Beatrice clutched at her. "_Who_ is it?" she cried.
"Mr. Bingham," gasped her sister. "Go and help; he's shot dead!" And she
too was gone.
Beatrice's knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth;
the solid earth spun round and round. "Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey
killed!" she cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear the
sound of them, no words came from her lips. "Oh, what should she do?
Where should she hide herself in her grief?"
A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone
at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while
still the solid earth spun round and round.
Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot
through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.
"Perhaps it was not true; perhaps Elizabeth had been mistaken or had
only said it to torment her." She rose. She flung herself upon her
knees, there by the stone, and prayed, this first time for many
years--she prayed with all her soul. "Oh, God, if Thou art, spare him
his life and me this agony." In her dreadful pangs of grief her faith
was thus re-born, and, as all human beings must in their hour of mortal
agony, Beatrice realised her dependence on the Unseen.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243