Bella looked in astonishment at her aunt, who suddenly seemed to have acquired the late captain's tyrannical manner. Apparently Mrs. Coppersley forgot--as Bella thought--that she would not inherit the solitary farm, and needed to be reminded of the fact that her niece was the mistress of Bleacres. In fact, Bella was on the point of saying as much, when she remembered that Vand was present. Not being anxious to discuss family matters in his presence--even though he was about to enter the family as Mrs. Coppersley's husband--she abruptly left the room. Mrs. Coppersley poured herself out a second cup of tea, and remarked in a high tone of satisfaction, that some people's noses were about to be brought to the grindstone. Bella heard the remark as she put on her hat and walked out of the front door. It accentuated her lonely feeling, for she saw plainly now what she had long guessed,--that Aunt Rosamund had very little affection for her. The late captain also had never cared much for his daughter, and now that Cyril had vanished in an enigmatic manner, the poor girl felt more wretched than ever. Listlessly she walked down the narrow path as far as the boundary channel, and wondered how it would all end. Had she been a religious girl she might have sought comfort in prayer, but she knew very little about true religion, and did not care for the sort preached by Mr. Silas Pence in the Little Bethel at Marshely. As his name flashed into her mind, she looked up and saw him standing on the opposite side of the channel, so it was apparent--although she knew nothing about such things--that some telepathic communication had made her think of him. The preacher was in his usual dismal garb, and had accentuated the same by wearing black gloves and a black tie in place of his usual white one. Patience on a monument might have been taken as a type of Mr. Pence on this occasion, but he was not smiling on grief in the person of Miss Huxham. In fact he did not smile at all, being shocked to see her out of doors. "Why are you not weeping in your chamber?" reproved Silas, in his most clerical manner; "the loss of so good a father----" "You have doubtless said all you had to say on that subject at the funeral, Mr. Pence," retorted Bella, whose nerves were worn thin with worry; "spare me a repetition of such stale remarks."