Yes, but first she must once more look upon Geoffrey's dear face--and
then farewell!
Pity her! poor mistaken woman, making of her will a Providence, rushing
to doom. Pity her, but do not blame her overmuch, or if you do, then
blame Judith and Jephtha's daughter and Charlotte Corday, and all the
glorious women who from time to time have risen on this sordid world of
self, and given themselves as an offering upon the altars of their love,
their religion, their honour or their country!
It was finished. Now let her rest while she could, seeing what was
to come. With a sigh for all that was, and all that might have been,
Beatrice lay down and soon slept sweetly as a child.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not go to church. For one thing, she
feared to see Owen Davies there. But she took her Sunday school class as
usual, and long did the children remember how kind and patient she was
with them that day, and how beautifully she told them the story of
the Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to die for the sake of her
father's oath.
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