In order to avert such a calamity, she determined to boldly take the bull by the horns and tell Beaumont everything, at the same time warning him that she would embitter Reginald's mind against him should he dare to speak out. The result of her interview in the churchyard was as she expected. Beaumont was too cunning to risk the dislike of his own son, and thereby lose any chance of influencing him for his own ends, so he quietly acquiesced in the line of conduct she laid down. Patience returned to the Grange thoroughly satisfied that she had disarmed Beaumont by pointing out how she could turn Reginald against him, so the astute man of the world, abandoning his desire to play the part of a long-lost father, determined to wait for a few weeks and see how things turned out. Then he intended to let his plans be guided to a large extent by circumstances, and had no doubt that he would then be able to out-man[oe]uvre Patience by a little dexterous generalship. A few days after his curious meeting with Patience in the churchyard, Beaumont set out for a long walk in the morning, as he wanted to think over the aspect of things, and pedestrianism always stimulated his brain. It was a bright, fresh morning, with a deeply blue sky, a cheerful sun shining and a keen, fresh wind blowing across the common on to which he strolled. The gorse was in bloom, and every breath of wind brought the odour of its peach-like scent to his nostrils. How often, in his Bohemian life had that odour recalled the wide, bare common with its miles of gorse-covered ground, and made him long half regretfully for the quiet country village where his youth had been passed. But now that the common was actually before him, by some curious contradiction of nature he did not feel the least regret or longing for his youth, but on the contrary strolled over the waste ground, hatching all kinds of plots and plans in his busy brain. All at once, as he stood on the edge of a gentle slope, where the ground was hollowed out like a cup and surrounded by the dark green of the gorse with its golden blossoms, he saw a woman seated on a grassy bank, apparently basking in the sun. Her hands were lying idly in her lap, and with her face turned upward to the bright sunshine, she was drinking in the sweet, keen air which swept over the wild moorland. Beaumont saw that it was Cecilia Mosser who sat there, and for a moment half envied the blind girl in spite of her great sorrow, for her pleasant enjoyment of nature. "She looks like the Goddess of Desolation," murmured Beaumont, as he descended the slope, "or some eyeless Destiny that sees nothing, yet governs all!" Lightly as he walked over the soft, green grass, the blind girl heard the sound of his muffled footsteps, and turned her face in the direction from whence she heard them come, with a questioning look on her placid face.