It seemed a hard thing to Bella that this gift of prettiness should be such a barren boon, that it should not bring her exactly what she wanted. She shed some sullen tears on her way home across the windy Park, along the bleak high road. There was no one to see her tears or to pity her. She was angry with fate, angry with life, in which all things were so unequally meted out. Beatrix was miserable too, no doubt, in her handsome house yonder, the house whose dulness Bella had found a shade worse than poverty. Bella changed her dress and bonnet, and went to make an afternoon call upon Mrs. Dulcimer, certain of hearing all about Cyril’s departure from that loquacious lady. The twilight shadows were falling already, and the half-dozen dingy little shops in the village street were dimly illuminated with oil or tallow, but an hour or so before tea was always the best time for finding Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Well, my dear, you have heard the news, I suppose?’ said the Vicar’s wife, dispensing with the usual ‘how do d’ye do,’ in her eagerness. ‘I have, dear Mrs. Dulcimer, and I am so surprised.’ ‘So is everybody, my dear, Mr. Dulcimer most of all. Such a sudden desertion--an old pupil too, whom we looked upon almost as a son. I think it positively unkind. He wants a wider sphere for his work. Such nonsense. Little Yafford has been wide enough for Mr. Dulcimer for the last twenty years. But the young men of the present day are so restless and ambitious. I suppose he thinks Little Yafford is not the shortest way to a bishopric. And he has taken a charge at Bridford--a horrible town in Lancashire, where there are nothing but chemical works, and where the river runs sulphur and asafœtida.’ ‘Rather a perverted taste,’ said Bella. ‘I wonder he did not stay here and try to marry Miss Harefield. She would be a splendid match for him. And now her father is dead she is free to marry any one she likes.’ Mrs. Dulcimer shook her head with a dismal air, and gave a prolonged sigh. ‘Ah, my dear, it is very sad. Those reports!’ Bella echoed the sigh. ‘I was very fond of her--once,’ she said. ‘So was I, Bella. And, even now, I should be the last to condemn her. God forbid that I should judge anybody. I hope I know the gospel too well for that. But I confess that I cannot feel the same as I used about Beatrix Harefield. I can’t get over the strangeness of her having bought that laudanum in ever so many different shops. There seems such a low cunning in it--it is like the act of a criminal,’ continued Mrs. Dulcimer, warming as she went on, and forgetting her protest against judging others. ‘And I am sorry to say,’ she continued, with increasing solemnity, ‘Rebecca thinks as I do.’ ‘And Mr. Dulcimer?’ inquired Bella.