And now the schooling was almost done for the day. It was Beatrice’s custom to make the children sing some simple song before they broke up. She stood in front of them and gave the time while they sung, and a pretty sight it was to see her do it. On this particular afternoon, just as the first verse was finished, the door of the room opened, and Owen Davies entered, bearing some books under his arm. Beatrice glanced round and saw him, then, with a quick stamp of her foot, went on giving the time. The children sung lustily, and in front of them stood Beatrice, dressed in simple white, her graceful form swaying as she marked the music’s time. Nearer and nearer drew Owen Davies, till at length he stood quite close, his lips slightly apart, his eyes fixed upon her like the eyes of one who dreams, and his slow heavy face faintly lit with the glow of strong emotion. The song ended, the children at a word from their mistress filed past her, headed by the pupil teachers, and then with a shout, seizing their caps, ran forth this way and that, welcoming the free air. When they were all gone, and not till then, Beatrice turned suddenly round. “How do you do, Mr. Davies?” she said. He started visibly. “I did not know that you had seen me,” he answered. “Oh, yes, I saw you, Mr. Davies, only I could not stop the song to say how do you do. By the way, I have to thank you for coming to inquire after me.” “Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all; it was a most dreadful accident. I cannot tell you how thankful I am—I can’t, indeed.” “It is very good of you to take so much interest in me,” said Beatrice. “Not at all, Miss Beatrice, not at all. Who—who could help taking interest in you? I have brought you some books—the Life of Darwin—it is in two volumes. I think that I have heard you say that Darwin interests you?” “Yes, thank you very much. Have you read it?” “No, but I have cut it. Darwin doesn’t interest me, you know. I think that he was a rather misguided person. May I carry the books home for you?” “Thank you, but I am not going straight home; I am going to old Edward’s shed to see my canoe.” As a matter of fact this was true, but the idea was only that moment born in her mind. Beatrice had been going home, as she wanted to see that all things were duly prepared for Geoffrey and his little daughter. But to reach the Vicarage she must pass along the cliff, where there were few people, and this she did not wish to do. To be frank, she feared lest Mr. Davies should take the opportunity to make that offer of his hand and heart which hung over her like a nightmare. Now the way to Edward’s shed lay through the village and down the cliff, and she knew that he would never propose in the village.