Mrs. Fortescue smiling benignly promised acquiescence, and taking her hand, which she grasped affectionately; led her into the next room, where tea was waiting.  After which, Ethelind took her up stairs, and showed her the little bedroom prepared for her.  They remained here some time, chatting over their old school days, till summoned to prayers.  On taking leave for the night, Mrs. Fortescue begged if at all heavy in the morning, that Beatrice would not hurry up.  But she arose early, much refreshed and delighted with all she saw.  Ethelind soon joined her, and offered to help her unpack, and arrange her things, while the only servant they had, prepared the breakfast.

Soon as the morning meal was over, and little necessary arrangements made, Ethelind proposed a ramble, which was gladly acceded to on the part of Beatrice.  They passed through an orchard into a lane, and as they crossed a rustic bridge, the village church came in view.  It was a small gothic structure, standing in the burial ground, and as they approached it, Beatrice was struck with admiration at the beds of flowers, then blooming in full perfection on the graves; this is a very beautiful, and, by no means, uncommon sight in South Wales; but she had never seen it before.  “Well, I declare, this is lovely; really, Ethelind, to render the charm of romance complete, you ought to have a very interesting young curate, with pale features and dark hair and eyes.”

“And so we have,” said Ethelind, “and had he sat for his picture, you could not have drawn a more correct likeness; but I regret to say, Mr. Barclay’s stay is not likely to be permanent, as one of Lord Eardly’s sons is to have the living, soon as the family returns from the Continent, which we are all sorry for; as short as the time is, that Mr. Barclay has been among us, he is generally liked, and from his manner, we think the curacy, little as it is, an object to him; though even now, he does a great deal of good, and you would hardly believe all he has accomplished.  I wish he were here, for I am sure you would like him.”

“I think,” said Beatrice, “it is well he is not, for I might fall in love with him, and then—­”

“And then, what?” asked Ethelind.

“Why it must end in disappointment to both; for if he is poor and I am poor, it would be little use our coming together; but were I rich, as I expected to have been, then I might have set my cap at your young curate, and rewarded his merit.”

“Oh!” said Ethelind, “he deserves to be rich, he would make such good use of wealth, for even now, he is very charitable.”

“Charitable!” re-echoed Beatrice, “a curate, on perhaps less than a hundred a year, must have a deal to be charitable with.  Absurd:  I grant you he may have the heart, but certainly not the means.”

“I know not,” said Ethelind, “but I hear continually of the good he does, and his kindness to the poor, and doubt if the Honourable Frederic Eardly will do as much.”