“Yes, but I should like to hear you say it, father.  It cuts me that you should think that I would lie to you, for in my life I have never wilfully told you what was not true;” and she clasped her hands about his arms, and looked into his face.

He gazed at her doubtfully.  Was it possible after all she was speaking the truth?  No; it was not possible.

“I can’t, Beatrice,” he said—­“not that I blame you overmuch for trying to defend yourself; a cornered rat will show fight.”

“May you never regret those words,” she said; “and now good-bye,” and she kissed him on the forehead.

At this moment Elizabeth entered, saying that it was time to start, and he did not return the kiss.

“Good-bye, Elizabeth,” said Beatrice, stretching out her hand.  But Elizabeth affected not to see it, and in another moment they were gone.  She followed them to the gate and watched them till they vanished down the road.  Then she returned, her heart strained almost to bursting.  But she wept no tear.

Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to her father and her sister.

“Elizabeth,” said Mr. Granger, as they drew near to the station, “I am not easy in my thoughts about Beatrice.  There was such a strange look in her eyes; it—­in short, it frightens me.  I have half a mind to give up Hereford, and go back,” and he stopped upon the road, hesitating.

“As you like,” said Elizabeth with a sneer, “but I should think that Beatrice is big enough and bad enough to look after herself.”

“Before the God who made us,” said the old man furiously, and striking the ground with his stick, “she may be bad, but she is not so bad as you who betrayed her.  If Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman Judas; and I believe that you hate her, and would be glad to see her dead.”

Elizabeth made no answer.  They were nearing the station, for her father had started on again, and there were people about.  But she looked at him, and he never forgot the look.  It was quite enough to chill him into silence, nor did he allude to the matter any more.

When they were gone, Beatrice set about her own preparations.  Her wild purpose was to travel to London, and catch a glimpse of Geoffrey’s face in the House of Commons, if possible, and then return.  She put on her bonnet and best dress; the latter was very plainly made of simple grey cloth, but on her it looked well enough, and in the breast of it she thrust the letter which she had written on the previous day.  A small hand-bag, with some sandwiches and a brush and comb in it, and a cloak, made up the total of her baggage.