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 littl