That
she meant to do something they were sure, for there was purpose written
on every line of her cold face.
Suddenly, as they sat thinking, and making pretence to eat, a thought
flashed like an arrow into Beatrice's heart, and pierced it. This was
the last meal that they could ever take together, this was the last time
that she could ever see her father's and her sister's faces. For her
sister, well, it might pass--for there are some things which even a
woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive--but she loved her father.
She loved his very faults, even his simple avarice and self-seeking had
become endeared to her by long and wondering contemplation. Besides, he
was her father; he gave her the life she was about to cast away. And she
should never see him more. Not on that account did she hesitate in her
purpose, which was now set in her mind, like Bryngelly Castle on its
rock, but at the thought tears rushed unbidden to her eyes.
Just then breakfast came to an end, and Elizabeth hurried from the room
to fetch her bonnet.
"Father," said Beatrice, "if you can before you go, I should like
to hear you say that you do not believe that I told you what was
false--about that story.
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