en thrown in with except herself--Elizabeth--who
loved him as much as she could love anybody, which, perhaps, was not
very much; who, at any rate, desired sorely to be his wife. Would not
all this have come about if she had never seen that eyelid tremble,
and that slight quiver run up her sister's limbs? It would--she knew it
would.

Elizabeth thought of it as for a moment she stood in the passage, and a
cold hungry light came into her neutral tinted eyes and shone upon her
pale face. But she choked back the thought; she was scarcely wicked
enough to wish that her sister had not been brought back to life. She
only speculated on what might have happened if this had come about, just
as one works out a game of chess from a given hypothetical situation of
the pieces.

Perhaps, too, the same end might be gained in some other way. Perhaps
Mr. Davies might still be weaned from his infatuation. The wall was
difficult, but it would have to be very difficult if she could not find
a way to climb it. It never occurred to Elizabeth that there might be
an open gate. She could not conceive it possible that a woman might
positively reject Owen Davies and his seven or ten thousand a year, and
that woman a person in an unsatisfactory and uncongenial, almost in
a menial position. Reject Bryngelly Castle with all its luxury and
opportunities of wealth and leisure? No, the sun would set in the east
before such a thing happened. The plan was to prevent the occasion from
arising. The hungry light died on Elizabeth's face, and she turned to
enter the sick room when suddenly she met her father coming out.

"Who was that at the front?" he asked, carefully closing the door.

"Mr. Davies of Bryngelly Castle, father."

"And what did Mr. Davies want at this time of night? To know about
Beatrice?"

"Yes," she answered slowly, "he came to ask after Beatrice, or to be
more correct he has been waiting outside for three hours in the rain to
learn if she recovered."

"Waiting outside for three hours in the rain," said the clergyman
astonished--"Squire Davies standing outside the house! What for?"

"Because he was so anxious about Beatrice and did not like to come in, I
suppose."

"So anxious about Beatrice--ah, so anxious about Beatrice! Do you
think, Elizabeth--um--you know there is no doubt Beatrice is very well
favoured--very handsome they say----"

"I do not think anything about it, father," she answered, "and as for
Beatrice's looks they