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, thinkin