d 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