dead."

Elizabeth made no answer. They were nearing the station, for her father
had started on again, and there were people about. But she looked at
him, and he never forgot the look. It was quite enough to chill him into
silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.

When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations. Her wild
purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey's face
in the House of Commons, if possible, and then return. She put on her
bonnet and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple grey
cloth, but on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it she
thrust the letter which she had written on the previous day. A small
hand-bag, with some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a cloak,
made up the total of her baggage.

The train, which did not stop at Bryngelly, left Coed at ten, and Coed
was an hour and a half's walk. She must be starting. Of course, she
would have to be absent for the night, and she was sorely puzzled how
to account for her absence to Betty, the servant girl; the others
being gone there was no need to do so to anybody else. But here fortune
befriended her. While she was thinking the matter over, who should come
in but Betty herself, crying. She had just heard, she said, that her
little sister, who lived with their mother at a village about ten miles
away, had been knocked down by a cart and badly hurt. Might she go home
for the night? She could come back on the morrow, and Miss Beatrice
could get somebody in to sleep if she was lonesome.

Beatrice sympathised, demurred, and consented, and Betty started at
once. As soon as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the house, put the
key in her pocket, and started on her five miles' tramp. Nobody saw her
leave the house, and she passed by a path at the back of the village, so
that nobody saw her on the road. Reaching Coed Station quite unobserved,
and just before the train was due, she let down her veil, and took a
third-class ticket to London. This she was obliged to do, for her
stock of money was very small; it amounted, altogether, to thirty-six
shillings, of which the fare to London and back would cost her
twenty-eight and fourpence.

In another minute she had entered an empty carriage, and the train had
steamed away.

She reached Paddington about eight that night, and going to the
refreshment room, dined on some tea and bread and butter. Then she
washed her hands, brushed