d in doing secretary's work for
Dr. Shrapnel. So Cecilia learnt from Mr. Lydiard, who came to pay his
respects to Mrs. Wardour-Devereux at Mount Laurels. The pursuit of the
apology was continued in letters to his uncle and occasional interviews
with him, which were by no means instigated by the doctor, Mr. Lydiard
informed the ladies. He described Beauchamp as acting in the spirit of
a man who has sworn an oath to abandon every pleasure in life, that he
may, as far as it lies in his power, indemnify his friend for the wrong
done to him.

'Such men are too terrible for me,' said Mrs. Devereux.

Cecilia thought the reverse: Not for me! But she felt a strain upon her
nature, and she was miserable in her alienation from her father.
Kissing him one night, she laid her head on his breast, and begged his
forgiveness. He embraced her tenderly. 'Wait, only wait; you will see I
am right,' he said, and prudently said no more, and did not ask her to
speak.

She was glad that she had sought the reconciliation from her heart's
natural warmth, on hearing some time later that M. de Croisnel was dead,
and that Beauchamp meditated starting for France to console his Renee.
Her continual agitations made her doubtful of her human feelings: she
clung to that instance of her filial stedfastness.

The day before Cecilia and her father left Mount Laurels for their
season in Wales, Mr. Tuckham and Beauchamp came together to the
house, and were closeted an hour with her father. Cecilia sat in the
drawing-room, thinking that she did indeed wait, and had great patience.
Beauchamp entered the room alone. He looked worn and thin, of a leaden
colour, like the cloud that bears the bolt. News had reached him of
the death of Lord Avonley in the hunting-field, and he was going on to
Steynham to persuade his uncle to accompany him to Bevisham and wash
the guilt of his wrong-doing off him before applying for the title. 'You
would advise me not to go?' he said. 'I must. I should be dishonoured
myself if I let a chance pass. I run the risk of being a beggar: I'm all
but one now.'

Cecilia faltered: 'Do you see a chance?'

'Hardly more than an excuse for trying it,' he replied.

She gave him back Dr. Shrapnel's letters. 'I have read them,' was all
she said. For he might have just returned from France, with the breath
of Renee about him, and her pride would not suffer her to melt him in
rivalry by saying what she had been led to think of the letters.