Beatrice by H. Rider Haggard First Published in 1893. Contents CHAPTER I. A MIST WRAITH CHAPTER II. AT THE BELL ROCK CHAPTER III. A CONFESSION OF FAITH CHAPTER IV. THE WATCHER AT THE DOOR CHAPTER V. ELIZABETH IS THANKFUL CHAPTER VI. OWEN DAVIES AT HOME CHAPTER VII. A MATRIMONIAL TALE CHAPTER VIII. EXPLANATORY CHAPTER IX. WHAT BEATRICE DREAMED CHAPTER X. LADY HONORIA MAKES ARRANGEMENTS CHAPTER XI. BEATRICE MAKES AN APPOINTMENT CHAPTER XII. THE WRITING ON THE SAND CHAPTER XIII. GEOFFREY LECTURES CHAPTER XIV. DRIFTING CHAPTER XV. ONLY GOOD-NIGHT CHAPTER XVI. THE FLAT NEAR THE EDGWARE ROAD CHAPTER XVII. GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE CHAPTER XVIII. THE RISING STAR CHAPTER XIX. GEOFFREY HAS A VISITOR CHAPTER XX. BACK AT BRYNGELLY CHAPTER XXI. THE THIRD APPEAL CHAPTER XXII. A NIGHT OF STORM CHAPTER XXIII. A DAWN OF RAIN CHAPTER XXIV. LADY HONORIA TAKES THE FIELD CHAPTER XXV. ELIZABETH SHOWS HER TEETH CHAPTER XXVI. WHAT BEATRICE SWORE CHAPTER XXVII. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS CHAPTER XXVIII. I WILL WAIT FOR YOU CHAPTER XXIX. A WOMAN’S LAST WORD CHAPTER XXX. AVE ATQUE VALE CHAPTER XXXI. THE DUCHESS’S BALL TO BEATRICE “Oh, kind is Death that Life’s long trouble closes, Yet at Death’s coming Life shrinks back affright; It sees the dark hand,—not that it encloses A cup of light. So oft the Spirit seeing Love draw nigh As ‘neath the shadow of destruction, quakes, For Self, dark tyrant of the Soul, must die, When Love awakes. Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,— Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!” Rückert. Translated by F. W. B. BEATRICE CHAPTER I. A MIST WRAITH The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide. The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay like a woman’s hair upon the green depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was growing dense and soft upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from the west, it simply grew like the twilight, making the silence yet more silent and blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the seaweed and watched the gathering of these fleecy hosts. “What a curious evening,” she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low full voice. “I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that is seven years ago. I’ve grown since then, grown every way,” and she laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet water.