‘Do you think I am frightened at the thought of death?’ she asked bitterly. ‘My father’s life was a living death--to me. He is no further removed from me now than he was yesterday.’ ‘My dear child, if I could stay with you here, I would not so much mind,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer, ‘but I shall be obliged to go back to the Vicarage almost immediately. There is Clement’s tea. He would not think of sitting down to tea without me if he were ever so hungry. And then later in the evening there will be the carol singers. We always give them cake and hot elder wine. So you see, my love, I shall be obliged to go.’ Beatrix gave a weary sigh. ‘Indeed, dear Mrs. Dulcimer, I shall be better alone,’ she said. ‘I am grateful for your kindness, but I would rather be alone. I do not want even Bella, and I am sure it is cruel to keep her in this melancholy house. Do go home, Bella, or go to the Vicarage with Mrs. Dulcimer and hear the carols.’ ‘Beatrix, how can you suppose that I would leave you?’ exclaimed Bella, and again Beatrix sighed wearily. It would have been an infinite relief to her to be quite alone. She had recognised Cyril in that little group in the hall, and he had let her pass, without one word of consolation, without one pitying look. He must have known that she was passing, she told herself, and he had kept his face averted; he had stood coldly by and made no sign of sympathy or kindly feeling. Mrs. Dulcimer tied her bonnet strings, kissed Beatrix repeatedly, promised to come and see her directly after morning service next day, and then hurried off to superintend the Vicar’s evening meal. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if Kenrick was to pop in upon us to-night,’ she said, as she was going away. ‘He promised to spend Christmas with us.’ Beatrix gave a little start at Kenrick’s name. He was so near Cyril in her mind, and just now she was deeply moved by Cyril’s strange coldness. Mrs. Dulcimer saw her startled look, and had an inward movement of triumph. Here was one of her good-natured schemes assuredly about to prosper. Kenrick had evidently made an impression upon Beatrix; and now death had made Beatrix mistress of a splendid fortune. ‘I only hope that foolish boy will remember his engagement to eat his Christmas dinner with us,’ thought the Vicar’s wife, as she trudged sturdily homewards, with her petticoats held well out of the mud, and her country-made boots defying the slushy road. When Mrs. Dulcimer had gone the two girls sat at opposite sides of the hearth, very much as they had been seated the night before, only there was no pretence of reading to-night. Beatrix sat looking idly at the fire with great melancholy eyes. Bella watched her, ready to offer any scrap of consolation which might suggest itself. ‘It seems painfully clear that my father committed suicide,’ Beatrix said, at the end of a long reverie. ‘Oh, I hope not,’ exclaimed Bella, piously. ‘We must not think that, dear. He may have taken an overdose of laudanum.’