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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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