I
have kept my promise to you." Then, unexpectedly she buried her face
in her arms and burst into tears.
Mrs. Cary stood there thunderstruck, her mouth open, her eyes wide
with alarm. For one moment she was incapable of reasoning out this
catastrophe. She had never seen Beatrice cry--her tears, because of
their rarity, were as terrible as a man's, and could not be explained
away by nerves or fatigue. This was something else. Mrs. Cary crossed
the room. She laid a fat, trembling hand on her daughter's shoulder.
"Beaty, what's the matter?" she asked uneasily. "What is it? Are you
ill?--or--or--Beaty!"--a light dawning across her dull face--"good
heavens! you don't love that man?" There was no answer. After a long
moment, Mrs. Cary's hand fell to her side. "You couldn't!" she
muttered. "It wouldn't do. Think of what people would say! Our
position!" Still no answer. She turned and stumbled toward the door.
"I will tell the captain--you are ill," she said.
Beatrice did not move.
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
BUILDING THE CATHEDRAL
The pretty little drawing-room was already in half darkness. Travers
went to the window and, leaning his shoulder lazily against the
casement, began to sort out and open the letters that had been
lying on the tea-table waiting for him.
"One from the Colonel, Lois," he said, after a moment's perusal. "No
news in particular. He is down with a touch of fever, and the whole
regiment is camping out without him.
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