“Well,” answered the old gentleman, “I wished to do so, but Elizabeth thinks that I had better keep away. And after all, you know,” he added airily, “perhaps it is as well for a clergyman not to mix himself up too much in these temporal matters. No, I want to go and see about some pigs at the other end of the parish, and I think that I shall take this opportunity.” “You are not going, Mr. Bingham, are you?” asked Beatrice in a voice which betrayed her anxiety. “Oh, yes,” he answered, “of course I am. I would not miss the chance for worlds. Why, Beecham Bones is going to be there, the member of Parliament who has just done his four months for inciting to outrage. We are old friends; I was at school with him. Poor fellow, he was mad even in those days, and I want to chaff him.” “I think that you had far better not go, Mr. Bingham,” said Beatrice; “they are a very rough set.” “Everybody is not so cowardly as you are,” put in Elizabeth. “I am going at any rate.” “That’s right, Miss Elizabeth,” said Geoffrey; “we will protect each other from the revolutionary fury of the mob. Come, it is time to start.” And so they went, leaving Beatrice a prey to melancholy forebodings. She waited in the house for the best part of an hour, making pretence to play with Effie. Then her anxiety got the better of her; she put on her hat and started, leaving Effie in charge of the servant Betty. Beatrice walked quickly along the cliff till she came in sight of Jones’s farm. From where she stood she could make out a great crowd of men, and even, when the wind turned towards her, catch the noise of shouting. Presently she heard a sound like the report of a gun, saw the crowd break up in violent confusion, and then cluster together again in a dense mass. “What could it mean?” Beatrice wondered. As the thought crossed her mind, she perceived two men running towards her with all their speed, followed by a woman. Three minutes more and she saw that the woman was Elizabeth. The men were passing her now. “What is it?” she cried. “_Murder!_” they answered with one voice, and sped on towards Bryngelly. Another moment and Elizabeth was at hand, horror written on her pale face. Beatrice clutched at her. “_Who_ is it?” she cried. “Mr. Bingham,” gasped her sister. “Go and help; he’s shot dead!” And she too was gone. Beatrice’s knees loosened, her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth; the solid earth spun round and round. “Geoffrey killed! Geoffrey killed!” she cried in her heart; but though her ears seemed to hear the sound of them, no words came from her lips. “Oh, what should she do? Where should she hide herself in her grief?” A few yards from the path grew a stunted tree with a large flat stone at its root. Thither Beatrice staggered and sank upon the stone, while still the solid earth spun round and round. Presently her mind cleared a little, and a keener pang of pain shot through her soul. She had been stunned at first, now she felt.