, no," said the doctor. "I do not think it is necessary, at any
+rate at present. I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubtless your
+wife will keep an eye on her."
+
+So Anne was called up, and vowed that she would guard the cherished
+child like the apple of her eye. Indeed, no, the boots were not wet--
+there was a little, a very little mud on them, that was all.
+
+"Well, don't talk so much, but see that you attend to her properly,"
+said Geoffrey, feeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust Anne.
+However, he thought he would see himself that there was no neglect.
+When she heard what was the matter, Lady Honoria was much put out.
+
+"Really," she said, "children are the most vexatious creatures in the
+world. The idea of her getting inflammation of the lungs in this
+unprovoked fashion. The end of it will be that I shall not be able to
+go to the duchess's ball to-morrow night, and she was so kind about
+it, she made quite a point of my coming. Besides I have bought that
+lovely new dress on purpose. I should never have dreamed of going to
+so much expense for anything else."
+
+"Don't trouble yourself," said Geoffrey. "The House does not sit
+to-morrow; I will look after her. Unless Effie dies in the interval,
+you will certainly be able to go to the ball."
+
+"Dies--what nonsense! The doctor says that it is a very slight attack.
+Why should she die?"
+
+"I am sure I hope that there is no fear of anything of the sort,
+Honoria. Only she must be properly looked after. I do not trust this
+woman Anne. I have half a mind to get in a trained nurse after all."
+
+"Well, if you do, she will have to sleep out of the house, that's all.
+Amelia (Lady Garsington) is coming up to-night, and I must have
+somewhere to put her maid, and there is no room for another bed in
+Effie's room."
+
+"Oh, very well, very well," said Geoffrey, "I daresay that it will be
+all right, but if Effie gets any worse, you will please understand
+that room must be made."
+
+But Effie did not get worse. She remained much about the same.
+Geoffrey sat at home all day and employed himself in reading briefs;
+fortunately he had not to go to court. About six o'clock he went down
+to the House, and having dined very simply and quietly, took his seat
+and listened to some dreary talk, which was being carried on for the
+benefit of the reporters, about the adoption of the Welsh language in
+the law courts of Wales.
+
+Suddenly he became aware of a most extraordinary sense of oppression.
+An indefinite dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with
+terrible apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knock
+at the portals of his sense, a horror which he could not grasp. His
+mind was confused, but little by little it grew clearer, and he began
+to understand that a danger threatened Beatrice, that she was in great
+peril. He was sure of it. Her agonised dying cries reached him where
+he was, though in no form which he could understand; once more her
+thought beat on his thought--once more and for the last time her
+spirit spoke to his.
+
+Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his
+hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he
+heard the dreary orator and saw the members slipping away to dinner.
+The conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had
+been. Nor was this strange! For the link was broken. Beatrice was
+/dead/. She had passed into the domains of impenetrable silence.
+
+
+
+Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in
+his hand. It was addressed in Beatrice's handwriting and bore the
+Chester postmark. A chill fear seized him. What did it contain? He
+hurried with it into a private room and opened it. It was dated from
+Bryngelly on the previous Sunday and had several inclosures.
+
+ "My dearest Geoffrey," it began, "I have never before addressed you
+  thus on paper, nor should I do so now, knowing to what risks such
+  written words might put you, were it not that occasions may arise
+  (as in this case) which seem to justify the risk. For when all
+  things are ended between a man and a woman who are to each other
+  what we have been, then it is well that the one who goes should
+  speak plainly before speech becomes impossible, if only that the
+  one who is left should not misunderstand that which has been done.
+
+ "Geoffrey, it is probable--it is almost certain--that before your
+  eyes read these words I shall be where in the body they can never
+  see me more. I write to you from the brink of the grave; when you
+  read it, it will have closed over me.
+
+ "Geoffrey, I shall be dead.
+
+ "I received your dear letter (it is destroyed now) in which you
+  expressed a wish that I should come away with you to some other
+  country, and I answered it in eight brief words. I dared not
+  trust myself to write more, nor had I any time. How could you
+  think that I should ever accept such an offer for my own sake,
+  when to do so would have been to ruin you? But first I will tell
+  you all that has happened here." (Here followed a long and exact
+  description of those events with which we are already acquainted,
+  including the denunciation of Beatrice by her sister, the threats
+  of Owen Davies as regards Geoffrey himself, and the measures which
+  she had adopted to gain time.)
+
+ "Further," the letter continued, "I inclose you your wife's letter
+  to me. And here I wish to state that I have not one word to say
+  against Lady Honoria or her letter. I think that she was perfectly
+  justified in writing as she did, for after all, dear Geoffrey, you
+  are her husband, and in loving each other we have offended against
+  her. She tells me truly that it is my duty to make all further
+  communications between us impossible. There is only one way to do
+  this, and I take it.
+
+ "And now I have spoken enough about myself, nor do I wish to enter
+  into details that could only give you pain. There will be no
+  scandal, dear, and if any word should be raised against you after
+  I am gone, I have provided an answer in the second letter which I
+  have inclosed. You can print it if necessary; it will be a
+  sufficient reply to any talk. Nobody after reading it can believe
+  that you were in any way connected with the accident which will
+  happen. Dear, one word more--still about myself, you see! Do not
+  blame yourself in this matter, for you are not to blame; of my own
+  free will I do it, because in the extremity of the circumstances I
+  think it best that one should go and the other be saved, rather
+  than that both should be involved in a common ruin.
+
+ "Dear, do you remember how in that strange vision of mine, I
+  dreamed that you came and touched me on the breast and showed me
+  light? So it has come to pass, for you have given me love--that is
+  light; and now in death I shall seek for wisdom. And this being
+  fulfilled, shall not the rest be fulfilled in its season? Shall I
+  not sit in those cloudy halls till I see you come to seek me, the
+  word of wisdom on your lips? And since I cannot have you to
+  myself, and be all in all to you, why I am glad to go. For here on
+  the world is neither rest nor happiness; as in my dream, too often
+  does 'Hope seem to rend her starry robes.'
+
+ "I am glad to go from such a world, in which but one happy thing
+  has found me--the blessing of your love. I am worn out with the
+  weariness and struggle, and now that I have lost you I long for
+  rest. I do not know if I sin in what I do; if so, may I be
+  forgiven. If forgiveness is impossible, so be it! You will forgive
+  me, Geoffrey, and you will always love me, however wicked I may
+  be; even if, at the last, you go where I am not, you will remember
+  and love the erring woman to whom, being so little, you still were
+  all in all. We are not married, Geoffrey, according to the customs
+  of the world, but two short days hence I shall celebrate a service
+  that is greater and more solemn than any of the earth. For Death
+  will be the Priest and that oath which I shall take will be to all
+  eternity. Who can prophesy of that whereof man has no sure
+  knowledge? Yet I do believe that in a time to come we shall look
+  again into each other's eyes, and kiss each other's lips, and be
+  one for evermore. If this is so, it is worth while to have lived
+  and died; if not, then, Geoffrey, farewell!
+
+ "If I may I will always be near you. Listen to the night wind and
+  you shall hear my voice; look on the stars, you will see my eyes;
+  and my love shall be as the air you breathe. And when at last the
+  end comes, remember me, for if I live at all I shall be about you
+  then. What have I more to say? So much, my dear, that words cannot
+  convey it. Let it be untold; but whenever you hear or read that
+  which is beautiful or tender, think 'this is what Beatrice would
+  have said to me and could not!'
+
+ "You will be a great man, dear, the foremost or one of the foremost
+  of your age. You have already promised me to persevere to this
+  end: I will not ask you to promise afresh. Do not be content to
+  accept the world as women must. Great men do not accept the world;
+  they reform it--and you are of their number. And when you are
+  great, Geoffrey, you will use your power, not for self-interest,
+  but to large and worthy ends; you will always strive to help the
+  poor, to break down oppression from those who have to bar it, and
+  to advance the honour of your country. You will do all this from
+  your own heart and not because I ask it of you, but remember that
+  your fame will be my best monument--though none shall ever know
+  the grave it covers.
+
+ "Farewell, farewell, farewell! Oh, Geoffrey, my darling, to whom I
+  have never been a wife, to whom I am more than any wife--do not
+  forget me in the long years which are to come. Remember me when
+  others forsake you. Do not forget me when others flatter you and
+  try to win your love, for none can be to you what I have been--
+  none can ever love you more than that lost Beatrice who writes
+  these heavy words to-night, and who will pass away blessing you
+  with her last breath, to await you, if she may, in the land to
+  which your feet also draw daily on."
+
+Then came a tear-stained postscript in pencil dated from Paddington
+Station on that very morning.
+
+ "I journeyed to London to see you, Geoffrey. I could not die
+  without looking on your face once more. I was in the gallery of
+  the House and heard your great speech. Your friend found me a
+  place. Afterwards I touched your coat as you passed by the pillar
+  of the gateway. Then I ran away because I saw your friend turn and
+  look at me. I shall kiss this letter--just here before I close it
+  --kiss it there too--it is our last cold embrace. Before the end I
+  shall put on the ring you gave me--on my hand, I mean. I have
+  always worn it upon my breast. When I touched you as you passed
+  through the gateway I thought that I should have broken down and
+  called to you--but I found strength not to do so. My heart is
+  breaking and my eyes are blind with tears; I can write no more; I
+  have no more to say. Now once again good-bye. /Ave atque vale/--
+  oh, my love!--B."
+
+The second letter was a dummy. That is to say it purported to be such
+an epistle as any young lady might have written to a gentleman friend.
+It began, "Dear Mr. Bingham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Beatrice
+Granger," was filled with chit-chat, and expressed hopes that he would
+be able to come down to Bryngelly again later in the summer, when they
+would go canoeing.
+
+It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if Geoffrey was accused by Owen
+Davies or anybody else of being concerned with her mysterious end, the
+production of such a frank epistle written two days previously would
+demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she was full of
+precautions!
+
+
+
+Let him who may imagine the effect produced upon Geoffrey by this
+heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face
+when he had finished reading it she would never have committed
+suicide. In a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole
+truth sank into his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, of
+unavailing woe and hopelessness swept across his soul, that for a
+moment he thought his vital forces must give way beneath it, and that
+he should die, as indeed in this dark hour he would have rejoiced to
+do. Oh, how pitiful it was--how pitiful and how awful! To think of
+this love, so passionately pure, wasted on his own unworthiness. To
+think of this divine woman going down to lonely death for him--a
+strong man; to picture her crouching behind that gateway pillar and
+touching him as he passed, while he, the thrice accursed fool, knew
+nothing till too late; to know that he had gone to Euston and not to
+Paddington; to remember the matchless strength and beauty of the love
+which he had lost, and that face which he should never see again!
+Surely his heart would break. No man could bear it!
+
+And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was
+already dead! Oh, he would kill Owen Davies--yes, and Elizabeth too,
+were it not that she was a woman; and as for Honoria he had done with
+her. Scandal, what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there
+should be a scandal indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this
+reptile, who did not hesitate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the
+fulfilling of his lust--yes, and then drag him to the Continent and
+kill him there. Only vengeance was left to him!
+
+Stop, he must not give way--perhaps she was not dead--perhaps that
+horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm was but a
+dream. Could he telegraph? No, it was too late; the office at
+Bryngelly would be closed--it was past eight now. But he could go.
+There was a train leaving a little after nine--he should be there by
+half-past six to-morrow. And Effie was ill--well, surely they could
+look after her for twenty-four hours; she was in no danger, and he
+must go--he could not bear this torturing suspense. Great God! how had
+she done the deed!
+
+Geoffrey snatched a sheet of paper and tried to write. He could not,
+his hand shook so. With a groan he rose, and going to the refreshment
+room swallowed two glasses of brandy one after another. The spirit
+took effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly he scribbled on a
+sheet of paper:
+
+ "I have been called away upon important business and shall probably
+  not be back till Thursday morning. See that Effie is properly
+  attended to. If I am not back you must not go to the duchess's
+  ball.--Geoffrey Bingham."
+
+Then he addressed the letter to Lady Honoria and dispatched a
+commissionaire with it. This done, he called a cab and bade the cabman
+drive to Euston as fast as his horse could go.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXX
+
+                            AVE ATQUE VALE
+
+That frightful journey--no nightmare was ever half so awful! But it
+came to an end at last--there was the Bryngelly Station. Geoffrey
+sprang from the train, and gave his ticket to the porter, glancing in
+his face as he did so. Surely if there had been a tragedy the man
+would know of it, and show signs of half-joyous emotion as is the
+fashion of such people when something awful and mysterious has
+happened to somebody else. But he showed no such symptoms, and a
+glimmer of hope found its way into Geoffrey's tormented breast.
+
+He left the station and walked rapidly towards the Vicarage. Those who
+know what a pitch of horror suspense can reach may imagine his
+feelings as he did so. But it was soon to be put an end to now. As he
+drew near the Vicarage gate he met the fat Welsh servant girl Betty
+running towards him. Then hope left Geoffrey.
+
+The girl recognised him, and in her confusion did not seem in the
+least astonished to see him walking there at a quarter to seven on a
+summer morning. Indeed, even she vaguely connected Geoffrey with
+Beatrice in her mind, for she at once said in her thick English:
+
+"Oh, sir, do you know where Miss Beatrice is?"
+
+"No," he answered, catching at a railing for support. "Why do you ask?
+I have not seen her for weeks."
+
+Then the girl plunged into a long story. Mr. Granger and Miss Granger
+were away from home, and would not be back for another two hours. Miss
+Beatrice had gone out yesterday afternoon, and had not come back to
+tea. She, Betty, had not thought much of it, believing that she had
+stopped to spend the evening somewhere, and, being very tired, had
+gone to bed about eight, leaving the door unlocked. This morning, when
+she woke, it was to find that Miss Beatrice had not slept in the house
+that night, and she came out to see if she could find her.
+
+"Where was she going when she went out?" Geoffrey asked.
+
+She did not know, but she thought that Miss Beatrice was going out in
+the canoe. Leastways she had put on her tennis shoes, which she always
+wore when she went out boating.
+
+Geoffrey understood it all now. "Come to the boat-house," he said.
+
+They went down to the beach, where as yet none were about except a few
+working people. Near the boat-house Geoffrey met old Edward walking
+along with a key in his hand.
+
+"Lord, sir!" he said. "You here, sir! and in that there queer hat,
+too. What is it, sir?"
+
+"Did Miss Beatrice go out in her canoe yesterday evening, Edward?"
+Geoffrey asked hoarsely.
+
+"No, sir; not as I know on. My boy locked up the boat-house last
+night, and I suppose he looked in it first. What! You don't mean to
+say---- Stop; we'll soon know. Oh, Goad! the canoe's gone!"
+
+There was a silence, an awful silence. Old Edward broke it.
+
+"She's drowned, sir--that's what she is--drowned at last; and she the
+finest woman in Wales. I knewed she would be one day, poor dear! and
+she the beauty that she was; and all along of that damned unlucky
+little craft. Goad help her! She's drowned, I say----"
+
+Betty burst out into loud weeping at his words.
+
+"Stop that noise, girl," said Geoffrey, turning his pale face towards
+her. "Go back to the Vicarage, and if Mr. Granger comes home before I
+get back, tell him what we fear. Edward, send some men to search the
+shore towards Coed, and some more in a sailing boat. I will walk
+towards the Bell Rock--you can follow me."
+
+He started and swiftly tramped along the sands, searching the sea with
+his eye. On he walked sullenly, desperately striving to hope against
+hope. On, past the Dog Rocks, round the long curve of beach till he
+came to the Amphitheatre. The tide was high again; he could barely
+pass the projecting point. He was round it, and his heart stood still.
+For there, bottom upwards, and gently swaying to and fro as the spent
+waves rocked it, was Beatrice's canoe.
+
+Sadly, hopelessly, heavily, Geoffrey waded knee deep into the water,
+and catching the bow of the canoe, dragged it ashore. There was, or
+appeared to be, nothing in it; of course he could not expect anything
+else. Its occupant had sunk and been carried out to sea by the ebb,
+whereas the canoe had drifted back to shore with the morning tide.
+
+He reared it upon its end to let the water drain out of it, and from
+the hollow of the bow arch something came rolling down, something
+bright and heavy, followed by a brown object. Hastily he lowered the
+canoe again, and picked up the bright trinket. It was his own ring
+come back to him--the Roman ring he had given Beatrice, and which she
+told him in the letter she would wear in her hour of death. He touched
+it with his lips and placed it back upon his hand, this token from the
+beloved dead, vowing that it should never leave his hand in life, and
+that after death it should be buried on him. And so it will be,
+perhaps to be dug up again thousands of years hence, and once more to
+play a part in the romance of unborn ages.
+
+/Ave atque vale/--that was the inscription rudely cut within its
+round. Greeting and farewell--her own last words to him. Oh, Beatrice,
+Beatrice! to you also /ave atque vale/. You could not have sent a
+fitter message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all? Within
+the circle of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life:
+here were the beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and
+fear, of Joy and Sorrow.
+
+Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
+earthward shall cry "/Greeting/," in another tongue, and Death,
+descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
+shall answer "/Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!/"
+
+And what was this other relic? He lifted it--it was Beatrice's tennis
+shoe, washed from her foot--Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied it.
+
+Then Geoffrey broke down--it was too much. He threw himself upon the
+great rock and sobbed--that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
+had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions
+of emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He
+could not have borne it for long.
+
+He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old
+Edward and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up
+the little shoe.
+
+"Ah," said the old man, "as I thought. Goad help her! She's gone;
+she'll never come ashore no more, she won't. She's twenty miles away
+by now, she is, breast up, with the gulls a-screaming over her. It's
+that there damned canoe, that's what it is. I wish to Goad I had broke
+it up long ago. I'd rather have built her a boat for nothing, I would.
+Damn the unlucky craft!" screamed the old man at the top of his voice,
+and turning his head to hide the tears that were streaming down his
+rugged face. "And her that I nursed and pulled out of the waters once
+all but dead. Damn it, I say! There, take that, you Sea Witch, you!"
+and he picked up a great boulder and crashed it through the bottom of
+the canoe with all his strength. "You shan't never drown no more. But
+it has brought you good luck, it has, sir; you'll be a fortunit man
+all your life now. It has brought you the /Drowned One's shoe/."
+
+"Don't break it any more," said Geoffrey. "She used to value it. You
+had better bring it along between you--it may be wanted. I am going to
+the Vicarage."
+
+He walked back. Mr. Granger and Elizabeth had not yet arrived, but
+they were expected every minute. He went into the sitting-room. It was
+full of memories and tokens of Beatrice. There lay a novel which he
+had given her, and there was yesterday's paper that she had brought
+from town, the /Standard/, with his speech in it.
+
+Geoffrey covered his eyes with his hand, and thought. None knew that
+she had committed suicide except himself. If he revealed it things
+might be said of her; he did not care what was said of him, but he was
+jealous of her dead name. It might be said, for instance, that the
+whole tale was true, and that Beatrice died because she could no
+longer face life without being put to an open shame. Yes, he had
+better hold his tongue as to how and why she died. She was dead--
+nothing could bring her back. But how then should he account for his
+presence there? Easily enough. He would say frankly that he came
+because Beatrice had written to him of the charges made against her
+and the threats against himself--came to find her dead. And on that
+point he would still have a word with Owen Davies and Elizabeth.
+
+Scarcely had he made up his mind when Elizabeth and her father
+entered. Clearly from their faces they had as yet heard nothing.
+
+Geoffrey rose, and Elizabeth caught sight of him standing with glowing
+eyes and a face like that of Death himself. She recoiled in alarm.
+
+"What brings you here, Mr. Bingham?" she said, in her hard voice.
+
+"Cannot you guess, Miss Granger?" he said sternly. "A few days back
+you made certain charges against your sister and myself in the
+presence of your father and Mr. Owen Davies. These charges have been
+communicated to me, and I have come to answer them and to demand
+satisfaction for them."
+
+Mr. Granger fidgeted nervously and looked as though he would like to
+escape, but Elizabeth, with characteristic courage, shut the door and
+faced the storm.
+
+"Yes, I did make those charges, Mr. Bingham," she said, "and they are
+true charges. But stop, we had better send for Beatrice first."
+
+"You may send, but you will not find her."
+
+"What do you mean?--what do you mean?" asked her father
+apprehensively.
+
+"It means that he has hidden her away, I suppose," said Elizabeth with
+a sneer.
+
+"I mean, Mr. Granger, that your daughter Beatrice is /dead/."
+
+For once startled out of her self-command, Elizabeth gave a little
+cry, while her father staggered back against the wall.
+
+"Dead! dead! What do you mean? How did she die?" he asked.
+
+"That is known to God and her alone," answered Geoffrey. "She went out
+last evening in her canoe. When I arrived here this morning she was
+missed for the first time. I walked along the beach and found the
+canoe and this inside of it," and he placed the sodden shoe upon the
+table.
+
+There was a silence. In the midst of it, Owen Davies burst into the
+room with wild eyes and dishevelled hair.
+
+"Is it true?" he cried, "tell me--it cannot be true that Beatrice is
+drowned. She cannot have been taken from me just when I was going to
+marry her. Say that it is not true!"
+
+A great fury filled Geoffrey's heart. He walked down the room and shut
+the door, a red light swimming before his eyes. Then he turned and
+gripped Owen Davies's shoulder like a vice.
+
+"You accursed blackguard--you unmanly cur!" he said; "you and that
+wicked woman," and he shook his hand at Elizabeth, "conspired together
+to bring a slur upon Beatrice. You did more: you threatened to attack
+me, to try and ruin me if she would not give herself up to you. You
+loathsome hypocrite, you tortured her and frightened her; now I am
+here to frighten /you/. You said that you would make the country ring
+with your tales. I tell you this--are you listening to me? If you dare
+to mention her name in such a sense, or if that woman dares, I will
+break every bone in your wretched body--by Heaven I will kill you!"
+and he cast Davies from him, and as he did so, struck him heavily
+across the face with the back of his hand.
+
+The man took no notice either of his words or of the deadly insult of
+the blow.
+
+"Is it true?" he screamed, "is it true that she is dead?"
+
+"Yes," said Geoffrey, following him, and bending his tall square frame
+over him, for Davies had fallen against the wall, "yes, it is true--
+she is dead--and beyond your reach for ever. Pray to God that you may
+not one day be called her murderers, all of you--you shameless
+cowards."
+
+Owen Davies gave one shrill cry and sank in a huddled heap upon the
+ground.
+
+"There is no God," he moaned; "God promised her to me, to be my own--
+you have killed her; you--you seduced her first and then you killed
+her. I believe you killed her. Oh, I shall go mad!"
+
+"Mad or sane," said Geoffrey, "say those words once more and I will
+stamp the life out of you where you are. You say that God promised her
+to you--promised that woman to a hound like you. Ah, be careful!"
+
+Owen Davies made no answer. Crouched there upon the ground he rocked
+himself to and fro, and moaned in the madness of his baulked desire.
+
+"This man," said Geoffrey, turning towards and pointing to Elizabeth,
+who was glaring at him like a wild cat from the corner of the room,
+"said that there is no God. I say that there is a God, and that one
+day, soon or late, vengeance will find you out--you murderess, you
+writer of anonymous letters; you who, to advance your own wicked ends
+whatever they may be, were not ashamed to try to drag your innocent
+sister's name into the dirt. I never believed in a hell till now, but
+there must be a hell for such as you, Elizabeth Granger. Go your ways;
+live out your time; but live every hour of it in terror of the
+vengeance that shall come so surely as you shall die.
+
+"Now for you, sir," he went on, addressing the trembling father. "I do
+not blame you so much, because I believe that this viper poisoned your
+mind. You might have thought that the tale was true. It is not true;
+it was a lie. Beatrice, who now is dead, came into my room in her
+sleep, and was carried from it as she came. And you, her father,
+allowed this villain and your daughter to use her distress against
+her; you allowed him to make a lever of it, with which to force her
+into a marriage that she loathed. Yes, cover up your face--you may
+well do so. Do your worst, one and all of you, but remember that this
+time you have to deal with a man who can and will strike back, not a
+poor friendless girl."
+
+"Before Heaven, it was not my fault, Mr. Bingham," gasped the old man.
+"I am innocent of it. That Judas-woman Elizabeth betrayed her sister
+because she wanted to marry him herself," and he pointed to the Heap
+upon the floor. "She thought that it would prejudice him against
+Beatrice, and he--he believed that she was attached to you, and tried
+to work upon her attachment."
+
+"So," said Geoffrey, "now we have it all. And you, sir, stood by and
+saw this done. You stood by thinking that you would make a profit of
+her agony. Now I will tell you what I meant to hide from you. I did
+love her. I do love her--as she loved me. I believe that between you,
+you drove her to her grave. Her blood be on your heads for ever and
+for ever!"
+
+"Oh, take me home," groaned the Heap upon the floor--"take me home,
+Elizabeth! I daren't go alone. Beatrice will haunt me. My brain goes
+round and round. Take me away, Elizabeth, and stop with me. You are
+not afraid of her, you are afraid of nothing."
+
+Elizabeth sidled up to him, keeping her fierce eyes on Geoffrey all
+the time. She was utterly cowed and terrified, but she could still
+look fierce. She took the Heap by the hand and drew him thence still
+moaning and quite crazed. She led him away to his castle and his
+wealth. Six months afterwards she came forth with him to marry him,
+half-witted as he was. A year and eight months afterwards she came out
+again to bury him, and found herself the richest widow in Wales.
+
+
+
+They went forth, leaving Geoffrey and Mr. Granger alone. The old man
+rested his head upon the table and wept bitterly.
+
+"Be merciful," he said, "do not say such words to me. I loved her,
+indeed I did, but Elizabeth was too much for me, and I am so poor. Oh,
+if you loved her also, be merciful! I do not reproach you because you
+loved her, although you had no right to love her. If you had not loved
+her, and made her love you, all this would never have happened. Why do
+you say such dreadful things to me, Mr. Bingham?"
+
+"I loved her, sir," answered Geoffrey, humbly enough now that his fury
+had passed, "because being what she was all who looked on her must
+love her. There is no woman left like her in the world. But who am I
+that I should blame you? God forgive us all! I only live henceforth in
+the hope that I may one day rejoin her where she has gone."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Mr. Granger," said Geoffrey presently, "never trouble yourself about
+money. You were her father; anything you want and what I have is
+yours. Let us shake hands and say good-bye, and let us never meet
+again. As I said, God forgive us all!"
+
+"Thank you--thank you," said the old man, looking up through the white
+hair that fell about his eyes. "It is a strange world and we are all
+miserable sinners. I hope there is a better somewhere. I'm well-nigh
+tired of this, especially now that Beatrice has gone. Poor girl, she
+was a good daughter and a fine woman. Good-bye. Good-bye!"
+
+Then Geoffrey went.
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXXI
+
+                          THE DUCHESS'S BALL
+
+Geoffrey reached Town a little before eleven o'clock that night--a
+haunted man--haunted for life by a vision of that face still lovely in
+death, floating alone upon the deep, and companioned only by the
+screaming mews--or perchance now sinking or sunk to an unfathomable
+grave. Well might such a vision haunt a man, the man whom alone of all
+men those cold lips had kissed, and for whose dear sake this dreadful
+thing was done.
+
+He took a cab directing the driver to go to Bolton Street and to stop
+at his club as he passed. There might be letters for him there, he
+thought--something which would distract his mind a little. As it
+chanced there was a letter, marked "private," and a telegram; both had
+been delivered that evening, the porter said, the former about an hour
+ago by hand.
+
+Idly he opened the telegram--it was from his lawyers: "Your cousin,
+the child George Bingham, is, as we have just heard, dead. Please call
+on us early to-morrow morning."
+
+He started a little, for this meant a good deal to Geoffrey. It meant
+a baronetcy and eight thousand a year, more or less. How delighted
+Honoria would be, he thought with a sad smile; the loss of that large
+income had always been a bitter pill to her, and one which she had
+made him swallow again and again. Well, there it was. Poor boy, he had
+always been ailing--an old man's child!
+
+He put the telegram in his pocket and got into the hansom again. There
+was a lamp in it and by its light he read the letter. It was from the
+Prime Minister and ran thus:
+
+ "My dear Bingham,--I have not seen you since Monday to thank you
+  for the magnificent speech you made on that night. Allow me to add
+  my congratulations to those of everybody else. As you know, the
+  Under Secretaryship of the Home Office is vacant. On behalf of my
+  colleagues and myself I write to ask if you will consent to fill
+  it for a time, for we do not in any way consider that the post is
+  one commensurate with your abilities. It will, however, serve to
+  give you practical experience of administration, and us the
+  advantage of your great talents to an even larger extent than we
+  now enjoy. For the future, it must of course take care of itself;
+  but, as you know, Sir ----'s health is not all that could be
+  desired, and the other day he told me that it was doubtful if he
+  would be able to carry on the duties of the Attorney-Generalship
+  for very much longer. In view of this contingency I venture to
+  suggest that you would do well to apply for silk as soon as
+  possible. I have spoken to the Lord Chancellor about it, and he
+  says that there will be no difficulty, as although you have only
+  been in active practice for so short a while, you have a good many
+  years' standing as a barrister. Or if this prospect does not
+  please doubtless some other opening to the Cabinet can be found in
+  time. The fact is, that we cannot in our own interest overlook you
+  for long."
+
+Geoffrey smiled again as he finished this letter. Who could have
+believed a year ago that he would have been to-day in a position to
+receive such an epistle from the Prime Minister of England? Ah, here
+was the luck of the Drowned One's shoe with a vengeance. And what was
+it all worth to him now?
+
+He put the letter in his pocket with the telegram and looked out. They
+were turning into Bolton Street. How was little Effie, he wondered?
+The child seemed all that was left him to care for. If anything
+happened to her--bah, he would not think of it!
+
+He was there now. "How is Miss Effie?" he asked of the servant who
+opened the door. At that moment his attention was attracted by the dim
+forms of two people, a man and a woman, who were standing not far from
+the area gate, the man with his arm round the woman's waist. Suddenly
+the woman appeared to catch sight of the cab and retired swiftly down
+the area. It crossed his mind that her figure was very like that of
+Anne, the French nurse.
+
+"Miss Effie is doing nicely, sir, I'm told," answered the man.
+
+Geoffrey breathed more freely. "Where is her ladyship?" he asked. "In
+Effie's room?"
+
+"No, sir," answered the man, "her ladyship has gone to a ball. She
+left this note for you in case you should come in."
+
+He took the note from the hall table and opened it.
+
+ "Dear Geoffrey," it ran, "Effie is so much better that I have made
+  up my mind to go to the duchess's ball after all. She would be so
+  disappointed if I did not come, and my dress is quite /lovely/.
+  Had your mysterious business anything to do with /Bryngelly/?--
+  Yours, Honoria."
+
+"She would go on to a ball from her mother's funeral," said Geoffrey
+to himself, as he walked up to Effie's room; "well, it is her nature
+and there's an end of it."
+
+He knocked at the door of Effie's room. There was no answer, so he
+walked in. The room was lit but empty--no, not quite! On the floor,
+clothed only in her white night-shirt, lay his little daughter, to all
+appearance dead.
+
+With something like an oath he sprang to her and lifted her. The face
+was pale and the small hands were cold, but the breast was still hot
+and fevered, and the heart beat. A glance showed him what had
+happened. The child being left alone, and feeling thirsty, had got out
+of bed and gone to the water bottle--there was the tumbler on the
+floor. Then weakness had overcome her and she had fainted--fainted
+upon the cold floor with the inflammation still on her.
+
+At that moment Anne entered the room sweetly murmuring, "Ça va bien,
+chérie?"
+
+"Help me to put the child into bed," said Geoffrey sternly. "Now ring
+the bell--ring it again.
+
+"And now, woman--go. Leave this house at once, this very night. Do you
+hear me? No, don't stop to argue. Look here! If that child dies I will
+prosecute you for manslaughter; yes, I saw you in the street," and he
+took a step towards her. Then Anne fled, and her face was seen no more
+in Bolton Street or indeed in this country.
+
+"James," said Geoffrey to the servant, "send the cook up here--she is
+a sensible woman; and do you take a hansom and drive to the doctor,
+and tell him to come here at once, and if you cannot find him go for
+another doctor. Then go to the Nurses' Home, near St. James' Station,
+and get a trained nurse--tell them one must be had from somewhere
+instantly."
+
+"Yes, sir. And shall I call for her ladyship at the duchess's, sir?"
+
+"No," he answered, frowning heavily, "do not disturb her ladyship. Go
+now."
+
+"That settles it," said Geoffrey, as the man went. "Whatever happens,
+Honoria and I must part. I have done with her."
+
+He had indeed, though not in the way he meant. It would have been well
+for Honoria if her husband's contempt had not prevented him from
+summoning her from her pleasure.
+
+The cook came up, and between them they brought the child back to
+life.
+
+She opened her eyes and smiled. "Is that you, daddy," she whispered,
+"or do I dreams?"
+
+"Yes, dear, it is I."
+
+"Where has you been, daddy--to see Auntie Beatrice?"
+
+"Yes, love," he said, with a gasp.
+
+"Oh, daddy, my head do feel funny; but I don't mind now you is come
+back. You won't go away no more, will you, daddy?"
+
+"No, dear, no more."
+
+After that she began to wander a little, and finally dropped into a
+troubled sleep.
+
+Within half an hour both the doctor and the nurse arrived. The former
+listened to Geoffrey's tale and examined the child.
+
+"She may pull through it," he said, "she has got a capital
+constitution; but I'll tell you what it is--if she had lain another
+five minutes in that draught there would have been an end of her. You
+came in the nick of time. And now if I were you I should go to bed.
+You can do no good here, and you look dreadfully ill yourself."
+
+But Geoffrey shook his head. He said he would go downstairs and smoke
+a pipe. He did not want to go to bed at present; he was too tired.
+
+
+
+Meanwhile the ball went merrily. Lady Honoria never enjoyed herself
+more in her life. She revelled in the luxurious gaiety around her like
+a butterfly in the sunshine. How good it all was--the flash of
+diamonds, the odour of costly flowers, the homage of well-bred men,
+the envy of other women. Oh! it was a delightful world after all--that
+is when one did not have to exist in a flat near the Edgware Road. But
+Heaven be praised! thanks to Geoffrey's talents, there was an end of
+flats and misery. After all, he was not a bad sort of husband, though
+in many ways a perfect mystery to her. As for his little weakness for
+the Welsh girl, really, provided that there was no scandal, she did
+not care twopence about it.
+
+"Yes, I am so glad you admire it. I think it is rather a nice dress,
+but then I always say that nobody in London can make a dress like
+Madame Jules. Oh, no, Geoffrey did not choose it; he thinks of other
+things."
+
+"Well, I'm sure you ought to be proud of him, Lady Honoria," said the
+handsome Guardsman to whom she was talking; "they say at mess that he
+is one of the cleverest men in England. I only wish I had a fiftieth
+part of his brains."
+
+"Oh, please do not become clever, Lord Atleigh; please don't, or I
+shall really give you up. Cleverness is all very well, but it isn't
+everything, you know. Yes, I will dance if you like, but you must go
+slowly; to be quite honest, I am afraid of tearing my lace in this
+crush. Why, I declare there is Garsington, my brother, you know," and
+she pointed to a small red-haired man who was elbowing his way towards
+them. "I wonder what he wants; it is not at all in his line to come to
+balls. You know him, don't you? he is always racing horses, like you."
+
+But the Guardsman had vanished. For reasons of his own he did not wish
+to meet Garsington. Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain
+club.
+
+"Oh, there you are, Honoria," said her brother, "I thought that I
+should be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash. Look
+here, I have something to tell you."
+
+"Good news or bad?" said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. "If it is
+bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don't want my
+evening spoilt."
+
+"Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it's jolly good, about as
+good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think?
+that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or
+some one, you know, is----"
+
+"Not dead, not dead?" said Honoria in deep agitation.
+
+"Dead as ditch-water," replied his lordship. "I heard it at the club.
+There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they
+got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, 'Oh, he's Sir
+Geoffrey Bingham now. Old Sir Robert's heir is dead. I saw the
+telegram myself.'"
+
+"Oh, this is almost too good to be true," said Honoria. "Why, it means
+eight thousand a year to us."
+
+"I told you it was pretty good," said her brother. "You ought to stand
+me a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let's go and drink to
+the news. Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must
+screw myself up."
+
+Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung
+stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.
+
+"Ah, Lady Honoria," said the great Person, "I have something to say
+that will please you, I think," and he bent towards her, and spoke
+very low, then, with a little bow, passed on.
+
+"What is the old boy talking about?" asked her brother.
+
+"Why, what do you think? We are in luck's way to-night. He says that
+they are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home
+Office."
+
+"He'll be a bigger prig than ever now," growled Lord Garsington. "Yes,
+it is luck though; let us hope it won't turn."
+
+They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been
+dining, helped himself pretty freely to champagne. Before them was a
+silver candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little
+painted paper shade. One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to
+reach over Lord Garsington's head to put it straight.
+
+"I'll do it," said he.
+
+"No, no; let the man," said Lady Honoria. "Look! it is going to catch
+fire!"
+
+"Nonsense," he answered, rising solemnly and reaching his arm towards
+the shade. As he touched it, it caught fire; indeed, by touching it he
+caused it to catch fire. He seized hold of it, and made an effort to
+put it out, but it burnt his fingers.
+
+"Curse the thing!" he said aloud, and threw it from him. It fell
+flaming in his sister's dress among the thickest of the filmy laces;
+they caught, and instantly two wreathing snakes of fire shot up her.
+She sprang from her seat and rushed screaming down the room, an awful
+mass of flame!
+
+
+
+In ten more minutes Lady Honoria had left this world and its pleasures
+to those who still lived to taste them.
+
+
+
+An hour passed. Geoffrey still sat brooding heavily over his pipe in
+the study in Bolton Street and waiting for Honoria, when a knock came
+to his door. The servants had all gone to bed, all except the sick
+nurse. He rose and opened it himself. A little red-haired, pale-faced
+man staggered in.
+
+"Why, Garsington, is it you? What do you want at this hour?"
+
+"Screw yourself up, Bingham, I've something to tell you," he answered
+in a thick voice.
+
+"What is it? another disaster, I suppose. Is somebody else dead?"
+
+"Yes; somebody is. Honoria's dead. Burnt to death at the ball."
+
+"Great God! Honoria burnt to death. I had better go----"
+
+"I advise you not, Bingham. I wouldn't go to the hospital if I were
+you. Screw yourself up, and if you can, give me something to drink--
+I'm about done--I must screw myself up."
+
+
+
+And here we may leave this most fortunate and gifted man. Farewell to
+Geoffrey Bingham.
+
+
+
+                                ENVOL
+
+Thus, then, did these human atoms work out their destinies, these
+little grains of animated dust, blown hither and thither by a breath
+which came they knew not whence.
+
+If there be any malicious Principle among the Powers around us that
+deigns to find amusement in the futile vagaries of man, well might it
+laugh, and laugh again, at the great results of all this scheming, of
+all these desires, loves and hates; and if there be any pitiful
+Principle, well might it sigh over the infinite pathos of human
+helplessness. Owen Davies lost in his own passion; Geoffrey crowned
+with prosperity and haunted by undying sorrow; Honoria perishing
+wretchedly in her hour of satisfied ambition; Beatrice sacrificing
+herself in love and blindness, and thereby casting out her joy.
+
+Oh, if she had been content to humbly trust in the Providence above
+her; if she had but left that deed undared for one short week!
+
+But Geoffrey still lived, and the child recovered, after hanging for a
+while between life and death, and was left to comfort him. May she
+survive to be a happy wife and mother, living under conditions more
+favourable to her well-being than those which trampled out the life of
+that mistaken woman, the ill-starred, great-souled Beatrice, and broke
+her father's heart.
+
+
+
+Say--what are we? We are but arrows winged with fears and shot from
+darkness into darkness; we are blind leaders of the blind, aimless
+beaters of this wintry air; lost travellers by many stony paths ending
+in one end. Tell us, you, who have outworn the common tragedy and
+passed the narrow way, what lies beyond its gate? You are dumb, or we
+cannot hear you speak.
+
+
+
+But Beatrice knows to-day!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Beatrice, by H. Rider Haggard
+
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