As human plans go it was perfect; there was nothing unarranged for except Fate. Mr. and Mrs. Andrews were to be told part of the truth. Elsie was to break to them that she was going to hear the Messiah at Mellingham. Mr. Gubbins did not suggest a downright lie to Elsie, but when he said, “I daresay they’ll suppose it means with Onoria?” he paved the way for a leakage in accuracy of which Elsie took full advantage. Onoria was not to be told anything at all. Elsie was to leave the Station of Little Ticklington by a one o’clock train, and Mr. Gubbins by a one-thirty. The journey took half an hour. Elsie was to wait for him in a baker’s shop opposite the Cathedral; she could have a bun and milk while she waited. They were to come back in the same train but in a different compartment. Short of an unfavourable interposition on the part of Providence, they were safe. But those who rely upon Providence to remain inactive in their favour should not tempt it by displaying any activity of their own. Miss Bretherton, without consulting Onoria beforehand, arranged for her to take six pupils to the Messiah, whether she liked it or not. She sprang this shabby trick upon her subordinate on the actual morning of the performance. Forty girls, in white dresses with blue sashes, upon one side and twenty men in a variety of semi-evening clothes upon the other had scarcely sung through the first chorus a trifle raggedly (first choruses are apt to be a trifle ragged) before Elsie and Peter became aware of Onoria’s eyes. They knew they were Onoria’s eyes although she was sitting at some little distance to the right of them, much as those who looked upon the Medusa’s head must have been conscious that it was her head before they turned into stone. No fate so happy awaited Peter and Elsie—if they had been turned into stone they could have stared back. As it was they twitched and trembled under Onoria’s ruthless gaze, conscious with a cowering intensity of their flesh and blood. Peter sank from terror to terror, till from the lowest depth of cowardice, in which he contemplated leaving Elsie to her fate, he rose to a state of rage. He became as savage and determined as a very timid animal at bay. He would not be caught. That was what it came to. He set his lips firmly together—Onoria or no Onoria, he would simply _not_ be caught. It was a free country and no one could stop you if you ran away fast enough. Of course there was Elsie; Elsie wept. “Stop crying!” he hissed at Elsie with a snarl. Elsie swallowed a sob abruptly and retreated into a large pocket handkerchief. The people sitting next to her thought she had a sensitive musical temperament and admired her for it. They did not know what kind of a temperament Peter had, but they did not admire him nearly so much. The six girls, followed by Onoria with the face of an awakened Fury, advanced down the aisle. “We must get out of this!” said Peter hurriedly.