The wool-work might have told a story could it speak, but it had never imparted its secrets, pathetic or otherwise, to Mrs. Gorman Stanley, and Beatrice received the gorgeous gift with little emotion, and some shrinking away from its bad taste. Mrs. Butler, after a great deal of consultation with her sister Maria, decided to give the bride-elect a huge white, carved ivory brooch. This brooch was her own favorite ornament; it was of gigantic dimensions, and consisted of an elaborate circle of flowers, supporting the word "Martha" in the centre. "You'll wear it for me, love," said Mrs. Butler, "you'll never put it on, but you'll give Martha Butler a thought." Beatrice assured her friend that this must certainly be the case. She was really grateful to Mrs. Butler, for she knew the old lady adored that brooch, and it had cost her much to deprive herself of it. Miss Peters smuggled her little gift into Beatrice's hand as they were parting. It was a yard of Honiton lace, very old, and much darned. Bee had often seen this lace round Miss Peters' little wintry throat. She kissed it when she looked at it now, and placed it very near the crotchet edging in her regard. But it would take a much longer space than this story can afford to recount all the presents that came to Beatrice Meadowsweet. From the Bertram connection the gifts were of money value, from the Northbury people they were rich with something better than money. Not one of Bee's friends forgot her at this time. September came on apace, and at last there wanted but a week of the wedding day. On a certain evening when the wind blew rather fresh from the sea, Captain Bertram asked Beatrice to walk with him. She complied. They took a long walk over the cliffs, and it was quite late and dark when they returned home. They had to pass the Manor on their way back to the Gray House, where Bertram was to stay for supper. As they walked along, talking gravely, for Beatrice did not often laugh when alone with her lover, a slender and tall figure passed them quickly in the darkness. Bertram, who was walking very close to Bee, stumbled against her, and uttered a smothered oath. "What is the matter?" she asked in astonishment. "Have you hurt yourself?" "No, I thought I recognized a face, but I must be mistaken." "That slim girl who passed us so quickly just now? I, too, fancy I have seen her before. Certainly she is a stranger here." "Don't talk about her, Beatrice. It was a casual likeness. People look so different--distorted by the darkness. To-night it is very dark. There is no moon." "Still, I can see," said Beatrice, pausing and looking back. "I can see, and I fancy the stranger is standing still and looking at us. Back there, by the hedge. Perhaps she is in trouble. Shall I run and speak to her?" "No, not for the world. Come home. Forget her."