seen her so stirred in my life, as she is now. I--I think she will do
anything you wish in time. It is useless to feign that we do not
understand one another--anything you wish--come back to her Faith
perhaps; treat my father better. She--she loves you, I think; and yet
dare not--"

"On Ralph's account," put in Beatrice serenely.

"Yes; how did you know? It is on Ralph's account. She cannot forgive
that. Can you say anything to her, do you think? Anything to explain?
You understand--"

"I understand."

"I do not know how I dare say all this," went on Mary blushing
furiously, "but I must thank you too for what you have done for my
sister. It is wonderful. I could have done nothing."

"My dear," said Beatrice. "I love your sister. There is no need for
thanks."

A loud voice hailed them.

"Sweetheart," shouted Sir Nicholas, standing with his legs apart at the
mounting steps. "The horses are fretted to death."

"You will remember," said Mary hurriedly, as they turned. "And--God
bless you, Beatrice!"

Lady Torridon was indeed very quiet now. It was strange for the others
to see the difference. It seemed as if she had been conquered by the one
weapon that she could wield, which was brutality. As Mr. Carleton had
said, she had never been faced before; she had been accustomed to regard
devoutness as incompatible with strong character; she had never been
resisted. Both her husband and children had thought to conquer by
yielding; it was easier to do so, and appeared more Christian; and she
herself, like Ralph, was only provoked further by passivity. And now she
had met one of the old school, who was as ready in the use of worldly
weapons as herself; she had been ignored and pricked alternately, and
with astonishing grace too, by one who was certainly of that tone of
mind that she had gradually learnt to despise and hate.

Chris saw this before his father; but he saw too that the conquest was
not yet complete. His mother had been cowed with respect, as a dog that
is broken in; she had not yet been melted with love. He had spoken to
Mary the day before the Maxwells' departure, and tried to put this into
words; and Mary had seen where the opening for love lay, through which
the work could be done; and the result had been the interview with
Beatrice, and the mention of Ralph's name. But Mary had not a notion how
Beatrice could act; she only saw that Ralph was the one chink in her
mother's armour, and she left it to this