the altars of their love,
their religion, their honour or their country!

It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was
to come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been,
Beatrice lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class as
usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she was
with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of
the Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
father's oath.

Nearly all the rest of the day and evening she spent in writing that
which we shall read in time--only in the late afternoon she went out for
a little while in her canoe. Another thing Beatrice did also: she called
at the lodging of her assistant, the head school teacher, and told
her it was possible that she would not be in her place on the Tuesday
(Monday was, as it chanced, a holiday). If anybody inquired as to her
absence, perhaps she would kindly tell them that Miss Granger had an
appointment to keep, and had taken a morning's holiday in order to do
so. She should, however, be back that afternoon. The teacher assented
without suspicion, remarking that if Beatrice could not take a morning's
holiday, she was sure she did not know who could.

Next morning they breakfasted very early, because Mr. Granger and
Elizabeth had to catch the train. Beatrice sat through the meal in
silence, her calm eyes looking straight before her, and the others,
gazing on them, and at the lovely inscrutable face, felt an indefinable
fear creep into their hearts. What did this woman mean to do? That was
the question they asked of themselves, though not of each other. That
she meant to do something they were sure, for there was purpose written
on every line of her cold face.

Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
flashed like an arrow into Beatrice's heart, and pierced it. This was
the last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last time
that she could ever see her father's and her sister's faces. For her
sister, well, it might pass--for there are some things which even a
woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive--but she loved her father.
She loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-seeking had
become en