econd letter was a dummy. That is to say it purported to be such an
epistle as any young lady might have written to a gentleman friend.
It began, "Dear Mr. Bingham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Beatrice
Granger," was filled with chit-chat, and expressed hopes that he would
be able to come down to Bryngelly again later in the summer, when they
would go canoeing.

It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if Geoffrey was accused by Owen
Davies or anybody else of being concerned with her mysterious end, the
production of such a frank epistle written two days previously would
demonstrate the absurdity of the idea. Poor Beatrice, she was full of
precautions!

Let him who may imagine the effect produced upon Geoffrey by this
heartrending and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have seen his face
when he had finished reading it she would never have committed suicide.
In a minute it became like that of an old man. As the whole truth sank
into his mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse, of unavailing woe
and hopelessness swept across his soul, that for a moment he thought his
vital forces must give way beneath it, and that he should die, as indeed
in this dark hour he would have rejoiced to do. Oh, how pitiful it
was--how pitiful and how awful! To think of this love, so passionately
pure, wasted on his own unworthiness. To think of this divine woman
going down to lonely death for him--a strong man; to picture her
crouching behind that gateway pillar and touching him as he passed,
while he, the thrice accursed fool, knew nothing till too late; to
know that he had gone to Euston and not to Paddington; to remember the
matchless strength and beauty of the love which he had lost, and that
face which he should never see again! Surely his heart would break. No
man could bear it!

And of those cowards who hounded her to death, if indeed she was already
dead! Oh, he would kill Owen Davies--yes, and Elizabeth too, were it not
that she was a woman; and as for Honoria he had done with her. Scandal,
what did he care for scandal? If he had his will there should be a
scandal indeed, for he would beat this Owen Davies, this reptile, who
did not hesitate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the fulfilling of
his lust--yes, and then drag him to the Continent and kill him there.
Only vengeance was left to him!

Stop, he must not give way--perhaps she was not dead--perhaps that
horrible presage of evil which had struck him like a storm was b