Beatrice had returned to her duties that afternoon, for a night's rest
brought back its vigour to her strong young frame. She had been greeted
with enthusiasm by the children, who loved her, as well they might, for
she was very gentle and sweet with them, though few dared to disobey
her. Besides, her beauty impressed them, though they did not know it.
Beauty of a certain sort has perhaps more effect on children than on any
other class, heedless and selfish as they often seem to be. They feel
its power; it is an outward expression of the thoughts and dreams that
bud in their unknowing hearts, and is somehow mixed up with their ideas
of God and Heaven. Thus there was in Bryngelly a little girl of ten, a
very clever and highly excitable child, Jane Llewellyn by name, born of
parents of strict Calvinistic views. As it chanced, some months
before the opening of this story, a tub thumper, of high renown and
considerable rude oratorical force, visited the place, and treated his
hearers to a lively discourse on the horrors of Hell.
In the very front row, her eyes wide with fear, sat this poor little
child between her parents, who listened to the Minister with much
satisfaction, and a little way back sat Beatrice, who had come out of
curiosity.
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