al. 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 tim