dvice of a lawyer. I daresay that
Mr. Bingham would advise me," he added, "as a friend of the family,
you know. He is a very clever lawyer, and, besides, he wouldn't charge
anything."

"Oh, no, not Mr. Bingham," answered Owen anxiously. "I will do anything
you like, or if you wish to have a lawyer I'll pay the bill myself. But
never mind about that now. Let us settle it with Beatrice first. Come
along at once."

"Eh, but hadn't you better arrange that part of the business privately?"

"No, no. She always snubs me when I try to speak to her alone. You had
better be there, and Miss Elizabeth too, if she likes. I won't speak to
her again alone. I will speak to her in the face of God and man, as God
directed me to do, and then it will be all right--I know it will."

Mr. Granger stared at him. He was a clergyman of a very practical sort,
and did not quite see what the Power above had to do with Owen Davies's
matrimonial intentions.

"Ah, well," he said, "I see what you mean; marriages are made in heaven;
yes, of course. Well, if you want to get on with the matter, I daresay
that we shall find Beatrice in."

So they walked back to the Vicarage, Mr. Granger exultant and yet
perplexed, for it struck him that there was something a little odd about
the proceeding, and Owen Davies in silence or muttering occasionally to
himself.

In the sitting-room they found Elizabeth.

"Where is Beatrice?" asked her father.

"I don't know," she answered, and at that moment Beatrice, pale and
troubled, walked into the room, like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Ah, Beatrice," said her father, "we were just asking for you."

She glanced round, and with the quick wit of a human animal, instantly
perceived that some new danger threatened her.

"Indeed," she said, sinking into a chair in an access of feebleness born
of fear. "What is it, father?"

Mr. Granger looked at Owen Davies and then took a step towards the door.
It struck him forcibly that this scene should be private to the two
persons principally concerned.

"Don't go," said Owen Davies excitedly, "don't go, either of you; what I
have to say had better be said before you both. I should like to say it
before the whole world; to cry it from the mountain tops."

Elizabeth glared at him fiercely--glared first at him and then at the
innocent Beatrice. Could he be going to propose to her, then? Ah, why
had she hesitated? Why had she not told him the whole truth before?
But the heart