lusion into such a blaze of publicity, even for once, was not at
all to her mind, and much of her wakefulness of the night before had
been caused by her shrinking from the prospect.

Late that night after the meeting she returned to her cottage alone,
cowering in a corner of the Kilroys' carriage. She was cowering from
the recollection of a great crowd that rose with deafening shouts and
seemed to be rushing at her--cowering, too, from the inevitable which
she had been forced to recognise--her vocation--discovered by
accident, and with dismay, for it was not what she would have chosen
for herself in any way had it occurred to her that she had any choice
in the matter. There were always moments when she would fain have led
the life which knows no care beyond the cultivation of the arts, no
service but devotion to them, no pleasure like the enjoyment of
them,--a selfish life made up of impersonal delights, such as music,
which is emotion made audible, painting, which is emotion made
visible, and poetry, which is emotion made comprehensible;--and such a
life could not have been anything but grateful to one like Beth, who
had the capacity for so many interests of the kind. She was debarred
from all that, however, by grace of nature. Beth could not have lived
for herself had she tried. So that now, when the call had come, and
the way in which she could best live for others was made plain to her,
she had no thought but to pursue it.

The carriage put her down at her garden-gate, and she stood awhile in
the moonlight, listening to it as it rolled away with patter of
horses' hoofs and rattle of harness, listening intently as if the
sound concerned her. Then she let herself in, and was hurrying up to
her room, but stopped short on the stairs, cowering from the crowd
that rose and cheered and cheered and seemed to be rushing at her.

Her bedroom had windows east, west, and south, so that she had sunrise
and sunset and the sun all day. When she went in now, she found the
lamps lighted and all the windows shut, and she went round and flung
them open with an irritable gesture. Her nerves were overwrought; the
slightest contrariety upset her. The sweet fresh country air streamed
in and the tranquil moonlight. These alone would ordinarily have been
enough to soothe her, but now she paid no heed to them. When she had
opened the windows, she began to take off her things in feverish
haste, pacing about the room restlessly the while, as