[Illustration: "HOW GOOD OF YOU TO COME!" SHE EXCLAIMED. BESSIE SAW SHEHAD BEEN CRYING. ]

 OUR BESSIE

 BY

 ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY

 AUTHOR OF "MERLE'S CRUSADE, " "NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS, " "ONLY THE GOVERNESS, " ETC. 

 THE MERSHON COMPANY

 RAHWAY, N. J. NEW YORK

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

 CHAPTER I. BESSIE MEETS WITH AN ADVENTURE 1

 CHAPTER II. "HERE IS OUR BESSIE" 16

 CHAPTER III. HATTY 31

 CHAPTER IV. A COSY MORNING 46

 CHAPTER V. THE OATLANDS POST-MARK 61

 CHAPTER VI. LITTLE MISS MUCH-AFRAID 74

 CHAPTER VII. IN THE KENTISH LANES 87

 CHAPTER VIII. AT THE GRANGE 101

 CHAPTER IX. RICHARD SEFTON 115

 CHAPTER X. BESSIE IS INTRODUCED TO BILL SYKES 129

 CHAPTER XI. EDNA HAS A GRIEVANCE 148

 CHAPTER XII. THE FIRST SUNDAY AT THE GRANGE 156

 CHAPTER XIII. WHITEFOOT IN REQUISITION 171

 CHAPTER XIV. BESSIE SNUBS A HERO 183

 CHAPTER XV. "SHE WILL NOT COME" 197

 CHAPTER XVI. A NOTE FROM HATTY 209

 CHAPTER XVII. "TROUBLE MAY COME TO ME ONE DAY" 222

 CHAPTER XVIII. "FAREWELL, NIGHT" 236

 CHAPTER XIX. "I MUST NOT THINK OF MYSELF" 249

 CHAPTER XX. "BESSIE'S SECOND FLITTING" 263

 CHAPTER XXI. ON THE PARADE 276

 CHAPTER XXII. BESSIE BUYS A JAPANESE FAN 289

 CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. SEFTON HAS ANOTHER VISITOR 303

 CHAPTER XXIV. IN THE COOMBE WOODS 318

OUR BESSIE. 

CHAPTER I. 

BESSIE MEETS WITH AN ADVENTURE. 

It was extremely tiresome!

It was vexatious; it was altogether annoying!

Most people under similar circumstances would have used strongerexpressions, would have bemoaned themselves loudly, or at leastinwardly, with all the pathos of self-pity. 

To be nearly at the end of one's journey, almost within sight and soundof home fires and home welcomes, and then to be snowed up, walled, imprisoned, kept in durance vile in an unexpected snowdrift--well, mosthuman beings, unless gifted with angelic patience, and armed withspecial and peculiar fortitude, would have uttered a few groans undersuch depressing circumstances. 

Fortunately, Bessie Lambert was not easily depressed. She was a cheerfulyoung person, an optimist by nature; and, thanks to a healthyorganization, good digestion, and wholesome views of duty, was notgiven to mental nightmares, nor to cry out before she was hurt. 

Bessie would have thought it faint-hearted to shrink at every littlemolehill of difficulty; she had plenty of what the boys call pluck (noword is more eloquent than that), and a fund of quiet humor that tidedher safely over many a slough of despond. If any one could have readBessie's thoughts a few minutes after the laboring engine had ceased towork, they would have been as follows, with little staccato movementsand pauses:

"What an adventure! How Tom would laugh, and Katie too! Katie is alwayslonging for something to happen to her; but it would be more enjoyableif I had some one with me to share it, and if I were sure father andmother would not be anxious. An empty second-class compartment is not aparticularly comfortable place on a cold afternoon. I wonder how itwould be if all the passengers were to get out and warm themselves witha good game of snowballing. There is not much room, though; we shouldhave to play it in a single file, or by turns. Supposing that, insteadof that, the nice, white-haired old gentleman who got in at the laststation were to assemble us all in the third-class carriage and tell usa story about Siberia; that would be nice and exciting. Tom wouldsuggest a ghost story, a good creepy one; but that would be too dismal. The hot-water tin is getting cold, but I have got a rug, I am thankfulto say, so I shall not freeze for the next two hours. If I had only abook, or could go to sleep--oh!" in a tone of relief, as the guard'sface was suddenly thrust in at the open window. 

"I beg your pardon, miss; I hope I did not startle you; but there is ayoung lady in the first-class compartment who, I take it, would be thebetter for a bit of company; and as I saw you were alone, I thought youmight not object to change your carriage. "

"No, indeed; I shall be delighted to have a companion, " returned Bessiebriskly. "How long do you think we shall be detained here, guard?"

"There is no knowing, miss; but one of our men is working his way backto the signals. We have not come more than three miles since we leftCleveley. It is only a bit of a drift that the snow-plow will soonclear, and it will be a matter of two or three hours, I dare say; but ithas left off snowing now. "

"Will they telegraph to Cliffe the reason of the delay?" asked Bessie, alittle anxiously. 

"Oh, yes, they will do that right enough; you needn't be uneasy. Theother young lady is in a bit of a fuss, too, but I told her there was nodanger. Give a good jump, miss; there, now you are all right. I willtake care of your things. Follow me, please; it is only a step or so. "

"This is more of an adventure than ever, " thought Bessie, as shefollowed the big, burly guard. "What a kind man he is! Perhaps he hasdaughters of his own. " And she thanked him so warmly and so prettily ashe almost lifted her into the carriage, that he muttered, as he turnedaway:

"That's a nice, pleasant little woman. I like that sort. "

The first-class compartment felt warm and snug. Its only tenant was afair, pretty-looking girl, dressed very handsomely in a mantle trimmedwith costly fur, and a fur-lined rug over her knees. 

"Oh, thank you! How good of you to come!" she exclaimed eagerly; andBessie saw at once that she had been crying. "I was feeling sofrightened and miserable all by myself. I got it into my head thatanother train would run into us, and I was quite in a panic until theguard assured me there was no danger. He told me that there was anotheryoung lady alone, and that he would bring her to me. "

"Yes, that was so nice of him; and of course it is pleasanter to be ableto speak to somebody, " returned Bessie cheerfully; "and it is so muchwarmer here. "

"Take some of my rug; I do not need it all myself; and we may as well beas comfortable as we can, under the miserable circumstances. "

"Well, do you know I think it might be worse?"

"Worse! how can you talk so?" with a shudder. 

"Why, it can hardly be a great hardship to sit for another two hours inthis nice warm carriage, with this beautiful rug to cover us. Itcertainly was a little dull and cold in the other compartment, and Ilonged to get out and have a game of snowballing to warm myself. " Buthere her companion gave a little laugh. 

"What a funny idea! How could you think of such a thing?" And here shelooked, for the first time, rather scrutinizingly at Bessie. Oh, yes, she was a lady--she spoke nicely and had good manners; but how veryshabbily she was dressed--at least, not shabbily; that was not the rightword--inexpensively would have been the correct term. 

Bessie's brown tweed had evidently seen more seasons than one; herjacket fitted the trim figure, but was not made in the last fashion; andthe brown velvet on her hat was decidedly worn. How was the young ladyto know that Bessie was wearing her oldest things from a sense ofeconomy, and that her new jacket and best hat--a very pretty one--werein the neat black box in the luggage-van?

Certainly the two girls were complete opposites. Bessie, who, as herbrother Tom often told her, was no beauty, was, notwithstanding, abright, pleasant-looking girl, with soft gray eyes that could express agreat deal of quiet sympathy on occasions, or could light up with fun. People who loved her always said Bessie's face was better than abeautiful one, for it told nothing but the truth about itself. It didnot say, "Come, admire me, " as some faces say, but, "Come, trust me ifyou can. "

The fashionably dressed young stranger had a very different type offace. In the first place, it was undeniably pretty; no one ever thoughtof contradicting that fact, though a few people might have thought it apeculiar style of beauty, for she had dark-brown eyes and fairhair--rather an uncommon combination. 

She was small, too, and very pale, and yet not fragile-looking; on thecontrary, she had a clear look of health, but there was a petulant curveabout the mouth that spoke of quick temper, and the whole face seemedcapable of great mobility, quick changes of feeling that were perfectlytransparent. 

Bessie was quite aware that her new acquaintance was taking stock ofher; she was quietly amused, but she took no apparent notice. 

"Is Cliffe-on-Sea your destination?" she asked presently. 

"No; is it yours?" with a quick note of alarm in her voice. "Oh, I am sosorry!" as Bessie nodded. "I hoped we should have travelled together toLondon. I do dislike travelling alone, but my friend was too ill toaccompany me, and I did not want to stay at Islip another day; it wassuch a stupid place, so dull; so I said I must come, and this is theresult. "

"And you are going to London? Why, your journey is but just beginning. Cliffe-on-Sea is where I live, and we cannot be more than two miles off. Oh, what will you do if we are detained here for two or three hours?"

"I am sure I don't know, " returned the other girl disconsolately, andher eyes filled with tears again. "It is nearly five now, and it willbe too late to go on to London; but I dare not stay at a hotel bymyself. What will mamma say? She will be dreadfully vexed with me fornot waiting for Mrs. Moultrie--she never will let me travel alone, andI have disobeyed her. "

"That is a great pity, " returned Bessie gravely; but politeness forbadeher to say more. She was old-fashioned enough to think that disobedienceto parents was a heinous offence. She did not understand the presentcode, that allows young people to set up independent standards of duty. To her the fifth commandment was a very real commandment, and just asbinding in the nineteenth century as when the young dwellers in tentsfirst listened to it under the shadow of the awful Mount. 

Bessie's gravely disapproving look brought a mocking little smile to theother girl's face; her quick comprehension evidently detected therebuke, but she only answered flippantly:

"Mamma is too much used to my disobedience to give it a thought; sheknows I will have my way in things, and she never minds; she is sensibleenough to know grown-up girls generally have wills of their own. "

"I think I must have been brought up differently, " returned Bessiesimply. "I recollect in our nursery days mother used to tell us thatlittle bodies ought not to have grown-up wills; and when we got older, and wanted to get the reins in our own hands, as young people will, shewould say, 'Gently, gently, girls; you may be grown up, but you willnever be as old as your parents--'" But here Bessie stopped, on seeingthat her companion was struggling with suppressed merriment. 

"It does sound so funny, don't you know! Oh, I don't mean to be rude, but are not your people just a little bit old-fashioned and behind thetimes? I don't want to shock you; I am far too grateful for yourcompany. Mamma and I thoroughly understand each other. I am very fond ofher, and I am as sorry as possible to vex her by getting into thismess;" and here the girl heaved a very genuine sigh. 

"And you live in London?" Bessie was politely changing the subject. 

"Oh, no; but we have some friends there, and I was going to break myjourney and do a little shopping. Our home is in Kent; we live atOatlands--such a lovely, quiet little place--far too quiet for me; butsince I came out mamma always spends the season in town. TheGrange--that is our house--is really Richard's--my brother's, I mean. "

"The Grange--Oatlands? I am sure I know that name, " returned Bessie, ina puzzled tone; "and yet where could I have heard it?" She thought amoment, and then added quickly, "Your name cannot be Sefton?"

"To be sure it is, " replied the other girl, opening her brown eyesrather wildly; "Edna Sefton; but how could you have guessed it?"

"Then your mother's name is Eleanor?"

"I begin to think this is mysterious, and that you must be a witch, orsomething uncanny. I know all mamma's friends, and I am positive notone of them ever lived at Cliffe-on-Sea. "

"And you are quite sure of that? Has your mother never mentioned thename of a Dr. Lambert?"

"Dr. Lambert! No. Wait a moment, though. Mamma is very fond of talkingabout old days, when she was a girl, don't you know, and there was ayoung doctor, very poor, I remember, but his name was Herbert. "

"My father's name is Herbert, and he was very poor once, when he was ayoung man; he is not rich now. I think, many years ago, he and yourmother were friends. Let me tell you all I know about it. About a yearago he asked me to post a letter for him. I remember reading aloud theaddress in an absent sort of way: 'Mrs. Sefton, The Grange, Oatlands, Kent;' and my father looked up from his writing, and said, 'That is onlya business letter, Bessie, but Mrs. Sefton and I are old correspondents. When she was Eleanor Sartoris, and I was a young fellow as poor as achurch mouse, we were good friends; but she married, and then I married;but that is a lifetime ago; she was a handsome girl, though. '"

"Mamma is handsome now. How interesting it all is! When I get home Ishall coax mamma to tell me all about it. You see, we are not strangersafter all, so we can go on talking quite like old friends. You have mademe forget the time. Oh dear, how dark it is getting! and the gas givesonly a glimmer of light. "

"It will not be quite dark, because of the snow. Do not let us thinkabout the time. Some of the passengers are walking about. I heard themsay just now the man must have reached Cleveley, so the telegram musthave gone--we shall soon have help. Of course, if the snow had notceased falling, it would have been far more serious. "

"Yes, " returned Miss Sefton, with a shiver; "but it is far nicer to readof horrid things in a cheerful room and by a bright fire than toexperience them one's self. Somehow one never realizes them. "

"That is what father says--that young people are not reallyhard-hearted, only they do not realize things; their imagination justskims over the surface. I think it is my want of imagination helps me. Inever will look round the corner to try and find out what disagreeablething is coming next. One could not live so and feel cheerful. "

"Then you are one of those good people, Miss Lambert, who think it theirduty to cultivate cheerfulness. I was quite surprised to see you look sotranquil, when I had been indulging in a babyish fit of crying, fromsheer fright and misery; but it made me feel better only to look atyou. "

"I am so glad, " was Bessie's answer. "I remember being very much struckby a passage in an essay I once read, but I can only quote it frommemory; it was to the effect that when a cheerful person enters a roomit is as though fresh candles are lighted. The illustration pleases me. "

"True, it was very telling. Yes, you are cheerful, and you are very fondof talking. "

"I am afraid I am a sad chatterbox, " returned Bessie, blushing, asthough she were conscious of an implied reproof. 

"Oh, but I like talking people. People who hold their tongues and listenare such bores. I do detest bores. I talk a great deal myself. "

"I think I have got into the way for Hatty's sake. Hatty is the sicklyone of our flock; she has never been strong. When she was a tiny, weenything she was always crying and fretful. Father tells us that she cannothelp it, but he never says so to her; he laughs and calls her 'LittleMiss Much-Afraid. ' Hatty is full of fear. She cannot see a mouse, as Itell her, without looking round the corner for pussy's claws. "

"Is Hatty your only sister, Miss Lambert?"

"Oh, no; there are three more. I am the eldest--'Mother's crutch, ' asthey call me. We are such a family for giving each other funny names. Tom comes next. I am three-and-twenty--quite an old person, as Tomsays--and he is one-and-twenty. He is at Oxford; he wants to be abarrister. Christine comes next to Tom--she is nineteen, and so pretty;and then poor Hatty--'sour seventeen, ' as Tom called her on her lastbirthday; and then the two children, Ella and Katie; though Ella isnearly sixteen, and Katie fourteen, but they are only school-girls. "

"What a large family!" observed Miss Sefton, stifling a little yawn. "Now, mamma has only got me, for we don't count Richard. "

"Not count your brother?"

"Oh, Richard is my step-brother; he was papa's son, you know; that makesa difference. Papa died when I was quite a little girl, so you see whatI mean by saying mamma has only got me. "

"But she has your brother, too, " observed Bessie, somewhat puzzled bythis. 

"Oh, yes, of course. " But Miss Sefton's tone was enigmatical, and shesomewhat hastily changed the subject by saying, plaintively, "Oh, dear, do please tell me, Miss Lambert, what you think I ought to do when wereach Cliffe, if we ever do reach it. Shall I telegraph to my friends inLondon, and go to a hotel? Perhaps you could recommend me one, or----"

"No; you shall come home with me, " returned Bessie, moved to this suddeninspiration by the weary look in Miss Sefton's face. "We are notstrangers; my father and your mother were friends; that is sufficientintroduction. Mother is the kindest woman in the world--every one saysso. We are not rich people, but we can make you comfortable. To be sure, there is not a spare room; our house is not large, and there are so manyof us; but you shall have my room, and I will have half of Chrissy'sbed. You are too young"--and here Bessie was going to add "too pretty, "only she checked herself--"to go alone to a hotel. Mother would bedreadfully shocked at the idea. "

"You are very kind--too kind; but your people might object, " hesitatedMiss Sefton. 

"Mother never objects to anything we do; at least, I might turn it theother way about, and say we never propose anything to which she islikely to object. When my mother knows all about it, she will give you ahearty welcome. "

"If you are quite sure of that, I will accept your invitationthankfully, for I am tired to death. You are goodness itself to me, butI shall not like turning you out of your room. "

"Nonsense. Chriss and I will think it a bit of fun--oh, you don't knowus yet. So little happens in our lives that your coming will be quite anevent; so that is settled. " And Bessie extended a plump little hand intoken of her good will, which Miss Sefton cordially grasped. 

CHAPTER II. 

"HERE IS OUR BESSIE. "

An interruption occurred at this moment. The friendly guard made hisappearance again, accompanied by the same white-haired old clergymanwhom Bessie had noticed. He came to offer his services to the youngladies. He cheered Miss Sefton's drooping spirits by reiterating theguard's assurance that they need only fear the inconvenience of anotherhour's delay. 

The sight of the kind, benevolent countenance was reassuring andcomforting, and after their new friend had left them the girls resumedtheir talk with fresh alacrity. 

Miss Sefton was the chief speaker. She began recounting the glories of agrand military ball at Knightsbridge, at which she had been present, andsome private theatricals and tableaux that had followed. She had avivid, picturesque way of describing things, and Bessie listened with asort of dreamy fascination that lulled her into forgetfulness of herparents' anxiety. 

In spite of her alleged want of imagination, she was conscious of a sortof weird interest in her surroundings. The wintry afternoon had closedinto evening, but the whiteness of the snow threw a dim brightnessunderneath the faint starlight, while the gleam of the carriage lightsenabled them to see the dark figures that passed and repassed underneaththeir window. 

It was intensely cold, and in spite of her furs Miss Sefton shivered andgrew perceptibly paler. She was evidently one of those spoiled childrenof fortune who had never learned lessons of endurance, who are easilysubdued and depressed by a passing feeling of discomfort; even Bessie'ssturdy cheerfulness was a little infected by the unnatural stillnessoutside. The line ran between high banks, but in the mysterious twilightthey looked like rocky defiles closing them in. 

After a time Bessie's attention wandered, and her interest flagged. Military balls ceased to interest her as the temperature grew lower andlower. Miss Sefton, too, became silent, and Bessie's mind filled withgloomy images. She thought of ships bedded in ice in Arctic regions; ofshipwrecked sailors on frozen seas; of lonely travellers laying downtheir weary heads on pillows of snow, never to rise again; of homelesswanderers, outcasts from society, many with famished babes at theirbreasts, cowering under dark arches, or warming themselves at smolderingfires. 

"Thank God that, as father says, we cannot realize what people have tosuffer, " thought Bessie. "What would be the use of being young and happyand free from pain, if we were to feel other people's miseries? Some ofus, who are sympathetic by nature, would never smile again. I don'tthink when God made us, and sent us into the world to live our ownlives, that He meant us to feel like that. One can't mix up otherpeople's lives with one's own; it would make an awful muddle. "

"Miss Lambert, are you asleep, or dreaming with your eyes open? Don'tyou see we are moving? There was such a bustle just now, and then theygot the steam up, and now the engine is beginning to work. Oh! howslowly we are going! I could walk faster. Oh! we are stopping again--no, it is only my fancy. Is not the shriek of the whistle musical for once?"

"I was not asleep; I was only thinking; but my thoughts had travelledfar. Are we really moving? There, the snow-plow has cleared the line; weshall go on faster presently. "

"I hope so; it is nearly eight. I ought to have reached London an hourago. Poor Neville, how disappointed he will be. Oh, we are through thedrift now and they are putting on more steam. "

"Yes, we shall be at Cliffe in another ten minutes;" and Bessie rousedin earnest. Those ten minutes seemed interminable before the lights ofthe station flashed before their eyes. 

"Here she is--here is our Bessie!" exclaimed a voice, and a fine-lookingyoung fellow in an ulster ran lightly down the platform as Bessie wavedher handkerchief. He was followed more leisurely by a handsome, gray-haired man with a quiet, refined-looking face. 

"Tom--oh, Tom!" exclaimed Bessie, almost jumping into his arms, as heopened the carriage door. "Were mother and Hattie very frightened? Why, there is father!" as Dr. Lambert hurried up. 

"My dear child, how thankful I am to see you! Why, she looks quitefresh, Tom. "

"As fit as possible, " echoed Tom. 

"Yes, I am only cold. Father, the guard put me in with a young lady. Shewas going to London, but it is too late for her to travel alone, and sheis afraid of going to a hotel. May I bring her home? Her name is EdnaSefton. She lives at The Grange, Oatlands. "

Dr. Lambert seemed somewhat taken aback by his daughter's speech. 

"Edna Sefton! Why, that is Eleanor Sefton's daughter! What a strangecoincidence!" And then he muttered to himself, "Eleanor Sartoris'daughter under our roof! I wonder what Dora will say?" And then heturned to the fair, striking-looking girl whom Tom was assisting withall the alacrity that a young man generally shows to a pretty girl:"Miss Sefton, you will be heartily welcome for your mother's sake; sheand I were great friends in the 'auld lang syne. ' Will you come with me?I have a fly waiting for Bessie; my son will look after the luggage;"and Edna obeyed him with the docility of a child. 

But she glanced at him curiously once or twice as she walked beside him. "What a gentlemanly, handsome man he was!" she thought. Yes, he lookedlike a doctor; he had the easy, kindly manner which generally belongs tothe profession. She had never thought much about her own father, butto-night, as they drove through the lighted streets, her thoughts, oddlyenough, recurred to him. Dr. Lambert was sitting opposite the two girls, but his eyes were fixed oftenest on his daughter. 

"Your mother was very anxious and nervous, " he said, "and so was Hatty, when Tom brought us word that the train was snowed up in Sheen Valley Ihad to scold Hatty, and tell her she was a goose; but mother was nearlyas bad; she can't do without her crutch, eh, Bessie?" with a gleam oftenderness in his eyes, as they rested on his girl. 

Edna felt a little lump in her throat, though she hardly knew why;perhaps she was tired and over-strained; she had never missed her fatherbefore, but she fought against the feeling of depression. 

"I am so sorry your son has to walk, " she said politely; but Dr. Lambertonly smiled. 

"A walk will not hurt him, and our roads are very steep. "

As he spoke, the driver got down, and Bessie begged leave to follow hisexample. 

"We live on the top of the hill, " she said apologetically; "and I cannotbear being dragged up by a tired horse, as father knows by this time;"and she joined her brother, who came up at that moment. 

Tom had kept the fly well in sight. 

"That's an awfully jolly-looking girl, Betty, " he observed, with thefree and easy criticism of his age. "I don't know when I have seen aprettier girl; uncommon style, too--fair hair and dark eyes; she is aregular beauty. "

"That is what boys always think about, " returned Bessie, withgood-humored contempt. "Girls are different. I should be just as muchinterested in Miss Sefton if she were plain. I suppose you mean to becharmed with her conversation, and to find all her remarks witty becauseshe has _les beaux yeux_. "

"I scorn to take notice of such spiteful remarks, " returned Tom, with ashrug. "Girls are venomous to each other. I believe they hate to hearone another praised, even by a brother. "

"Hold your tongue, Tom, " was the rejoinder. "It takes my breath away toargue with you up this hill. I am not too ill-natured to give up my ownbed to Miss Sefton. Let us hurry on, there's a good boy, or they willarrive before us. "

As this request coincided with Tom's private wishes, he condescended towalk faster; and the brother and sister were soon at the top of thehill, and had turned into a pretty private road bordered with trees, with detached houses standing far back, with long, sloping strips ofgardens. The moon had now risen, and Bessie could distinctly see alittle group of girls, with shawls over their heads, standing on the topof a flight of stone steps leading down to a large shady gardenbelonging to an old-fashioned house. The front entrance was round thecorner, but the drawing-room window was open, and the girls had gainedthe road by the garden way, and stood shivering and expectant; while themoon illumined the grass terraces that ran steeply from the house, andshone on the meadow that skirted the garden. 

"Run in, girls; you will catch cold, " called out Bessie; but her prudentsuggestion was of no avail, for a tall, lanky girl rushed into the roadwith the rapturous exclamation, "Why, it is our Bessie after all, thoughshe looked so tall in the moonlight, and I did not know Tom's newulster. " And here Bessie was fallen upon and kissed, and handed from oneto another of the group, and then borne rapidly down the steps andacross the terrace to the open window. 

"Here she is, mother; here is our Bessie, not a bit the worse. And Hattyought to be ashamed of herself for making us all miserable!" exclaimedKatie. 

"My Hatty sha'n't be scolded. Mother, dear, if you only knew how sweethome looks after the Sheen Valley! Don't smother me any more, girls. Iwant to tell you something that will surprise you;" and Bessie, stillholding her mother's hand, but looking at Hatty, gave a rapid andsomewhat indistinct account of her meeting with Edna Sefton. 

"And she will have my room, mother, " continued Bessie, a littleincoherently, for she was tired and breathless, and the girl'sexclamations were so bewildering. 

Mrs. Lambert, a pale, care-worn woman, with a sweet pathetic sort offace, was listening with much perplexity, which was not lessened by thesight of her husband ushering into the room a handsome-looking girl, dressed in the most expensive fashion. 

"Dora, my dear, this is Bessie's fellow-sufferer in the snowdrift; wemust make much of her, for she is the daughter of my old friend, EleanorSartoris--Mrs. Sefton now. Bessie has offered her her own room to-night, as it is too late for her to travel to London. "

A quick look passed between the husband and wife, and a faint color cameto Mrs. Lambert's face, but she was too well-bred to express herastonishment. 

"You are very welcome, my dear, " she said quietly. "We will make you ascomfortable as we can. These are all my girls, " and she mentioned theirnames. 

"What a lot of girls, " thought Edna. She was not a bit shy by nature, and somehow the situation amused her. "What a comfortable, homelikeroom, and what a lovely fire! And--well, of course, they were not rich;any one could see that; but they were nice, kind people. "

"This is better than the snowdrift, " she said, with a beaming smile, asDr. Lambert placed her in his own easy chair, and Tom brought her afootstool and handed her a screen, and her old acquaintance Bessiehelped her to remove her wraps. The whole family gathered round her, intent on hospitality to the bewitching stranger--only the "Crutch, " asTom called her, tripped away to order Jane to light a fire in her room, and to give out the clean linen for the unexpected guest, and to put afew finishing touches to the supper-table. 

The others did not miss her at first. Christine, a tall, graceful girlwho had inherited her father's good looks, was questioning Edna aboutthe journey, and the rest were listening to the answers. 

Hatty, a pale, sickly-looking girl, whose really fine features weremarred by unhealthy sullenness and an anxious, fretful expression, washanging on every word; while the tall schoolgirl Ella, and the smaller, bright-eyed Katie, were standing behind their mother, trying to hidetheir awkwardness and bashfulness, till Tom came to the rescue byfinding them seats, with a whispered hint to Katie that it was not goodmanners to stare so at a stranger. Edna saw everything with quiet, amused eyes; she satisfied Christine's curiosity, and found replies toall Mrs. Lambert's gentle, persistent questioning. Tom, too, claimed herattention by all sorts of dexterous wiles. She must look at him, andthank him, when he found that screen for her; she could not disregardhim when he was so solicitous about the draft from the window, soanxious to bring her another cushion. 

"I did not know you were such a ladies' man, Tom, " observed Dr. Lambertpresently, in a tone that made Tom retreat with rather a foolishexpression. 

With all his love for his children, Dr. Lambert was sometimes capable ofa smooth sarcasm. Tom felt as though he had been officious; had, infact, made a fool of himself, and drew off into the background. Hisfather was often hard on him, Tom said to himself, in an aggrieved way, and yet he was only doing his duty, as a son of the house, in waiting onthis fascinating young lady. 

"Poor boy, he is very young!" thought Edna, who noticed this by-playwith some amusement; "but he will grow older some day, and he is verygood-looking;" and then she listened with a pretty show of interest to astory Dr. Lambert was telling her of when he was snowed up in Scotlandas a boy. 

When Bessie returned she found them all in good spirits, and herfellow-traveller laughing and talking as though she had known them foryears; even Tom's brief sulkiness had vanished, and, unmindful of hisfather's caustic tongue, he had again ventured to join the charmedcircle. 

It was quite late before the girls retired to rest, and as Edna followedBessie up the broad, low staircase, while Tom lighted them from below, she called out gayly. "Good-night, Mr. Lambert; it was worth whilebeing snowed up in the Sheen Valley to make such nice friends, and toenjoy such a pleasant evening. "

Edna really meant what she said, for the moment; she was capable ofthese brief enthusiasms. Pleasantness of speech, that specious coinageof conventionality, was as the breath of life to her. Her girlish vanitywas gratified by the impression she had made on the Lambert family, andeven Tom's crude, boyish admiration was worth something. 

"To be all things to all men" is sometimes taken by vain, worldly peoplein a very different sense from that the apostle intended. Girls of EdnaSefton's caliber--impressionable, vivacious, egotistical, and capable ofa thousand varying moods--will often take their cue from other people, and become grave with the grave, and gay with the gay, until they wearyof their role, and of a sudden become their true selves. And yet thereis nothing absolutely wrong in these swift, natural transitions; manysympathetic natures act in the same way, by very reason and force oftheir sympathy. For the time being they go out of themselves, and, as itwere, put themselves in other people's places. Excessive sympathy iscapable of minor martyrdom; their reflected suffering borders upon realpain. 

When Bessie ushered Edna into her little room, she looked round proudlyat the result of her own painstaking thoughtfulness. A bright fireburned in the small grate, and her mother's easy chair stood besideit--heavy as it was, Bessie had carried it in with her own hands. Thebest eider-down quilt, in its gay covering, was on the bed, and the newtoilet-cover that Christine had worked in blue and white cross-stitchwas on the table. Bessie had even borrowed the vase of Neapolitanviolets that some patient had sent her father, and the sweet perfumepermeated the little room. 

Bessie would willingly have heard some encomium on the snug quartersprovided for the weary guest, but Edna only looked round herindifferently, and then stifled a yawn. 

"Is there anything you want? Can I help you? Oh, I hope you will sleepcomfortably!" observed Bessie, a little mortified by Edna's silence. 

"Oh, yes: I am so tired that I am sure I shall sleep well, " returnedEdna; and then she added quickly, "but I am so sorry to turn you out ofyour room. "

"Oh, that does not matter at all, thank you, " replied Bessie, stirringthe fire into a cheerful blaze, and then bidding her guest good-night;but Edna, who had taken possession of the easy chair, exclaimed:

"Oh, don't go yet--it is only eleven, and I am never in bed untiltwelve. Sit down a moment, and warm yourself. "

"Mother never likes us to be late, " hesitated Bessie; but she lingered, nevertheless. This was not an ordinary evening, and there wereexceptions to every rule, so she knelt down on the rug a moment, andwatched Edna taking down the long plaits of fair hair that had crownedher shapely head. "What lovely hair!" thought Bessie; "what a beautifulyoung creature she is altogether!"

Edna was unconscious of the admiration she was exciting. She was lookinground her, and trying to realize what her feelings would be if she hadto inhabit such a room. "Why, our servants have better rooms, " shethought. 

To a girl of Edna's luxurious habits Bessie's room looked very poor andmean. The little strips of faded carpet, the small, curtainlessbedstead, the plain maple washstand and drawers, the few simple printsand varnished bookcase were shabby enough in Edna's eyes. She could notunderstand how any girl could be content with such a room; and yetBessie's happiest hours were spent there. What was a little shabbiness, or the wear and tear of homely furniture, to one who saw angels'footprints even in the common ways of life, and who dreamed sweet, innocent dreams of the splendors of a heavenly home? To these sort ofnatures even threadbare garments can be worn proudly, for to these freespirits even poverty loses its sting. It is not "how we live, " but "howwe think about life, " that stamps our characters, and makes us the menand women that we are. 

CHAPTER III. 

HATTY. 

The brief silence was broken by Edna. 

"What a nice boy your brother is!" she observed, in rather a patronizingtone. 

Bessie looked up in some surprise. 

"Tom does not consider himself a boy, I assure you; he isone-and-twenty, and ever since he has gone to Oxford he thinks himselfof great consequence. I dare say we spoil him among us, as he is ouronly brother now. If Frank had lived, " and here Bessie sighed, "he wouldhave been five-and-twenty by this time; but he died four years ago. Itwas such a blow to poor father and mother; he was so good and clever, and he was studying for a doctor; but he caught a severe chill, andcongestion of the lungs came on, and in a few days he was dead. I don'tthink mother has ever been quite the same since his death--Frank was somuch to her. "

"How very sad!" returned Edna sympathetically, for Bessie's eyes hadgrown soft and misty as she touched this chord of sadness; "it must beterrible to lose any one whom one loves. " And then she added, with asmile, "I did not mean to hurt your feelings by calling your brother aboy, but he seemed very young to me. You see, I am engaged, and Mr. Sinclair (that is my fiancé) is nearly thirty, and he is so grave andquiet that any one like your brother seems like a boy beside him. "

"You are engaged?" ejaculated Bessie, in an awestruck tone. 

"Yes; it seems a pity, does it not? at least mamma says so; she thinks Iam too young and giddy to know my own mind; and yet she is very fond ofNeville--Mr. Sinclair, I mean. She will have it that we are not a bitsuited to each other, and I dare say she is right, for certainly we donot think alike on a single point. "

Bessie's eyes opened rather widely at this candid statement. She was asimple little soul, and had not yet learned the creed of emancipation. She held the old-fashioned views that her mother had held before her. Her mother seldom talked on these subjects, and Bessie had inheritedthis reticence. She listened with a sort of wondering disgust when hergirl acquaintances chattered flippantly about their lovers, and boastedopenly of their power over them. 

"If this sort of thing ever comes to me, " thought Bessie on theseoccasions, "I shall think it too wonderful and precious to make it thesubject of idle conversation. How can any one take upon themselves theresponsibility of another human being's happiness--for that is what itreally means--and turn it into a jest? It is far too sacred andbeautiful a thing for such treatment. I think mother is right when shesays, 'Girls of the present day have so little reticence. '"

She hardly knew what to make of Edna's speech; it was not exactlyflippant, but it seemed so strange to hear so young a creature speak inthat cool, matter-of-fact way. 

"I don't see how people are to get on together, if they do not thinkalike, " she observed, in a perplexed voice; but Edna only laughed. 

"I am afraid we don't get on. Mother says she never saw such a couple;that we are always quarrelling and making up like two children; but Iput it to you, Miss Lambert, how are things to be better? I am used tomy own way, and Mr. Sinclair is used to his. I like fun and plenty ofchange, and dread nothing so much as being bored--_ennuyée_, in fact, and he is all for quiet. Then he is terribly clever, and has every sortof knowledge at his fingers' end. He is a barrister, and rising in hisprofession, and I seldom open a book unless it be a novel. "

"I wonder why he chose you, " observed Bessie naïvely, and Edna seemedmuch amused by her frankness. 

"Oh, how deliciously downright you are, Miss Lambert. Well, do you knowI have not the faintest notion why Neville asked me to marry him, anymore than I know why I listened to him. I tell him sometimes that it wasthe most ridiculous mistake in the world, and that either he or I, orboth of us, must have been bewitched. I am really very sorry for himsometimes; I do make him so unhappy; and sometimes I am sorry formyself. But there, the whole thing is beyond my comprehension. If Icould alter myself or alter Neville, things would be more comfortableand less unpleasantly exciting. " And here Edna laughed again, and thenstifled another yawn; and this time Bessie declared she would not stop amoment longer. Christine would be asleep. 

"Well, perhaps I should only talk nonsense if you remained, and I cansee you are easily shocked, so I will allow you to wish me good-night. "But, to Bessie's surprise, Edna kissed her affectionately. 

"You have been a Good Samaritan to me, " she said quietly, "and I amreally very grateful. " And Bessie withdrew, touched by the unexpectedcaress. 

"What a strange mixture she is!" she thought, as she softly closed thedoor. "I think she must have been badly brought up; perhaps her motherhas spoiled her. I fancy she is affectionate by nature, but she isworldly, and cares too much for pleasure; anyhow, one cannot help beinginterested in her. " But here she broke off abruptly as she passed ahalf-opened door, and a voice from within summoned her. 

"Oh, Hatty, you naughty child, are you awake? Do you know it is nearlytwelve o'clock?"

"What does that matter?" returned Hatty fretfully, as Bessie groped herway carefully toward the bed. "I could not sleep until you had saidgood-night to me. I suppose you had forgotten me; you never thought Iwas lying here waiting for you, while you were talking to Miss Sefton. "

"Now, Hatty, I hope you are not going to be tiresome;" and Bessie'svoice was a little weary; and then she relented, and said gently, "Youknow I never forget you, Hatty dear. "

"No, of course not, " returned the other eagerly. "I did not mean to becross. Put your head down beside me on the pillow, Bessie darling, for Iknow you are just as tired as possible. You don't mind stopping with mefor a few minutes, do you? for I have not spoken to you for threeweeks. "

"No, I am not so tired as all that, and I am quite comfortable, " as athin, soft cheek laid itself against her's in the darkness. "What hasgone wrong, Hatty dear? for I know by your tone you have been makingyourself miserable about something. You have wanted me back to scold youinto cheerfulness. "

"I have wanted you dreadfully, " sighed Hatty. "Mother and Christine havebeen very kind, but they don't help me as you do, and Tom teases medreadfully. What do you think he said yesterday to mother? I was in theroom and heard him myself. He actually said, 'I wonder my father allowsyou all to spoil Hatty as you do. You all give in to her, however crossand unreasonable she is, and so her temper gets worse every day. '"

"Well, you are very often cross, you know, " returned Bessie truthfully. 

"Yes, but I try not to be, " replied Hatty, with a little sob. "Tom wouldhave been cross too if his head and back had ached as mine were aching, but he always feels well and strong. I think it is cruel of him to saysuch things to mother, when he knows how much I have to suffer. "

"Tom did not mean to be unkind, Hatty; you are always finding faultwith the poor boy. It is difficult for a young man, who does not knowwhat an ache means, nor what it is to wake up tired, to realize whatreal suffering all your little ailments cause you. Tom is really verykind and good-natured, only your sharp little speeches irritate him. "

"I am always irritating some one, " moaned Hatty. "I can't think how anyof you can love me. I often cry myself to sleep, to think how horrid anddisagreeable I have been in the day. I make good resolutions then, butthe next morning I am as bad as ever, and then I think it is no usetrying any more. Last night Tom made me so unhappy that I could not saymy prayers. "

"Poor little Hatty!"

"Yes, I know you are sorry for me; you are such a dear that I cannot beas cross with you as I am with Tom; but, Bessie, I wish you wouldcomfort me a little; if you would only tell me that I am not so much toblame. "

"We have talked that over a great many times before. You know what Ithink, Hatty; you are not to blame for your weakness; that is a triallaid upon you; but you are to blame if that weakness is so impatientlyborne that it leads you to sin. "

"I am sure father thinks that I cannot help my irritability; he willnever let Tom scold me if he is in the room. "

"That is because father is so kind, and he knows you have such a hardtime of it, you poor child, and that makes us all so sorry for you; but, Hatty, you must not let all this love spoil you; we are patient with youbecause we know your weakness, but we cannot help you if you do not helpyourself. Don't you recollect what dear Mr. Robertson said in hissermon? that 'harassed nerves must be striven against, as we striveagainst anything that hinders our daily growth in grace. ' He said peoplewere more tolerant of this form of weakness than of any other, and yetit caused much misery in homes, and he went on to tell us that everyirritable word left unspoken, every peevish complaint hushed, was asreal a victory as though we had done some great thing. 'If we mustsuffer, ' he said, 'at least let us suffer quietly, and not spend ourbreath in fruitless complaint. People will avoid a fretful person asthough they were plague-tainted; and why? because they trouble the veryatmosphere round them, and no one can enjoy peace in theirneighborhood. '"

"I am sure Mr. Robertson must have meant me, Bessie. "

"No, darling, no; I won't have you exaggerate or judge yourself tooharshly. You are not always cross, or we should not be so fond of you. You make us sad sometimes, when you sit apart, brooding over someimaginary grievance; that is why father calls you Little MissMuch-Afraid. "

"Yes, you all laugh at me, but indeed the darkness is very real. Sometimes I wonder why I have been sent into the world, if I am not tobe happy myself, nor to make other people happy. You are like a sunbeamyourself, Bessie, and so you hardly understand what I mean. "

"Oh, yes, I do; but I never see any good in putting questions that wecannot answer; only I am quite sure you have your duty to do, quite asmuch as I have mine, only you have not found it out. "

"Perhaps I am the thorn in the flesh to discipline you all intopatience, " returned Hatty quaintly, for she was not without humor. 

"Very well, then, my thorn; fulfil your mission, " returned Bessie, kissing her. "But I cannot keep awake and speak words of wisdom anylonger. " And she scrambled over the bed, and with another cheerful"good-night, " vanished; but Hatty's troubled thoughts were lulled bysisterly sympathy, and she soon slept peacefully. Late as it was beforeBessie laid her weary head on the pillow beside her sleeping sister, itwas long before her eyes closed and she sunk into utter forgetfulness. Her mind seemed crowded with vague images and disconnected thoughts. Recollections of the hours spent in Sheen Valley, the weird effect ofthe dusky figures passing and repassing in the dim, uncertain light, thefaint streaks of light across the snow, the dull winter sky, the eagerwelcome of the lonely girl, the long friendly talk ripening into buddingintimacy, all passed vividly before her, followed by Hatty's artlessconfession. 

"Poor little thing!" thought Bessie compassionately, for there was aspecially soft place in her heart for Hatty. She had always been herparticular charge. All Hatty's failures, her miserable derelictions ofduty, her morbid self-accusations and nervous fancies, bred of a sicklybody and over-anxious temperament, were breathed into Bessie'ssympathizing ear. Hatty's feebleness borrowed strength and courage fromBessie's vigorous counsels. She felt braced by mere contact with such astrong, healthy organization. She was always less fretful and impatientwhen Bessie was near; her cheery influence cleared away many a cloudthat threatened to obscure Hatty's horizon. 

"Bear ye one another's burdens, " was a command literally obeyed byBessie in her unselfish devotion to Hatty, her self-sacrificing effortsto cheer and rouse her; but she never could be made to understand thatthere was any merit in her conduct. 

"I know Hatty is often cross, and ready to take offence, " she would say;"but I think we ought to make allowances for her. I don't think werealize how much she has to bear--that she never feels well. "

"Oh, that is all very well, " Christine would answer, for she had a quicktemper too, and would fire up after one of Hatty's sarcastic littlespeeches; "but it is time Hatty learned self-control. I dare say you areoften tired after your Sunday class, but no one hears a cross word fromyou. "

"Oh, I keep it all in, " Bessie returned, laughing. "But I dare say Ifeel cross all the same. I don't think any of us can guess what it mustbe to wake depressed and languid every morning. A louder voice thanusual does not make our heads ache, yet I have seen Hatty wince withpain when Tom indulged in one of his laughs. "

"Yes, I know, " replied Christine, only half convinced by this. "Ofcourse it is very trying, but Hatty must be used to it by this time, forshe has never been strong from a baby; and yet she is always bemoaningherself, as though it were something fresh. "

"It is not easy to get used to this sort of trouble, " answered Bessie, rather sadly. "And I must say I always feel very sorry for Hatty, " andso the conversation closed. 

But in her heart Bessie said: "It is all very well to preach patience, and I for one am always preaching it to Hatty, but it is not so easy topractice it. Mother and Christine are always praising me for being sogood tempered; but if one feels strong and well, and has a healthyappetite and good digestion, it is very easy to keep from being cross;but in other ways I am not half so good as Hatty; she is the purest, humblest little soul breathing. "

In spite of late hours, Bessie was downstairs the next morning at herusual time; she always presided at the breakfast-table. Since her eldestson's death, Mrs. Lambert had lost much of her strength and energy, andthough her husband refused to acknowledge her as an invalid, or to treather as one, yet most of her duties had devolved upon Bessie, whoseuseful energy supplemented her mother's failing powers. 

Bessie had briefly hinted at her family sorrow; she was not one at anytime to dwell upon her feelings, nor to indulge in morbid retrospection, but it was true that the loss of that dearly loved son and brother hadclouded the bright home atmosphere. Mrs. Lambert had borne her troublemeekly, and had striven to comfort her husband who had broken downunder the sudden blow. She spoke little, even to her daughters, of thegrief that was slowly consuming her; but as time went on, and Dr. Lambert recovered his cheerfulness, he noticed that his wife drooped andailed more than usual; she had grown into slow quiet ways that seemed topoint to failing strength. 

"Bessie, your mother is not as young as she used to be, " he saidabruptly, one morning, "She does not complain, but then she is not oneof the complaining sort; she was always a quiet creature; but you girlsmust put your shoulders to the wheel, and spare her as much aspossible. " And from that day Bessie had become her mother's crutch. 

It was a wonderful relief to the harassed mother when she found aconfidante to whom she could pour out all her anxieties. 

Dr. Lambert was not a rich man; his practice was large, but many of hispatients were poor, and he had heavy expenses. The hilly roads and longdistances obliged him to keep two horses. He had sent both his sons toOxford, thinking a good education would be their best inheritance, andthis had obliged him to curtail domestic expenses. He was a careful man, too, who looked forward to the future, and thought it his duty to layaside a yearly sum to make provision for his wife and children. 

"I have only one son now, and Hatty will always be a care, poor child, "he said more than once. 

So, though there was always a liberal table kept in the doctor's house, it being Dr. Lambert's theory that growing girls needed plenty ofnourishing food, the young people were taught economy in every othermatter. The girls dressed simply and made their own gowns. Carpets andfurniture grew the worse for wear, and were not always replaced at once. Tom grumbled sometimes when one of his Oxford friends came to dinner. Heand Christine used to bewail the shabby covers in the drawing-room. 

"It is such a pretty room if it were only furbished off a bit, " Tom saidonce. "Why don't you girls coax the governor to let you do it up?" Tomnever used the word governor unless he was in a grumbling mood, for heknew how his father hated it. 

"I don't think father can afford anything this year, Tom, " Bessiereturned, in her fearless way. "Why do you ask your grand friends if youthink they will look down on us? We don't pretend to be rich people. They will find the chairs very comfortable if they will condescend tosit on them, and the tables as strong as other people's tables; andthough the carpet is a little faded, there are no holes to trip yourfriends up. "

"Oh, shut up, Betty!" returned Tom, restored to good humor by her honestsarcasm. "Ferguson will come if I ask him. I think he is a bit takenwith old Chrissy. " And so ended the argument. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A COSY MORNING. 

Breakfast was half over before Miss Sefton made her appearance; but hergraceful apology for her tardiness was received by Dr. Lambert in themost indulgent manner. In spite of his love of punctuality, and hisstringent rules for his household in this respect, he could not havefound it in his heart to rebuke the pretty, smiling creature who toldhim so naïvely that early rising disagreed with her and put her out forthe day. 

"I tell mamma that I require a good deal of sleep, and, fortunately, shebelieves me, " finished Edna complacently. 

Well, it was not like the doctor to hold his peace at this glaringopposition to his favorite theory, and yet, to Tom's astonishment, heforebore to quote that threadbare and detestable adage, "Early to bedand early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise"--proverbialand uncomfortable philosophy that Tom hated with all his foolish youngheart. Tom, in his budding manhood, often thought fit to set thisdomestic tyranny at defiance, and would argue at some length that hisfather was wrong in laying down rules for the younger generation. 

"If my father likes to get up early, no one can find any fault with himfor doing it, " Tom would say; "but he need not impose his venerable andbenighted opinions upon us. Great men are not always wise; evenintellectual veterans like Dr. Johnson, and others I can mention, if youonly give me time, have their hallucinations, fads, fancies, andflummeries. For example, every one speaks of Dr. Johnson with respect;no one hints that he had a bee in his bonnet, and yet a man who couldmake a big hole for a cat and a little one for a kitten--was it Johnsonor Newton who did that?--must have had a screw loose somewhere. And soit is with my father; early rising is his hobby--his pet theory--thekeystone that binds the structure of health together. Well, it is arespectable theory, but my father need not expect an enlightened andprogressive generation to subscribe to it. The early hours of themorning are not good for men and mice, only for birds and bricklayers, and worms weary of existence. "

Tom looked on, secretly amused, as his father smiled indulgently at MissSefton's confession of indolence. He asked her how she had slept, andmade room for her beside him, and then questioned her about her intendedjourney, and finally arranged to drive her to the station before he wenton his usual round. 

An hour afterward the whole family collected in the hall to see MissSefton off. Edna bid them good-bye in her easy, friendly fashion, but asshe took Bessie's hand, she said:

"Good-bye, dear. I have an idea that we shall soon meet again. I shallnot let you forget me;" and then she put up her face to be kissed. 

"I am not likely to forget you, " thought Bessie, as Edna waved herlittle gloved hand to them all; "one could soon get fond of her. "

"How nice it must be to be rich, " sighed Christine, who was standingbeside Bessie. "Miss Sefton is very little older than we are, and yetshe has lovely diamond and emerald rings. Did you see her dressing bag?It was filled up so beautifully; its bottles silver mounted; it musthave cost thirty guineas, at least. And then her furs; I should like tobe in her place. "

"I should not envy Miss Sefton because she is rich, " retorted Hattydisdainfully. "I would rather change places with her because she is sostrong and so pretty. I did like looking at her so much, and so did Tom. Didn't you, Tom?"

"I say, I wish you girls would shut up or clear off, " responded Tomcrossly; for things felt a little flat this morning. "How is a fellow towork with all this chattering going on round him?"

"Why, you haven't opened your books yet, " replied Hatty, in an aggrievedvoice; but Bessie hastily interposed:

"Tom is quite right to want the room to himself. Come along, girls, letus go to mother in the morning-room; we might do some of our plainsewing, and then I can tell you about Aunt Charlotte. It is so longsince we have been cosy together, and our needles will fly while wetalk--eh, Hatty?"

"There are those night shirts to finish, " said Christine disconsolately;"they ought to have been done long ago, but Hatty was always saying herback ached when I wanted her help, and I could not get on with them bymyself. "

"Never mind, we will all set to work vigorously, " and Bessie trippedaway to find her work basket. The morning-room, as they called it, was asmall room leading out of the drawing-room, with an old-fashioned baywindow looking out on the garden. 

There was a circular cushioned seat running round the bay, with a smalltable in the middle, and this was the place where the girls loved to sitand sew, while their tongues kept pace with their needles. When Hatty'sback ached, or the light made her head throb with pain, she used tobring her low chair and leave the recess to Bessie and Christine. 

The two younger girls went to school. 

As Hatty brought her work (she was very skilful with the needle, andneither of her sisters could vie with her in delicate embroidery), sheslipped a cold little hand into Bessie's. 

"It is so lovely to have you back, Betty, dear, " she whispered. "I wokequite happy this morning to know I should see you downstairs. "

"I think it is lovely to be home, " returned Bessie, with a beamingsmile. "I am sure that is half the pleasure of going away--the comingback again. I don't know how I should feel if I went to stay at anygrand place; but it always seems to me now that home is the mostdelicious place in the world; it never looks shabby to me as it does toTom; it is just homelike. "

Mrs. Lambert, who was sitting apart from the girls, busy with her weeklyaccounts, looked up at hearing her daughter's speech. 

"That is right, dear, " she said gently, "that is just how I like to hearyou speak; it would grieve me if my girls were to grow discontented withtheir home, as some young ladies do. "

"Bessie is not like that, mother, " interposed Hatty eagerly. 

"No, Hatty, we know that, do we not? What do you think father said theother day, Bessie? He said, 'I shall be glad when we get Bessie back, for the place does not seem like itself when she is away. ' That was ahigh compliment from father. "

"Indeed it was, " returned Bessie; and she blushed with pleasure. "Everyone likes to be missed; but I hope you didn't want me too much, mother. "

"No, dear; but, like father, I am glad to get you back again. " And themother's eyes rested fondly on the girl's face. "Now you must not makeme idle, for I have all these accounts to do, and some notes to write. Go on with your talking; it will not interrupt me. "

It spoke well for the Lambert girls that their mother's presence neverinterfered with them; they talked as freely before her as other girls doin their parent's absence. From children they had never been repressednor unnaturally subdued; their childish preferences and tastes had beenknown and respected; no thoughtless criticism had wounded theirsusceptibility; imperceptibly and gently maternal advice had guided andrestrained them. 

"We tell mother everything, and she likes to hear it, " Ella and Katiewould say to their school-fellows. 

"We never have secrets from her, " Ella added. "Katie did once, andmother was so hurt that she cried about it. Don't you recollect, Katie?"

"Yes, and it is horrid of you to remind me, " returned Katie wrathfully, and she walked away in high dudgeon; the recollection was not a pleasantone. Katie's soft heart had been pierced by her mother's unfeigned griefand tender reproaches. 

"You are the only one of all my little girls who ever hid anything fromme. No, I am not angry with you, Katie, and I will kiss you as much asyou like, " for Katie's arms were round her neck in a moment; "but youhave made mother cry, because you do not love her as she does you. "

"Mother shall never cry again on my account, " thought Katie; and, strange to say, the tendency to secretiveness in the child's natureseemed cured from that day. Katie ever afterward confessed hermisdemeanors and the accidents that happen to the best-regulatedchildren with a frankness that bordered on bluntness. 

"I have done it, mother, " she would say, "but somehow I don't feel a bitsorry. I rather liked hurting Ella's feelings; it seemed to serve herright. "

"Perhaps when we have talked about it a little you will feel sorry, " hermother would reply quietly; "but I have no time for talking just now. "

Mrs. Lambert was always very busy; on these occasions she never foundtime for a heated and angry discussion. When Katie's hot cheeks hadcooled a little, and her childish wrath had evaporated, she wouldquietly argue the point with her. It was an odd thing that Katiegenerally apologized of her own accord afterward--generally ownedherself the offender. 

"Somehow you make things look different, mother, " she would say, "Ican't think why they all seem topsy-turvy to me. "

"When you are older I will lend you my spectacles, " her mother returned, smiling. "Now run and kiss Ella, and pray don't forget next time thatshe is two years older; it can't possibly be a younger sister's duty tocontradict her on every occasion. "

It was in this way that Mrs. Lambert had influenced her children, andshe had reaped a rich harvest for her painstaking, patient labors withthem, in the freely bestowed love and confidence with which her grown-updaughters regarded her. Now, as she sat apart, the sound of their freshyoung voices was the sweetest music to her; not for worlds would shehave allowed her own inward sadness to damp their spirits, but more thanonce the pen rested in her hand, and her attention wandered. 

Outside the wintry sun was streaming on the leafless trees and snowylawns; some thrushes and sparrows were bathing in the pan of water thatKatie had placed there that morning. 

"Let us go for a long walk this afternoon, " Christine was saying, "through the Coombe Woods, and round by Summerford, and down by thequarry. "

"Even Bessie forgets that it will be Frank's birthday to-morrow, "thought Mrs. Lambert. "My darling boy, I wonder if he remembers itthere; if the angels tell him that his mother is thinking of him. Thatis just what one longs to know--if they remember;" and then she sighed, and pushed her papers aside, and no one saw the sadness of her face asshe went out. Meanwhile Bessie was relating how she had spent the lastthree weeks. 

"I can't think how you could endure it, " observed Christine, as soon asshe had finished. "Aunt Charlotte is very nice, of course; she isfather's sister, and we ought to think so; but she leads such a dulllife, and then Cronyhurst is such an ugly village. "

"It is not dull to her, but then you see it is her life. People look ontheir own lives with such different eyes. Yes, it was very quiet atCronyhurst; the roads were too bad for walking, and we had a great dealof snow; but we worked and talked, and sometimes I read aloud, and sothe days were not so long after all. "

"I should have come home at the end of a week, " returned Christine;"three weeks at Cronyhurst in the winter is too dreadful. It was realself-sacrifice on your part, Bessie; even father said so; he declared itwas too bad of Aunt Charlotte to ask you at such a season of the year. "

"I don't see that. Aunt Charlotte liked having me, and I was verywilling to stay with her, and we had such nice talks. I don't see thatshe is to be pitied at all. She has never married, and she lives alone, but she is perfectly contented with her life. She has her garden and herchickens, and her poor people. We used to go into some of the cottageswhen the weather allowed us to go out, and all the people seemed sopleased to see her. Aunt Charlotte is a good woman, and good people aregenerally happy. I know what Tom says about old maids, " continued Bessiepresently, "but that is all nonsense. Aunt Charlotte says she is farbetter off as she is than many married people she knows. 'Married peoplemay double their pleasures, ' as folks say, 'but they treble their cares, too, ' I have heard her remark; 'and there is a great deal to be said infavor of freedom. When there is no one to praise there is no one toblame, and if there is no one to love there is no one to lose, and Ihave always been content myself with single blessedness. ' Do youremember poor Uncle Joe's saying, 'The mare that goes in single harnessdoes not get so many kicks?'"

"Yes, I know Aunt Charlotte's way of talking; but I dare say no onewanted to marry her, so she makes the best of her circumstances. "

Bessie could not help laughing at Christine's bluntness. 

"Well, you are right, Chrissy; but Aunt Charlotte is not the leastashamed of the fact. She told me once that no one had ever fallen inlove with her, 'I could not expect them to do so, ' she remarkedcandidly. 'As a girl I was plain featured, and so shy and awkward thatyour Uncle Joe used to tell me that I was the only ugly duckling thatwould never turn into a swan. '"

"What a shame of Uncle Joe!"

"I don't think Aunt Charlotte took it much to heart. She says her hardlife and many troubles drove all nonsense thoughts out of her head. Why, grandmamma was ill eight years, you know, and Aunt Charlotte nursed herall that time. I am sure when she used to come to my bedside of a night, and tuck me up with a motherly kiss, I used to think her face lookedalmost beautiful, it was so full of kindness. Somehow I fancy when I amold, " added Bessie pensively, "I shall not care so much about my looksnor my wrinkles, if people will only think I am a comfortable, kind-hearted sort of a person. "

"You will be the dearest old lady in the world, " returned Hatty, dropping her work with an adoring look at her Betty. "You are cosierthan other people now, so you are sure to be nicer than ever when youare old. No wonder Aunt Charlotte loved to have you. "

"What a little flatterer you are, Hatty! It is a comfort that I don'tgrow vain. Do you know, I think Aunt Charlotte taught me a great deal. When you get over her little mannerisms and odd ways, you soon find outwhat a good woman she really is. She is always thinking of other people;what she can do to lighten their burdens; and little things give her somuch pleasure. She says the first violet she picks in the hedgerow, orthe sight of a pair of thrushes building their nest in the acacia tree, makes her feel as happy as a child; 'for in spring, ' she said once, 'allthe world is full of young life, and the buds are bursting into flowers, and they remind me that one day I shall be young and beautiful too. '"

"I think I should like to go and stay with Aunt Charlotte, " observedHatty, "if you think she would care to have me. "

"I am sure she would, dear. Aunt Charlotte loves to take care ofpeople. You most go in the summer, Hatty; the cottage is so pretty then, and you could be out in the garden or in the lanes all day. June is thebest month, for they will be making hay in the meadows, and you couldsit on the porch and smell the roses, and watch Aunt Charlotte's beesfilling their honey bags. It is just the place for you, Hatty--so stilland quiet. "

This sort of talk lasted most of the morning, until Ella and Katiereturned from school, and Tom sauntered into the room, flushed with hismental labors, and ready to seek relaxation in his sisters' company. 

Bessie left the room and went in search of her mother; when shereturned, a quarter of an hour later, she found Tom sulky and Hatty intears. 

"It is no use trying to keep the peace, " observed Christine, in a vexedtone. "Tom will tease Hatty, and then she gets cross, and there is nosilencing either of them. "

"Come with me, Hatty dear, and help me put my room in order. I have tofinish my unpacking, " said Bessie soothingly. "You have been working toolong, and so has Tom. I shall leave him to you, Chrissy. " And as Hattyonly moaned a little in her handkerchief, Bessie took the work forciblyaway, and then coaxed her out of the room. 

"Why is Tom so horrid to me?" sobbed Hatty "I don't believe he loves mea bit. I was having such a happy morning, and he came in and spoiledall. "

"Never mind about Tom. No one cares for his teasing, except you, Hatty. I would not let him see you mind everything he chooses to say. He willonly think you a baby for crying. Now, do help me arrange this drawer, for dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour, and the floor is juststrewn with clothes. If it makes your head ache to stoop, I will justhand you the things; but no one else can put them away so tidily. "

The artful little bait took. Of all things Hatty loved to be of use toany one. In another moment she had dried her eyes and set to work, hermiserable little face grew cheerful, and Tom's sneering speeches wereforgotten. 

"Why, I do believe that is Hatty laughing!" exclaimed Christine, as thedinner-bell sounded, and she passed the door with her mother. "It issplendid, the way Bessie manages Hatty. I wish some of us could learnthe art, for all this wrangling with Tom is so tiresome. "

"Bessie never loses patience with her, " returned her mother; "never letsher feel that she is a trouble. I think you will find that is the secretof Bessie's influence. Your father and I are often grateful to her. 'What would that poor child do without her?' as your father often says;and I do believe her health would often suffer if Bessie did not turnher thoughts away from the things that were fretting her. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE OATLANDS POST-MARK. 

One day, about three months after her adventure in the Sheen Valley, Bessie was climbing up the steep road that led to the Lamberts' house. It was a lovely spring afternoon, and Bessie was enjoying the freshbreeze that was blowing up from the bay. Cliffe was steeped in sunshine, the air was permeated with the fragrance of lilac blended with the faintodors of the pink and white May blossoms. The flower-sellers' baskets inthe town were full of dark-red wallflowers and lovely hyacinths. Thebirds were singing nursery lullabies over their nests in the CoombeWoods, and even the sleek donkeys, dragging up some invalids from theParade in their trim little chairs, seemed to toil more willingly in thesweet spring sunshine. 

"How happy the world looks to-day!" said Bessie to herself; and perhapsthis pleasant thought was reflected in her face, for more than onepasser-by glanced at her half enviously. Bessie did not notice them; hersoft gray eyes were fixed on the blue sky above her, or on the glimpsesof water between the houses. Just before she turned into the avenue thatled to the house, she stopped to admire the view. She was at the summitof the hill now; below her lay the town; where she stood she could lookover the housetops to the shining water of the bay, with its rockyisland in the middle. Bessie always called it the bay, but in reality itresembled a lake, it was so landlocked, so closed in by the oppositeshore, except in one part; but the smooth expanse of water, shining inthe sunlight, lacked the freedom and wild freshness of the open sea, though Bessie would look intently to a distant part, where nothing, asshe knew, came between her and the Atlantic. "If we only went farenough, we should reach America; that gives one the idea of freedom andvastness, " she thought. 

Bessie held the idea that Cliffe-on-Sea was one of the prettiest placesin England, and it was certainly not devoid of picturesqueness. 

The houses were mostly built of stone, hewn out of the quarry, and wereperched up in surprisingly unexpected places--some of them built againstthe rock, their windows commanding extensive views of the surroundingcountry. The quarry was near the Lamberts' house, and the Coombe Woodsstretched above it for miles. Bessie's favorite walk was the long roadthat skirted the woods. On one side were the hanging woods, and on theother the bay. Through the trees one could see the gleam of water, andon summer evenings the Lambert girls would often sit on the rocks withtheir work and books, preferring the peaceful stillness to the Paradecrowded with strangers listening to the band. When their mother or Tomwas with them, they would often linger until the stars came out or themoon rose. How glorious the water looked then, bathed in silveryradiance, like an enchanted lake! How dark and sombre the woods! Whatstrange shadows used to lurk among the trees! Hatty would creep toBessie's side, as they walked, especially if Tom indulged in one of hisghost stories. 

"What is the use of repeating all that rubbish, Tom?" Bessie would say, in her sturdy fashion. "Do you think any one would hear us if we sungone of our glees? That will be better than talking about headless bogiesto scare Hatty. I like singing by moonlight. "

Well, they were just healthy, happy young people, who knew how to makethe most of small pleasures. "Every one could have air and sunshine andgood spirits, " Bessie used to say, "if they ailed nothing and kept theirconsciences in good order. Laughing cost nothing, and talking was thecheapest amusement she knew. "

"That depends, " replied her father oracularly, on overhearing thisremark. "Words are dear enough sometimes. You are a wise woman, Bessie, but you have plenty to learn yet. We all have to buy experienceourselves. I don't want you to get your wisdom second-hand; second-handarticles don't last; so laugh away, child, as long as you can. "

"I love spring, " thought Bessie, as she walked on. "I always did likebright things best. I wonder why I feel so hopeful to-day, just asthough I expected something pleasant to happen. Nothing ever doeshappen, as Chriss says. Just a letter from Tom, telling us his news, oran invitation to tea with a neighbor, or perhaps a drive out into thecountry with father. Well, they are not big things, but they arepleasant, for all that. I do like a long talk with father, when he hasno troublesome case on his mind, and can give me all his attention. Ithink there is no treat like it; but I mean Hatty to have the next turn. She has been good lately; but she looks pale and dwindled. I am not halfcomfortable about her. " And here Bessie broke off her cogitations, forat that moment Katie rushed out of the house and began dancing up anddown, waving a letter over her head. 

"What a time you have been!" cried the child excitedly. "I have beenwatching for you for half an hour. Here is a letter for your own self, and it is not from Aunt Charlotte nor Uncle Charles, nor any old fogyat all. "

"Give it to me, please, " returned Bessie. "I suppose it is from Tom, though why you should make such a fuss about it, as though no one evergot a letter, passes my comprehension. No, it is from Miss Sefton; Irecognize her handwriting;" which was true, as Bessie had received anote from Edna a few days after she had left them, conveying her own andher mother's thanks for the kind hospitality she had received. 

"Of course it is from Miss Sefton; there's the Oatlands post-mark. Ellaand I were trying to guess what was in it; we thought that perhaps, asMrs. Sefton is so rich, she might have sent you a present for being sokind to her daughter; that was Ella's idea. Do open it quickly, Bessie;what is the use of looking at the envelope?"

"I am afraid I can't satisfy your curiosity just yet, Kitty. Hatty iswaiting for the silks I have been matching, and mother will want to knowhow old Mrs. Wright is. Duty before pleasure, " finished Bessie, withgood-humored peremptoriness, as she marched off in the direction of themorning-room. 

"Bessie is getting dreadfully old-maidish, " observed Katie, in a sulkyvoice. "She never used to be so proper. I suppose she thinks it is noneof my business. "

When Bessie had got through her list of commissions she sat down toenjoy her letter quietly, but before she had read many lines her colorrose, and a half-stifled exclamation of surprise came from her lips;but, in spite of Hatty's curious questions, she read steadily to theend, and then laid the letter on her mother's lap. 

"Oh, mother, do let me hear it, " implored Hatty, with the persistence ofa spoiled child. "I am sure there is something splendid about Bessie, and I do hate mysteries. "

"So do I, Hatty; we think alike there. Shall I read it aloud, my dear?"and as Bessie nodded, Mrs. Lambert read the letter in her quiet, silveryvoice:

 "MY DEAR MISS LAMBERT, " it began; "I told you that I should not allow you to forget me, so, you see, I am keeping my promise like a reliable young woman. Mamma says I have made a bad commencement to my letter--that self-praise is no recommendation. I think I remember that profoundly wise saying in copy-book days; but I hold a more worldly view of the subject. I think people are taken at their own value; so, on principle, I never undervalue myself; and the gist of all this is that I do not intend to be forgotten by a certain young lady who enacted the part of Good Samaritan in the Sheen Valley. 

 "Now, as I must candidly confess to a sincere wish for a better acquaintance with this same young lady, I am writing in my own and mamma's name to beg you to favor us with your company at The Grange for a few weeks. 

 "You must not think this is a very unconventional proceeding on our part, as our parents were old friends. Mamma is writing to Dr. Lambert by the same post, and she means to say all sorts of pretty things to induce him to intrust you to our care. 

 "I wish I had the power of persuasion. Mamma has such a knack of saying nice things, but indeed you must come. The Grange is such a dear old house, and we know such pleasant people, and I want you to see our Kentish lanes, and indeed mamma and I will make you so comfortable. I don't mention Richard, because he is nobody, and he never interferes with our friends. 

 "Now I am taking it for granted that you will not refuse me, so I will proceed to tell you our arrangements. Mamma and I have been in town the last five weeks, and we are both of us tired to death of Vanity Fair, so we mean to go back to Oatlands next week. You may come to us as soon after that as you like; fix your own day and your train, and I will be at the station to meet you. 

 "I remain, yours most sincerely, "EDNA SEFTON. "

"Oh, Bessie, how delightful! But I don't like to spare you again sosoon. "

"Now, Hatty, don't be selfish. You must not grudge Bessie the first realtreat she has ever had offered to her. We have none of us had such achance before. Fancy staying at a place like The Grange, and seeing lotsof nice people. "

"I wish you could go in my place, Chrissy, dear. I am not quite sure howI should like staying with strange people; we have got into homely ways, never going anywhere except to Aunt Charlotte's or Uncle Charles', andI don't know how I should get on with rich people like the Sefton's;besides, father and mother may not wish me to accept the invitation, "glancing at her mother's thoughtful face. 

"We must see what your father says about it, " returned Mrs. Lambert, rousing herself with difficulty from her abstraction. "I would not talkabout it any more, girls, until we know his wishes. It will onlydisappoint Bessie if she makes up her mind that she would like to acceptthe invitation, and father thinks it wiser to refuse. Let us put it outof our heads until he comes home, and he and I will have a talk aboutit. "

"Yes, that will be best, " returned Bessie, putting the letter in theenvelope. "Father will not be home until late, but that does not matter;to-morrow will do quite well. " And, to her sister's surprise anddisappointment, she refused to say any more on the subject. 

"Mother is quite right, " she observed, as Hatty fussed and grumbled ather silence. "If we talk about it, I shall just long to go, and shall bevexed and disappointed if father wishes me to refuse. "

"But you might coax him to change his mind. Father never likesdisappointing us when we set our hearts on anything, " urged Hatty. 

"No, indeed; I never like arguing things with father. He is not one tomake up his mind in a hurry, like some people; he thinks over a thingthoroughly, and then he gives his opinion. If he does not wish me to go, he will have a good reason for saying so. I never found either father ormother wrong yet, and I am not going to find fault with them now. Don'tlet us talk any more about it, Hatty. I want to think of somethingelse. " But, in spite of this wise resolution, Bessie did think a gooddeal about the letter, and in her heart she hoped that her father wouldallow her to accept Miss Sefton's tempting invitation. 

Dr. Lambert did not return home that night until long after his girlshad retired to rest, and to Bessie's surprise he said nothing to her atbreakfast; but just as she was leaving the room to give out the stores, as usual, he called her back. "Oh, by the by, Bessie, " he observed, "Ihave to drive out as far as Castleton this afternoon. I will take youwith me if you care to go. "

"I always care to go with you, father dear, " replied Bessie, and thenshe hesitated, as she remembered Hatty's pale cheeks; "but I think youought to take Hatty instead; it would do her so much good, and she doesso love a drive. "

"No, I think you shall be my companion this afternoon; I will take Hattyto-morrow, " replied the doctor, as he took up his paper again. 

"Good child, she always thinks of poor Hatty, " he said to himself, andhis eyes glistened. "They are all good girls, but not one of them is sounselfish as my little Betty; she takes after her mother in that. Doranever thinks of herself. "

Bessie went about her household tasks with a light heart, for she hadthe prospect of a pleasant afternoon before her. The drive to Castletonwould be lovely, and she would hear what her father had to say about theletter. So she was ready and waiting by the time the pretty littlevictoria came around to the door, and as Dr. Lambert stood on the porch, he thought the happy, sunshiny face looked very attractive under the newgray hat. 

"You look very smart, Bessie, " he said, smiling. "Have I seen that verybecoming hat before?"

"Only last Sunday, " returned Bessie brightly; "but I always put on mybest things when I drive with you, that your daughter may do youcredit;" for Bessie in her heart thought her father the handsomest manin Cliffe; and indeed many people admired the doctor's clever, refinedface, and quiet, genial manners. 

The sturdy little roan trotted briskly down the lower road, as it wascalled, and Bessie leaned back and looked dreamily at the golden ripplesthat lay on the water, while the branches overhead threw flickeringshadows on the road before them, until her father's voice roused her. 

"You and I are to have some talk together, I believe. Would you like tosee Mrs. Sefton's letter, Bessie? Your mother showed me the one youreceived from her daughter. " And as Bessie eagerly assented, he handedit to her. 

"It is a very nice letter, " she observed, as soon as she had finishedit; "it could not be more kindly expressed. "

"No; Mrs. Sefton is a ladylike woman, and she knows exactly what to say. It is a grand thing to have tact. " And then he paused for a moment, andcontinued in an amused voice, "The world is a very small place afterall. I have lived long enough in it not to be surprised at runningagainst all sorts of odd people in all sorts of odd places, but I mustown I was a little taken aback when you brought Miss Sefton into myhouse that night. "

"You knew Mrs. Sefton when you were a young man, father?"

"I suppose I knew her fairly well, for I was engaged to her for sixmonths. " And as Bessie started, "Well, you will think that an odd speechfor a father to make to his daughter, but, you see, I know our Bessie isa reliable little woman, who can keep her tongue silent. I have myreasons for telling you this. You have always been your mother'scompanion, as well as my right hand, and I would not let you go to TheGrange in ignorance of the character of its inhabitants. "

"Oh, father, do you really mean me to go?"

"We will come to that presently; let me finish what I was saying. I wasfool enough to engage myself to a beautiful girl, knowing her to beunsuitable in every way for a poor man's wife, and I dare say I shouldhave persisted in my blindness to the bitter end, if I had not beenjilted by the young lady. "

"My dear father!"

"My dear little Betty, please don't speak in that pitying tone; it wasthe best thing that could have happened to me. I dare say I had a badtime of it; young men are such fools; but I soon met your mother, andshe healed all wounds; but if Eleanor Sartoris treated me badly, she metwith her punishment. The man she married was a worthless sort of afellow; he is dead, so I need not mind saying so now. He was handsomeenough and had all the accomplishments that please women, but he couldnot speak the truth. I never knew a man who could lie so freely, and inother respects he was equally faulty, but Eleanor was infatuated, andshe would marry him against the advice of her friends, and the firstthing she found out was that he had deceived her on one point. She knewthat he had married when almost a boy, and his wife had been long dead, but he kept from her that he had a son living. His excuse was that hehad heard her say that nothing would induce her to undertake the dutiesof a stepmother, and that he feared a refusal on account of Richard. Inthis he had overreached himself; she never forgave the deception, andshe barely tolerated the poor boy. I am afraid, from what I heard, thattheir short married life was not a happy one. Eleanor had a proud, jealous temper, but she was truthful by nature, and nothing was soodious in her eyes as falsehood and deceit. I can feel sorry for her, for no woman could respect a character like Sefton's, but I have alwaysblamed her for her hardness to her stepson. His father doted on him, andRichard was the chief subject of their dissension on his death bed. Hebegged his wife to be kinder to the boy, but I do not know if thisappeal softened her. The property belongs, of course, to her stepson, and in a sense she and her daughter are dependent on him, but it is nota united household. I know very little about the young man, except thathe is industrious and fond of out-of-door pursuits, and farms his ownestate; but I hear he is a little clownish in appearance. Now we arestopping, because I have a patient to see here, but I shall not be tenminutes, and we will resume our conversation presently. "

CHAPTER VI. 

LITTLE MISS MUCH-AFRAID. 

Bessie had plenty of food for meditation while Dr. Lambert paid hisvisit to his patient, and he found her apparently absorbed in a brownstudy when he returned to the carriage. 

"Father dear, " she said, rousing herself, as he placed himself besideher, "I have been thinking over all you have told me, and I cannot helpwondering why you wish me to visit Mrs. Sefton, when she treated you sobadly. "

Dr. Lambert was silent for a minute; the question was not an easy one toanswer. His wife had said the very same thing to him the previousevening:

"I wonder that you care to let Bessie visit at The Grange, when EleanorSartoris treated you so badly. " And then she added, "I think she is verymuch to blame, too, for her behavior to her stepson. Margaret Tillotsontells me that he is an honest, good-hearted fellow, though not veryclever, but that want of appreciation has made him shy and awkward. "

But he had been able to satisfy his wife without much difficulty. Alltheir married life there had never been a shadow of a doubt betweenthem; her calm, reasonable judgment had wholly approved her husband'sconduct on all occasions; whatever he did or said had been right in hereyes, and she had brought up her daughters to think the same. 

"Well, do you know, Bessie, " he said playfully, "I have more reasonsthan one for wishing you to go to The Grange? I have taken a fancy toMiss Sefton, and I want her mother to be acquainted with my daughter;and I think it will be good for you to extend your knowledge of theworld. You girls are tied too much to your mother's apron-strings, andyou must learn to do without her sometimes. "

This was all very well, but though Bessie smilingly accepted thisexplanation of her father's motives in permitting her to go to Oatlands, she was clever enough to know that more lay behind. 

Dr. Lambert had long ago forgiven the injury that had been done to him. His nature was a generous one; good had come out of evil, and he wastolerant enough to feel a kindly interest in Mrs. Sefton as an oldfriend. It is true she had created her own troubles, but in spite ofthat he could be sorry for her. Like a foolish woman she had built herlife's hopes upon a shifting, sandy foundation; she had looked on theoutward appearance, and a fair exterior had blinded her to thehollowness beneath. The result was bitterness and disappointment. 

"I should like her to see our Bessie, " he had said to his wife. "Bessieis just like a sunbeam; she will do her good, and even if things aredifferent from what she sees at home, it will do her no harm to know howother people live. Our girls are good girls, but I do not want them tolive like nuns behind a grating; let them go out into the world alittle, and enlarge their minds. If it were Christine, I might hesitatebefore such an experiment, but I have perfect confidence in Bessie. "

And his wife's answer to this had been:

"I am quite sure you are right, Herbert, and I am perfectly willing tolet Bessie visit your old friend. " And so the matter ended. The doctorgot his way as usual, simply by wishing for it. 

The drive was a long one, but it seemed short to Bessie, and she wasquite sorry when it was over. 

"Thank you, father dear, it has been such a treat, " she said, with aloving little squeeze of his arm; and then she ran in to find hermother. 

Mrs. Lambert looked up inquiringly as Bessie took off her hat andgloves. 

"Well, my dear, have father and you settled it?"

"Yes, indeed, mother; and I am really to go. Father seems to like theidea. He has evidently fallen in love with Miss Sefton. I am afraid I ama great deal too much excited about it at present, but Hatty will soondamp me. "

"Poor child! she never likes you to go away. She does not mean to beselfish, and I know she struggles hard to control her feelings, but shewill have a good cry when she hears you are going to Oatlands. "

"We must not let her mope, mother. If I thought it were good for Hatty Iwould stay at home, to prevent her feeling so miserable, but it would befalse kindness to give in to her; she would hate herself for herselfishness, and she would not be a bit happy if she knew she hadprevented my visit. I would rather see her fret before I go, and bear itas well as I can, and then I know she will cheer up soon and be lookingforward to my return. "

"You are quite right, Bessie, and neither your father nor I would allowyou to sacrifice yourself for Hatty. Too much indulgence on your partwould only feed the poor child's nervous fancies. I know she feels herparting with you for a week or two as a serious trial, and I dare say itis a trial to her, but she must take it as one, and not selfishly spoilyour pleasure. Now we will forget Hatty for a few minutes; there issomething else troubling me. How are you to be fitted out for yourvisit, when I dare not ask your father for any more money?"

"Well, I have thought about that, too, " returned Bessie briskly. "I wasreviewing my wardrobe all the time father was at Castleton House. He wasquite half an hour away, so I had plenty of time. I was a little worriedat first, thinking how I should manage, but somehow I made it allstraight. Listen to me, mother, dear, " as Mrs. Lambert sighed and shookher head. "Miss Sefton has been here, so she knows we are not richpeople, and she will not expect to see many smart dresses. I don't wantto pretend to be what I am not. We cannot afford to dress grandly, norto have many new frocks, but I am sure we are just as happy withoutthem. "

"Yes; but you never have stayed with rich people before, Bessie, "returned her mother sadly. "You do not know how shabby your old thingswill look beside other people's silks and satins. Father does not thinkabout these things, and I do not like to remind him; but you ought tohave a new jacket, though we did say the old one would do this year. "

"Now, mother, will you be quiet, please, and listen to me? for I ambrimful of ideas, and I won't have you worry. The jacket must do, for Ido not mean to ask father for a new one. I have my gray dress and hat, and father thinks they are very becoming; and there is my Indian muslinUncle Charles gave me for best occasions, and if you will let me buy afew yards of white nun's-cloth Chrissy and I will contrive a prettydinner-dress. I like white best, because one can wear different flowers, and so make a change. Perhaps I must have a pair of new gloves, and someshoes; but those won't cost much. "

"You are easily satisfied, darling, " replied Mrs. Lambert fondly. "Yes, you shall have the nun's-cloth, and I will give you some of my lace totrim it. And there are the pearls that I wore on my wedding-day. Yourfather is so fond of them, but I always told him they were put aside foryou. Wait a moment; they are in my escritoire, and you may as well havethem now. " And Mrs. Lambert unlocked the door, and opening a little box, placed the necklace in Bessie's hand. It consisted of three rows of tinypearls, and was very simple and pretty. 

"Oh, mother, how lovely!" exclaimed the girl. "Is it really for me? Thatis just what I wanted; my gold chain is so thin that I hardly ever dareto wear it. It has been broken twice. But this is far prettier. " AndBessie clasped the little necklace around her neck, and then went offproudly to show her treasure to Christine and Hatty, while Mrs. Lambertshed a few tears at the thought how little she had to give her girls. The next moment she dashed them away indignantly. 

"I ought to be ashamed of myself, " she thought. "What would Herbert sayif he found me crying in this childish way? What do our girls want withornaments and pretty dresses? They have youth and good looks andmanners. My Bessie is a perfect gentlewoman, in spite of her shabbyfrocks. No one could help being pleased with her gentle, modest ways. Iexpect it is my pride. I did not want Mrs. Sefton to think we are notrich. But I am wrong; my girls are rich. They are rich in having such afather, and in their own happy natures. " And then Mrs. Lambert thoughtof those other ornaments that she desired for them--the ornament of ameek and quiet spirit; the priceless jewels of innocence and purity, which are the fairest adornments of a young girl. 

"These will not be lacking, " she said to herself. "My Bessie'sunobtrusive goodness will soon make itself felt. "

Bessie had made up her mind not to trouble about her scanty wardrobe, and she was quite happy planning the nun's-cloth dress with Christine. 

But though Dr. Lambert said nothing, he thought a great deal, and theresult of his cogitations was, a five-pound note was slipped intoBessie's hand the next evening. 

"Go and buy yourself some finery with that, " he observed quietly. 

Bessie could hardly sleep that night, she was so busy spending the moneyin anticipation; and the very next day she was the delighted purchaserof a new spring jacket and had laid out the remainder of the five-poundnote in a useful black and white tweed for daily use, and a pretty lilaccotton, and she had even eked out a pair of gloves. 

Three dresses to be made; no wonder they were busy; even Mrs. Lambertwas pressed into the service to sew over seams and make buttonholes. 

Hatty never complained her back ached when she worked for Bessie; herthin little hands executed marvelous feats of fine workmanship; all thefiner parts were intrusted to Hatty. 

"I feel almost as though I were going to be married, " observed Bessie, as she surveyed the fresh, dainty dresses. "I never had more than onenew gown at a time. Now they are finished, and you are tired, Hatty, andyou must go and lie down, like a good child. "

"I am not tired, not a bit, " returned Hatty touchily; "and I am goingout with Ella. "

Bessie held her peace. Hatty's temper had been very trying for the lastthree days; she had slaved for Bessie to the detriment of her health, but had worn an injured manner all the time. 

She would not join in the conversation, nor understand a joking remark. When Christine laughed at her in a good-humored way, Hatty pursed up herlips, and drew herself up in a huffy manner, and would not condescend tospeak a word. She even rejected Bessie's caresses and little attempts atpetting. "Don't, Bessie. I must go on with my work; I wish you wouldleave me alone, " she would say pettishly. 

Bessie did leave her alone, but it made her heart ache to see the linesunder Hatty's eyes, that showed she had cried herself to sleep. She knewit was unhappiness and not temper that was the cause of herirritability. 

"She is ashamed of letting me know that she cannot bear me to go away, "she thought. "She is trying to get the better of her selfishness, but itconquers her. I will leave her alone for a little, and then I will haveit all out. I could not go away and leave her like that. " For Bessie'swarm, affectionate nature could not endure the thought of Hatty's pain. 

"I have so much, and she has so little, " she said to herself, and herpity blunted all Hatty's sharp, sarcastic little speeches and took thesting out of them. "Poor little thing! she does not mean half shesays, " she remarked, as a sort of apology to Christine, when Hatty hadmarched off with Ella. 

"I don't know how you put up with her as you do, " observed Christine, whose patience had been sorely exercised that morning by Hatty'stempers. "She is treating you as badly as possible. I would rather havebeen without her help, if I had been you; we might have had Miss Markhamin for two days; that would have shamed Hatty nicely. "

"I don't want to shame her, Chrissy, dear; poor little Hatty! when shehas been working so beautifully, too. She is worrying herself about mygoing away, and that makes her cross. "

"As though no one else would miss you, " returned Christine stormily, forshe was not quite devoid of jealousy. "But there, it is no use mytalking; you will all treat Hatty as though she were a baby, and so shebehaves like a spoiled child. I should like to give her a bit of mymind. " And Christine tossed her pretty head and swept off the lastdress, while Bessie cleared the table. 

Bessie's visit was fixed for the following Tuesday, so on Sunday eveningshe made up her mind that the time was come for speaking to Hatty. As ithappened, they were keeping house together, for the rest of the family, the servants included, had gone to church. Hatty had just settledherself in a corner of the couch, with a book in her hand, expectingthat Bessie would follow her example (for the Lambert girls were allfond of reading), when a hand was suddenly interposed between her eyesand the page. 

"This is our last quiet evening, Hatty, and I am going to talk insteadof read, so you may as well shut up that big book. "

"It takes two to talk, " observed Hatty, rather crossly, "and I am not inthe mood for conversation, so you had better let me go on with 'BishopSelwyn's Life. '"

"You are not in the mood for reading either, " persisted Bessie, andthere was a gleam of fun in her eyes. "When you pucker up your foreheadlike that, I know your thoughts are not on your book. Let us have acomfortable talk instead. You have not been like yourself the last week, not a bit like my Hatty; so tell me all about it, dear, and see if Icannot make you feel better. "

"No, Bessie, don't try; it is not any use, unless I jump into somebodyelse's body and mind. I can't make myself different. I am just Hatty, atiresome, disagreeable, selfish little thing. "

"What a lot of adjectives! I wonder they don't smother you. You are notbig enough to carry so many. I think I could word that sentence better. I should just say, 'Hatty is a poor, weak little body to whom mole-hillsare mountains, and the grasshopper a burden. ' Does not that soundnicer?"

"Yes, if it were true, " returned Hatty sorrowfully, and then herill-humor vanished. "No, don't pet me, Bessie; I don't deserve it, " asBessie stroked her hand in a petting sort of a way. "I have been crossand ill-tempered all the week, just unbearable, as Christine said; butoh, Bessie, it seemed as though I could not help it. I was so miserableevery night to think you were going away, that I could not sleep forever so long, and then my head ached, and I felt as though I were strungon wires when I came down the next morning, and every time peoplelaughed and said pleasant things I felt just mad, and the only reliefwas to show every one how disagreeable I could be. "

Hatty's description of her overwrought feelings was so droll that Bessiewith some difficulty refrained from laughing outright, but she knew howvery real all this was to Hatty, so she exercised self-control, andsaid, quite gravely:

"And so you wanted to make us all miserable, too. That was hardly kind, was it, when we were all so sorry for you? I do think you have a greatdeal to bear, Hatty. I don't mean because you are so weak in health;that could be easily borne; but it must be so sad always to look on thedark side of things. Of course, in some sense, we all project our ownshadows; but you are not content with your own proper shadow, you gopoking and peering about for imaginary ones, and so you are dark allround. "

"But your going away to Oatlands is not imaginary, " returned Hattypiteously. 

"No, you foolish child. But I hope you do not grudge me a pleasantvisit. That would be a great piece of substantial selfishness on yourpart, of which, I trust, my Hatty would not be capable. Supposing I gavein to this ridiculous fancy and said, 'Hattie hates me to go away, so Iwill just stop at home, and Miss Sefton shall be disappointed. ' I wonderhow you would like that?"

"That would not please me, either. I am not so selfish as that. Oh, Bessie, do tell me how I am to conquer this nervous dread of losing you. It is not selfishness, for I do love to have treats; but when you goaway I don't seem to take any pleasure in anything; it is all so flatand disagreeable. Sometimes I lie awake and cry when I think what Ishould do if you were to die. I know how silly and morbid it is, but howam I to help it?" And here Hatty broke down, and hid her face onBessie's shoulder. 

CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE KENTISH LANES. 

Bessie did not make any answer for a minute or two, but her eyes were alittle dim as she heard Hatty sob. 

"I must not break the bruised reed, " she said to herself. "Hatty's worldis a very little one; she is not strong enough to come out of herself, and take wider views; when she loves people, she loves them somehow inherself; she can't understand the freedom of an affection that can behappy in the absence of its object. I am not like Hatty; but then ournatures are different, and I must not judge her. What can I say thatwill help her?"

"Can't you find anything to say to me, Bessie dear?"

"Plenty; but you must wait for it to come. I was just thinking foryou--putting myself in your place, and trying to feel as you do. "

"Well!"

"I was getting very low down when you spoke; it was quite creepy amongthe shadows. 'So this is how Hatty feels, ' I said to myself, and did notlike it at all. "

"You would not like to be me, Bessie. "

"What an ungrammatical sentence! Poor little me! I should think not; Icould not breathe freely in such a confined atmosphere. Why don't yougive it up and let yourself alone? I would not be only a bundle of fearsand feelings if I were you. "

"Oh, it is easy to talk, but it is not quite so easy to be good. "

"I am not asking you to be good. We can't make ourselves good, Hatty;that lies in different hands. But why don't you look on your unhappynature as your appointed cross, and just bear with yourself as much asyou expect others to bear with you? Why not exercise the same patienceas you expect to be shown to you?"

"I hardly understand you, Bessie. I ought to hate myself for myill-temper and selfishness, ought I not?"

"It seems to me that there are two sorts of hatred, and only one of themis right. We all have two natures. Even an apostle could say, 'Oh, wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of thisdeath?' Even St. Paul felt the two natures warring within him. How canyou and I, then, expect to be exempt from this conflict?"

"Don't put yourself in the same category with me, Bessie. You havecrushed your lower nature, if you ever had it. "

"Oh, hush!" replied her sister, quite shocked at this. "You can't knowwhat you are talking about. " And here her voice trembled a little, forno one was more conscious of her faults and shortcomings. Bessie couldremember the time when the conflict had been very hard; when herstandard of duty had been lower than that she held now; when she hadbeen as careless and indifferent as many girls of her age, until Divineguidance had led her feet into better paths; and knowing this, in herhumility she could be tolerant of others. 

"You do not know what you are saying, Hatty, or you would not hurt me bysuch a speech; it is only your love for me that blinds you. What I wantto tell you is this--that you must not be so impatient; you waste allyour strength in saying hard things about yourself, instead of fightingyour faults. Why don't you say to yourself, 'I am a poor, weak littlecreature, but my Creator knows that too, and he bears with me. I cannotrid myself of my tiresome nature; it sticks to me like a Nessusshirt'--you know the old mythological story, Hatty--'but it is my cross, a horrid spiky one, so I will carry it as patiently as I can. If it isnot always light, I will grope my way through the shadows; but my oneprayer and my one effort shall be to prevent other people sufferingthrough me?'"

"Oh, Bessie, that is beautiful!"

"You will find nothing else will help you to fight your bogies; do tryit, darling. Be merciful to your poor little self; 'respect the possibleangel in you, ' as Mr. Robertson said. You will get rid of all yourfaults and fancies one day, as your namesake did in the river. You won'talways be poor little Hatty, whose back aches, and who is so cross;there is no pain nor crossness in the lovely land where all things arenew. "

"Oh, if we were only there now, Bessie, you and I, safe and happy!"

"I would rather wait till my time comes. I am young and strong enough tofind life beautiful. Don't be cowardly, Hatty; you want to drop behindin the march, before many a gray-haired old veteran. That is because youare weak and tired, and you fear the long journey; but you forget, " andhere Bessie dropped her voice reverently, "that we don't journey alone, any more than the children of Israel did in the wilderness. We also haveour pillar of cloud to lead us by day, and our pillar of fire by nightto give us light. Mother always said what a type of the Christianpilgrimage the story of the Israelites is; she made us go through it allwith her, and I remember all she told me. Hark! I think I hearfootsteps outside the window; the servants are coming in from church. "

"Wait a minute, Bessie, before you let them in. You have done me so muchgood; you always do. I will try not to mope and vex mother and Christinewhile you are away. " And Hatty threw her arms penitently round hersister's neck. 

Bessie returned her kisses warmly, and left the room with a light heart. Her Sunday evening had not been wasted if she had given the cup of coldwater in the form of tender sympathy to one of Christ's suffering littleones. 

Bessie felt her words were not thrown away when she saw Hatty's braveefforts to be cheerful the next day, and how she refrained from sharpspeeches to Christine; she did not even give way when Bessie bade hergood-bye. 

"You will remember our Sunday talk, Hatty, dear. "

"I do remember it, " with a quivering lip, "and I am trying to march, Bessie. "

"All right, darling, and I shall soon be back, and we can keep stepagain. I will write you long letters, and bring you back some ferns andprimrose roots, " and then Bessie waved her hand to them all, and jumpedin the brougham, for her father was going to take her to the station. 

It must be confessed that Bessie felt a trifle dull when the trainmoved off, and she left her father standing on the platform. With theexception of short visits to her relatives, that were looked on in thelight of duties, she had never left home before. But this feeling soonwore off, and a pleasant sense of exhilaration, not unmixed withexcitement followed, as the wide tracts of country opened before herdelighted eyes, green meadows and hedgerows steeped in the puresunlight. Bessie was to be met at the station by some friend of theSeftons, as the country-bred girl knew little about London, and though ashort cab drive would deposit her at Charing Cross, it would be farpleasanter for her to have an escort. Mrs. Sefton had suggested Mrs. Sinclair, and Dr. Lambert had been much relieved by her thoughtfulness. 

As the train drew up to the platform Bessie jumped out, and stoodeagerly looking about her for the lady whom she expected to see, and shewas much surprised when a gentlemanly looking man approached her, andlifting his hat, said, with a pleasant smile:

"I believe I am addressing Miss Lambert. "

"Yes, certainly; that is my name, " returned Bessie, in rather anembarrassed manner. 

"Ah, that is all right, and I have made no mistake. Miss Lambert, mymother is so seriously indisposed that she was unable to meet youherself, but you must allow me to offer my services instead. Now I willlook after your luggage, and then I will find you a cab. Will you comewith me, please? The luggage is at the other end. "

"I am so sorry to trouble you, " returned Bessie. "I have only one box--ablack one, with 'E. L. ' on the cover. " And then she stood aside quietly, while Mr. Sinclair procured a porter and identified the box; andpresently she found herself in a cab, with her escort seated opposite toher, questioning her politely about her journey, and pointing outdifferent objects of interest on their way. 

Bessie's brief embarrassment had soon worn off; and she chatted to hernew companion in her usual cheerful manner. She liked Mr. Sinclair'sappearance--he looked clever, and his manners were quiet and well bred. He did not seem young; Edna had told her that he was thirty but helooked quite five years older. 

"I wonder how you recognized me so quickly?" Bessie observed presently. 

"It was not very difficult to identify you, " he returned quietly. "I sawa young lady who seemed rather strange to her surroundings, and who wasevidently, by her attitude, expecting some one. I could tell at once youwere not a Londoner. "

"I am afraid I must have looked very countrified, " returned Bessie, inan amused tone. 

"Pardon me, I meant no such invidious comparison. People from thecountry have an air of greater freshness about them, that is all. Youlive at Cliffe, do you not? I was never there, but it is rather aninteresting place, is it not?"

"I think it a dear place, " returned Bessie enthusiastically; "but thenit is my home, so I am not unprejudiced. It is very unlike other places. The streets are so steep, and some of the houses are built in such high, out-of-the-way nooks, you look up and see steps winding up the hill, andthere is a big house perched up among the trees, and then another. Youwonder how people care to climb up so many steps; but then, there is theview. I went over one of the houses one day, and from every window therewas a perfect panorama. You could see miles away. Think what the sunsetsmust be from those windows!"

"You live lower down the hill, then?" with an air of polite interest. 

"Yes, in such a quiet, secluded corner; but we are near the quarrywoods, and there are such lovely walks. And then the bay; it is not thereal open sea you know, but it is so pretty; and we sit on the rockssometimes to watch the sunset. Oh, I should not like to live anywhereelse!"

"Not in London, for example?"

"Oh, no, not for worlds! It is very amusing to watch the people, but oneseems to have no room to breathe freely. "

"We are pretty crowded, certainly, " returned Mr. Sinclair; "but some ofus would not care to live anywhere else, and I confess I am one of thosepeople. The country is all very well for a month or two, but to aLondoner it is a sort of stagnation. Men like myself prefer to be at theheart of things--to live close to the centre of activity. London is thenucleus of England; not only the seat of government, but the focus ofintellect, of art, of culture, of all that makes life worth living; andplease do not put me down as a cockney, Miss Lambert, if I confess thatI love these crowded streets. I am a lawyer, you know, and human natureis my study. "

"I quite understand you, " returned Bessie, with the bright intelligencethat was natural to her. She was beginning to think Edna a fortunategirl. "There must be more in her than I thought, or this clever manwould not have chosen her, " she said to herself; for Bessie, in hergirlish innocence, knew little of the law of opposites, or how anintellectual or scientific man will sometimes select for his lifecompanion a woman of only ordinary intelligence, who will, nevertheless, adorn her husband's home by her simple domestic virtues. A wife does notneed to be a moral whetstone to sharpen her husband's wits by thefireside, neither would it enhance his happiness to find her fillingreams of foolscap paper with choice specimens of prose and poetry;intelligent sympathy with his work is all he demands, and a loving, restful companion, who will soothe his hours of depression, who is nevertoo weary or self-absorbed to listen to the story of his successes orfailures. 

"I shall be down at The Grange in a week or two--that is, if my motherbe better; and then I hope we shall renew our acquaintance, " were Mr. Sinclair's parting words as he took leave of Bessie; and Bessiesincerely echoed this wish. 

"He is the sort of a man father would like, " she thought, as the trainmoved slowly out of the station. 

This was paying a great compliment to Mr. Sinclair, for Dr. Lambert wasrather severe on the young men of the day. "I don't know what has cometo them, " he would remark irritably; "young men nowadays call theirfather 'governor, ' and speak to him as though he were their equal inage. There is no respect shown to elders. A brainless young puppy willcontradict a man twice his age, and there is not even the same courtesyshown to the weaker sex either. I have heard young men and youngwomen--young ladies, I suppose I ought to say--who address each other ina 'hail-fellow-well-met' sort of manner, but what can you expect, " in adisgusted tone, "when the girls talk slang, and ape their youngbrothers? I think the 'sweet madame' of our great-grandmothers' timespreferable to these slipshod manners. I would rather see our girls liveand die in single blessedness than marry one of those fellows. "

"Father, we don't want to marry any one, unless he is as nice as you, "replied Christine, on overhearing this tirade, and Bessie had indorsedthis speech. 

It was rather late in the afternoon when Bessie reached her destination, and she was feeling somewhat weary and dusty as she stood on theplatform beside her box. The little station was empty, but as Bessie waswaiting to question the porter, a man-servant came up to her and touchedhis hat. 

"Miss Sefton is outside with the pony-carriage, " he said civilly. "Iwill look after the luggage, ma'am--there is a cart waiting for it. "

"Oh, thank you!" returned Bessie, and she went quickly through thelittle waiting-room. A young man in knickerbockers, with a couple oflarge sporting dogs, was talking to the station-master, and looked afterher as she passed; but Bessie did not notice him particularly; her eyeswere fixed on the road, and on a pony-carriage drawn up under the trees. Miss Sefton waved her whip when she saw Bessie, and drove quickly up tothe door. She looked prettier than ever in her dark-blue cambric andlarge shady hat. 

"How do you do, Miss Lambert? I am delighted to see you again. Howpunctual you are. Jump in. Ford will look after your luggage. This is avery different meeting, is it not, from our last? No snow about, but avery hot sun for June. Where is your sunshade? You will want it. Yes, that is right; put it up--my hat shades me. Now then, Ford, are youready? Go on, Jack. What are you about, Jill? Are not my ponies pretty, Miss Lambert? Richard gave them to me last birthday, but I am afraid Iplagued him a good deal beforehand to provoke such unusual generosity. There is nothing like teasing when you want a thing. "

Bessie smiled, but remained silent; she was tired, and not quiteinclined for repartee. They had turned into a long, lovely lane, sonarrow that no vehicle could have passed them, and the thick hedgerowswere full of pink and white briar roses and other wild flowers; oneither side lay hop fields. Bessie uttered a delighted exclamation. 

"Yes, I told you you would admire our Kentish lanes. They are prettynow, but in the winter they are not quite so pleasant. Well, did Mrs. Sinclair meet you, as she promised?"

"No, her son came instead; he said his mother was seriously indisposed, and unable to keep her engagement. "

"Neville met you. How extremely odd! How on earth did you discover eachother? Were you very much embarrassed, Miss Lambert?"

"No; it was a little strange at first, but Mr. Sinclair was very kindand pleasant, and soon put me at my ease. "

"Oh, Neville always gets on with ladies; there is certainly no fault tofind with him in that respect. His civility is natural to him; he isjust as polite to an old woman with a market basket and a few applestied up in a blue spotted handkerchief as he is to a lady whose dresshas been made by Worth. "

"I call that true politeness, " returned Bessie warmly. 

"There is not much of the precious commodity to be found in our days;the young men one meets in society are not cut after that pattern. Andso Mrs. Sinclair is ailing again?"

"'Seriously indisposed, ' was Mr. Sinclair's expression; and he lookedrather grave, I thought. "

"My dear creature, Neville always looks grave, as though he were engagedin a criminal investigation. He is a barrister, you see, and he troubleshimself if his mother's finger aches. The dear old lady is alwaysailing, more or less, but there is never much the matter--a creakingdoor; you know the sort; only Neville always makes the worst of it. Now, look here, Miss Lambert, that is what we call the village--just thosefew cottages and the inn; there is not even a church; we have to walkover to Melton, a mile and a half away. Isn't that pond pretty, with theducks on it? and there is a flock of geese. Now we have only to turndown this road and there is The Grange. " And as Miss Sefton pointed withher whip, Bessie saw the outlines of a large red house between thetrees. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

AT THE GRANGE. 

As Miss Sefton spoke the lane widened before them, and the hedgerowsgave place to a short avenue of elms, the sunlight filtering through thethick interlaced branches, and throwing quivering shadows on the whiteroad below; a low white gate opened into a meadow where some cattle weregrazing, and on the right hand side was a large, straggling red house, with picturesque stables half smothered in ivy. The hall door stood openand a fine Scotch deerhound lay basking in the afternoon sun; he rousedhimself lazily as the pony carriage stopped before the door, and asBessie alighted he came up to her wagging his tail slowly, and put hislong, slender nose into her hand. 

"What a beautiful creature!" exclaimed Bessie, who was exceedingly fondof all dumb animals. "Look how friendly he is, as though he werewelcoming me to The Grange. "

Miss Sefton, who was patting the sleek sides of Jack and Jill, lookedround carelessly. 

"Mac is a good old dog, but he is not always so amiable to strangers; hehas his likes and dislikes, as we humans have, only I must tell Richardthat he has taken to you--he is his property. Now let us go and findmamma. " And Edna locked her arm in Bessie's, and, followed closely bythe deerhound, led her into the house. 

There was no servant in attendance; a strange hush and stillness seemedto pervade the place. Bessie almost felt oppressed by it. The hall waslarge and dark, with a smooth, slippery floor, and was panelled in darkoak; oak settles and large carved antique cabinets were ranged round thewalls. The great fireplace was filled with green boughs, and a tigerskin, with a huge grinning head and eyes, lay before it. The quietlittle country girl had never seen such a hall in her life. 

"Take care; our oak floors are slippery to people who are unused tothem, " observed Edna. "Mamma is in the drawing-room, I suppose. " And sheopened the door and ushered her companion into a handsome room, withthree windows opening on to a lawn. A lady, who was sitting on a couchreading, rose as she perceived the two girls, and crossed the room witha slow, stately step. 

"Mamma, I have brought Miss Lambert. "

"I am very glad to see her, Edna. My dear, " taking Bessie's hand, andkissing her cheek, "you are very welcome for your father's sake. "

"Thank you, " returned Bessie, with unusual shyness, for Mrs. Sefton'sstateliness rather awed her. Both her words and her manner were kind;nevertheless, Bessie found it difficult to respond; even when Mrs. Sefton had established her in the corner of the couch, and wasquestioning her with polite interest about her journey, she foundherself answering in almost monosyllabic replies, as though she weretongue-tied. 

"I cannot tell what came over me, " she wrote the next day to her mother;"I never felt so bashful and stupid in my life; and yet Mrs. Sefton wasmost kind and considerate, only her graciousness seemed to crush me. Sheis very handsome, far handsomer than her daughter, slightly stout, butsuch a grand looking figure; Miss Sefton and I look like pygmies besideher; but there is one thing that strikes me about her--a sort ofhardness when she is not speaking. I never saw a mouth closed sotightly; and then there is no rest in her face. I could not helpthinking about father's story as I looked at her; it is not the face ofa happy woman. I can imagine that disappointment in her husband hashardened her. I admire her very much; she fascinates and yet repels me, but I do not think I could love her very much. Miss Sefton does, butthen her mother dotes on her. "

Bessie was devoutly wishing herself at home during that first quarter ofan hour, but after a few minutes Mrs. Sefton's questions ceased, and shetouched a silver-mounted gong beside her, and almost as though by magicthe door was thrown noiselessly back, and the butler entered with thetea-tray, followed by a footman in smart livery. Bessie wondered whather mother would have thought of the delicate Worcester china that wasplaced on a low table beside Mrs. Sefton, while a second table wasquickly covered with bread and butter and dainty-looking cakes. Edna hadthrown off her hat, and had coaxed Bessie to do the same; then sheproceeded to wait on her guest. A little table was placed at Bessie'selbow, and all manner of sweet cakes forced on her. The very tea had adifferent flavor from her mother's tea; it was scented, fragrant, andmellow with rich country cream. Bessie sipped her tea, and crumbled herrich cake, and felt as though she were in a dream. Outside thesmooth-shaven lawn stretched before the windows, there was a tennis-netup, and some balls and rackets were lying on the grass. Some comfortablewicker chairs were placed under a large elm at the bottom of the lawn. 

"Do you play tennis?" asked Edna abruptly, as she noticed Bessie's eyeswere wandering to the garden. 

"A little; I am fond of the game, but I have not played a great deal;it takes time, and there is so much to do. "

"Edna plays beautifully, " observed Mrs. Sefton. "It is a fine exercisefor young people, if they are moderate and do not over-exert themselves. We have some neighbors, the Athertons, who come in nearly every day topractice with Edna. "

"Does not your brother play with you sometimes?" asked Bessie. 

"Richard? Oh, no?" And Edna's lip curled a little disdainfully. "He isfar too busy to waste his time on me--he prefers playing cricket withthe village lads at Melton. Bye the bye, mamma, I left Richard at thestation; he said he had business with Malcolmson, and would not be homemuch before dinner. "

"Indeed, I am sorry to hear it, " returned Mrs. Sefton coldly. "Of courseit was no use my warning him against any dealings with Malcolmson;Richard will go his own way; but I confess that this infatuation forMalcolmson vexes me much;" and a slight frown crossed Mrs. Sefton'swhite forehead. 

"Was the young man with two splendid dogs that I passed in thewaiting-room your brother?" asked Bessie, in some surprise. 

"Yes, that was Richard, " returned Edna; and she added, a littlemaliciously, "I can see you are a little surprised. I suppose you tookhim for a young farmer or gamekeeper. Richard is terribly clownish inappearance. "

Bessie thought this speech was in very bad taste, but she repliedquietly:

"I cannot say I noticed your brother, but one of the dogs attracted myattention, he had such a fine head; I should think Landseer would haveenjoyed painting him. "

"Oh, that must have been Gelert; every one admires him; I know Nevillecoveted him. Now we have finished tea, and I dare say you will be gladto get rid of the dust of your journey, so I will undertake to show youyour room. Mamma was going to put you into the big spare room, but Iinsisted that you would prefer a smaller one. Was I right, MissLambert?"

"Perfectly right, thank you, " returned Bessie, as she rose withalacrity. 

Mrs. Sefton's eyes followed her curiously as she crossed the room. 

"A healthy, fresh-colored country girl, " she said to herself; "quite alittle rustic; but she seems a nice, harmless little thing; though whyEdna took such a fancy to her rather puzzles me. I thought she wouldtake after her father, but I can see no likeness. What a handsome fellowhe was--poor Herbert!--and so gentlemanly. " And here Mrs. Sefton sighed;for to her it was always a perilous thing to recall the past. No womanhad ever been so foolish as she; she had cast away gold for dross. 

While her hostess was indulging in these heavy reflections, Bessie wasuttering little staccato exclamations of delight at the sight of theroom allotted her. 

"What a lovely view!" she had observed, running to the window, for notonly was the pretty shady garden to be seen, but some meadows, and aglimpse of a fir wood in the distance; and it all looked so cool andstill, and the only objects of moving life were some white lambs feedingby their mothers, and a pretty brown foal with its dam. 

"Do you think you will like your room?" asked Edna demurely; but therewas a gleam of fun in her eyes as she put the question, for she had avivid remembrance of Bessie's room at home; the strips of faded carpet, the little iron bedstead, and painted drawers; and yet it had been ahaven of rest to her that night, and she had slept very sweetly on thelittle hard bed. 

"It is far too grand for me, " returned Bessie candidly. "I shall feellike a fine lady for the first time in my life. " And she looked roundher with admiring scrutiny, noting every detail--the wax candles andhot-house flowers on the toilet-table, the handsome wardrobe andcheval-glass, the writing-table with its dainty appendages, and thecosy-looking couch; even the brass bedstead, with its blue cretonnehangings, and frilled pillow-cases, demanded some fresh comment. 

"I think it is a lovely room, and far too good for me, " finished Bessie. 

"All our rooms are very comfortable, " was the careless response; "butone is too used to this sort of thing to notice it. Now shall I sendBrandon to help you? She is our maid, and understands hair-dressingperfectly. She will help you unpack and arrange your things. "

"Oh, no, thank you!" returned Bessie, in such an alarmed voice that MissSefton laughed; and then she continued, in rather a shamefaced manner:"You see I am not like you, Miss Sefton. I have not been used toluxuries and being waited on; we are plain people, and wait onourselves. "

"Just as you like, " was the indifferent answer. "Brandon is the comfortof my life, though she is such a cross old thing. Now, Bessie--I amgoing to call you Bessie, and I beg you to lay aside the stiff MissSefton--you must tell me if I can lend you anything, or help you in anyway. And you are not to trouble about making yourself smart, for we haveno one coming to dinner to-day, and I shall only put on an old dress. Weare in the country now, and I don't mean to waste my fine London gownson Richard, who calls every material dimity, and never knows whether oneis dressed in velvet or sackcloth. "

Bessie smiled, and then asked if she might use any of the flowers on hertoilet-table. 

"My dear child, just look behind you, " was the amused answer; and Bessiesaw a breast-knot of lovely crimson roses on the writing-table. "Thoseare for your use to-night, but if you will let me know every morningwhat color you want for the evening, I will tell Brandon. "

As Bessie was unpacking, she heard a faint scratching at her door, andon opening it found, to her great surprise, Mac, the deerhound, sittingon his haunches, with a very pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes. 

"You may come in if you like, old fellow, " she said, wondering athis sudden friendship for a stranger; and, sure enough, the hound walkedin and stretched himself under the writing-table, with his nose betweenhis paws, quietly observant of every movement. 

When Bessie had finished her unpacking, she proceeded to brush out herbright, brown hair, and arrange it in her usual simple fashion. Then sheput on the dress of cream-colored nun's veiling, which was cut squareand trimmed with her mother's lace; and when she had clasped the pearlsround her neck, and had pinned on her roses, she felt she had never beenso well dressed in her life; and, indeed, the girl's freshness andsweet expression made her very pleasant to look upon. 

Bessie was sitting at the window thinking of Hatty when Edna entered, looking like a young princess to her dazzled eyes. The old gown provedto be a delicate blue silk, and was trimmed in a costly fashion, and shewore at her throat a locket with a diamond star. As she came sweepinginto the room, with her long train and fair coronet of hair, she lookedso graceful and so handsome that Bessie uttered an admiring exclamation. 

"Oh, don't look at me!" observed Edna rather pettishly. "I have toldBrandon I really must discard this gown; it is getting too bad even forquiet evenings. "

"I think it lovely, " returned Bessie, much surprised at this remark. "Ithought it was quite new. "

"Oh, no; it is nearly a year old, quite a patriarch in gowns; and, besides, I am getting so tired of blue. Mamma likes me best in white, and I agree with her; but you look very nice, Bessie, more like acrimson-tipped Daisy than ever. You remind me so of a daisy--a humblelittle modest, bright-eyed thing. "

"Thank you, Miss Sefton, " returned Bessie, blushing at such anunexpected compliment. "I think I must tell Hatty that. "

"Hatty! Oh, you mean the little pale-faced sister with the clevereyes. Now, what did I say to you? That I preferred Edna to Miss Sefton. Oh, there goes the second gong, and Richard has only just come in. Mammawill be so vexed at his unpunctuality. Why, I declare if Mac has nottaken up his quarters under your table. I suppose he approves of MissDaisy as much as I do. "

Edna chatted after this fashion as she tripped down the oak staircase, while Bessie followed her more slowly. They found Mrs. Sefton in asomewhat ruffled mood. She looked handsomer than ever in her gray silkdress; her hands were blazing with diamond rings, her dark hair wasstill unmixed with gray, and hardly needed the lace cap that covered it. 

"Richard has only just come in, mamma; need we wait for him?"

"It is our duty to wait for the master of the house, Edna, however muchwe are inconvenienced by the delay. " And Mrs. Sefton fanned herself witha dissatisfied expression. "Your brother never thinks of our comfort, aslong as he is engrossed with his own occupations. I must apologize toyou, Miss Lambert, for our unpunctuality. I am sure, after such ajourney, you must need your dinner. "

"I am not at all hungry, thank you, " replied Bessie, whose appetite wasnot stimulated by her hostess' aggrieved remarks. She sat literally onthorns during the next five minutes, while Mrs. Sefton fanned herself, and Edna walked up and down the room, humming snatches of songs, andthen breaking off into a sarcastic observation on the length ofRichard's toilet. 

"I shall expect great results, " she was just saying, as the door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered young man advanced rather awkwardly intothe room. 

"I am afraid I am late again, mother, " he began apologetically; but Mrs. Sefton apparently took no notice of this remark, except by a slightshrug of her shoulders. 

"We have been waiting half an hour, " broke in Edna, with a pout. "Youget worse and worse, Richard. Now, will you take in my friend, MissLambert? and mamma and I will follow. "

Bessie rose at once, as Mr. Sefton offered his arm, but beyond a stiffbow he took no further notice of her. His face wore a moody expressionas they seated themselves at the table. His reception had evidentlydamped him. 

Bessie glanced at him. Richard Sefton was certainly not handsome; hisfeatures were rather heavily molded; he had a reddish mustache that hidhis mouth, and closely cropped hair of the same color. His evening dressset rather awkwardly on him, and he had looked far better in his tweedcoat and knickerbockers. Bessie was obliged to confess that Edna hadbeen right in her description; there was something clownish about hisappearance, and yet he looked a gentleman. 

"Have you nothing to tell us, Richard?" asked Mrs. Sefton sharply, whenthe silence had lasted long enough. 

"Nothing that will interest you, " he replied, rather gloomily; andBessie noticed that his voice was not unpleasant. "I have been withMalcolmson all the afternoon. " And he looked steadily at Mrs. Sefton ashe spoke. 

A slight flush crossed her face, but she evidently did not trust herselfto answer. 

"I know our opinions differ about him, " he continued, as though forcinghimself to speak; "but for my part I think him a clear-headed, reliable fellow. He has done my business well, and has relieved me of agreat deal of responsibility. "

"I hope you will not have cause to repent your rashness, Richard, " wasthe severe answer; but Edna, who was watching her mother's countenancewith some anxiety, interfered in an airy fashion:

"Oh, pray don't begin to talk business, Richard, or you will makemamma's head ache. You know she can't bear to hear Malcolmson's namementioned. All this is not very amusing for Miss Lambert. Can't youfind something interesting to suit a young lady?"

But if Edna hoped to pose as a peacemaker, she failed signally, for asullen look came to her brother's face, and, with the exception of aslight attention to his guest's wants, and a few remarks about herjourney and the weather, Richard made no further attempt to beagreeable. 

CHAPTER IX. 

RICHARD SEFTON. 

"Richard is a perfect bear!" exclaimed Edna angrily, as she threwherself into one of the wicker seats on the lawn. It was a lovelyevening; the sun was just setting, and she had invited Bessie to take astroll round the garden. 

"The dews are very heavy, " remonstrated her friend. "I think we hadbetter keep to the gravel paths. " And then Edna had got up from herseat, grumbling as she did so, and had again reiterated her opinion thatRichard was a bear. 

"I think something must have put him out, " returned Bessie, who wasalways prompt in defence of the absent. "He did not look quite happy. "

"That was because mamma was so vexed about his unpunctuality, and aboutMalcolmson. Richard hates to vex her, and when she looks at him likethat he always becomes gloomy and morose. I have known him silent fordays, when they have fallen out about something. I am taking you behindthe scenes, Bessie, but all our friends know that mamma and Richard donot agree. You see, mamma is very clever, and she likes managing, andRichard has a will of his own; he is very tenacious of his own opinions, and when he has got an idea into his head he can be as stubborn as amule. "

"Don't you think a man has a right to his own opinion, Edna?"

Edna pursed up her lips. 

"A man like Neville, perhaps, who is clever and knows the world; butRichard is a perfect child in some things. He ought to be reasonable, and allow mamma to have her way. Now, she dislikes Malcolmson--she doesnot believe in him; and Richard, as you hear, swears by him. "

"Who is Mr. Malcolmson, if I may venture to ask?"

"Oh, he is an ugly, scrubby little Scotchman whom Richard means to takeas a sort of bailiff, or overseer, or something; I don't understandwhat. "

"Your brother farms himself, does he not?"

"Yes, he has a large farm; and then there is the brewery, a few milesoff, and he wants Malcolmson for that. Mamma is disgusted, because shewanted Richard to take a _protégé_ of her own--such an interesting youngfellow, and so poor, with a widowed mother and two or three youngsisters; and my lord won't look at him. "

"Perhaps he has his reasons for declining him. "

"No, it is just his obstinacy; he will not allow mamma to interfere inhis business. He thinks she ought to keep to her own department, andleave him to manage his own concerns; but mamma can't see it; she hasbeen used to rule, and she is always offended when he refuses to takeher advice. "

"What a pity!" observed Bessie. "I think people in one house ought to beof one mind. "

"My dear Daisy, your golden rule won't hold at The Grange. No one thinksalike in this house; mamma and I dote on each other, but we do notalways agree; she makes me cry my eyes out sometimes. And as forNeville, as I told you, we have not an idea in common. I think perfectagreement must be rather monotonous and deadening. I am sure if Nevillewere to say to me, 'My dear Edna, you are always right, and I agree withyou in everything, ' I should be ready to box his ears. It is much moreamusing to quarrel half a dozen times a day, and make it up again. Oh, Ido dearly love to provoke Neville; he looks so deliciously bored andgrave. "

Bessie was at a loss how to answer this extraordinary statement, butEdna gave her no time to collect her ideas. 

"Quarrelling with Richard is poor fun, " she went on; "he hasn't the witto retaliate, but just sits glum as you saw him to-night. I mean totell Master Richard, though, that his manners were worse than usual, forhe actually did not open his lips to his guest, although she was astranger. "

"Indeed you are wrong, " returned Bessie eagerly. "You are doing yourbrother an injustice; he spoke to me several times, and made remarksabout the weather and my journey. I was just describing Cliffe to himwhen your mother gave us the signal to rise. "

"What a brilliant conversation!" observed Edna sarcastically. "Well, Iwill prove to you that Richard is in his sulks, for he won't enter thedrawing-room again to-night; and if he did, " she added, laughing, "mammawould not speak to him, so it is just as well for him to absent himself. Now let us go in, and I will sing to you. When people are not here mammaalways reads, and I sing to her. "

Edna sung charmingly, and Bessie much enjoyed listening to her; and whenshe was tired Mrs. Sefton beckoned Bessie to her couch, and talked toher for a long time about her family. 

"All this interests me; I like to hear your simple descriptions, mychild, " she said, when Edna interrupted them by reminding her mother ofthe lateness of the hour. "Now you must go to bed. " And she dismissedher with another kiss and a kindly good-night. 

As the two girls went out into the hall they found Richard Seftonhanging up his cap on the peg. He wore a light overcoat over his eveningdress, and had evidently spent his evening out. 

"Good-night, Richard, " observed Edna, with a careless nod, as she passedhim; but Bessie held out her hand with a smile. 

"Good-night, Mr. Sefton. What a beautiful evening it has been!"

"Yes, and so warm, " he returned cheerfully, as though the girl's smilehad loosened his tongue; "it is glorious haymaking weather. I expect weshall have a fine crop in the lower meadow. "

"Are you haymaking?" exclaimed Bessie, with almost childish delight. "Oh, I hope your sister will take me into the hayfield. "

"I will promise anything, if only you and Richard will not turn over thehaycocks now, " retorted Edna, with sleepy impatience. "Do come, Bessie. "And Bessie followed her obediently. 

Richard Sefton looked after her as her white dress disappeared up thedark staircase. 

"She seems a different sort from most of Edna's friends, " he muttered, as he lighted his pipe and retired to the nondescript apartment that wascalled his study. "There does not seem much nonsense about her. What doyou think about it, Mac?" as the hound laid his head on his knee. "Iimagine, as a rule, women have a precious lot of it. " And he whistled abar from the "Miller of the Dee. "

 "I care for nobody, no, not I, And nobody cares for me. "

"What a long evening it has been!" thought Bessie, as she leaned out ofthe window to enjoy the sweet June air, and to admire the lawn silveredby the moonlight. 

"It seems two days at least since I left Cliffe. Oh, I hope Hatty isasleep, and not fretting!"

"I wonder if I shall be happy here, " she went on. "It is all verynice--the house and the country beautiful, and Edna as delightful aspossible; but there is something wanting--family union. It is so sad tohear Edna talking about her brother. He is a perfect stranger to me, andyet I took his part at once. How could the poor fellow talk and enjoyhimself while Mrs. Sefton was sitting opposite to him looking like anoffended tragedy queen? He had not the heart to talk; besides, he knewthat in engaging that man he was going against her wishes, and so hecould not feel comfortable. Edna was wrong in calling him a bear. He wasnot at his ease, certainly; but he anticipated all my wants, and spoketo me very nicely. But there, I must not mix myself up in familydisagreements. I shall have to be civil and kind to every one; but itmakes one thankful for one's peaceful home, and the dear mother andfather, " and the tears came into Bessie's eyes as she thought of hershielded and happy life, and the love of her sisters and Tom. 

"God bless them all, and make me worthy of them!" thought the girl, witha sudden rush of tenderness for the dear ones at home. 

Bessie was an early riser. Dr. Lambert had always inculcated this usefuland healthy habit in his children. He would inveigh bitterly against theself-indulgence of the young people of the present day, and against themodern misuse of time. "Look at the pallid, sickly complexions of someof the girls you see, " he would say. "Do they look fit to be the futuremothers of Englishmen? Poor, feeble creatures, with no backbone tomention, leading unhealthy, frivolous existences. If my girls are nothandsome, they shall at least be healthy; they shall learn self-controland self-guidance. Early hours will promote good appetites; plenty ofexercise, fresh air and good digestion will sweeten their tempers andenliven their spirits; a clear conscience and a well-regulated mind willbring them happiness in whatever circumstances they are placed. I am notanxious for my girls to marry. I don't mean to play minor providence intheir lives, as some fathers do; but I would fit them for eitherposition, for the dignity of marriage or for the unselfish duties of thesingle woman. "

Dr. Lambert loved to moralize to his womankind; he had a way of standingbefore the fire and haranguing his family--anything would serve as atext for his discourse. Some of his daughters certainly thrived on hishomely prescriptions, but Hatty was the thorn in her father's side, theobject of his secret anxiety and most tender care--the sickly one of hisdomestic flock. Hatty would never do him credit, he would say sadly; nomedical skill could put color into Hatty's pale cheeks, nor cure theaches and pains and nervous fancies that harassed her youth. As Dr. Lambert watched the languid step, or dissatisfied voice, he would sigh, as though some thought oppressed him; but with all his gentleness--andhe was very gentle with Hatty--he never yielded, nor suffered any oneelse to yield, to her wayward caprices. 

"My dear, " he would say, when Bessie pleaded for some little extraindulgence for Hatty, "you must not think me hard if I say distinctly'No' to your request. You may trust me; I know Hatty better than you do. Very little would make her a confirmed invalid. It is not in our power, not in the power of any man living, " continued the doctor, with emotion, "to give that poor child health; but we may help her a great deal byteaching her self-control. Half her misery proceeds from her own nervousfancies. If we can help her to overcome them, we shall do more for Hattythan if we petted and waited on her. " But Bessie had always found thiswise prescription of the doctor's a very difficult one. 

Bessie always called the hour before breakfast her "golden hour, " and byher father's advice she devoted it to some useful reading or study. In abusy house like the Lamberts', where every one put his or her shoulderto the wheel, it was not easy to secure opportunity for quiet reading orself-improvement. There was always work to be done; long walks to betaken; the constant interruption of the two school-girls; Ella'spracticing to overlook; Katie's French verbs to hear; besides householdtasks of all kinds. In the evenings the girls played and sung to pleasetheir father, who delighted in music; sometimes, but not often, theirmother read aloud to them while they worked. It was against the familyrules for one to retire into a corner with a book. In such a case theunfortunate student was hunted out, teased, pursued with questions, pelted with home witticisms, until she was glad to close her book andtake up her needlework, for the Lamberts were brisk talkers, and theirtongues were never silent until they were asleep, and then they talkedin their dreams. 

When Bessie rose early, as usual, the morning after her arrival at TheGrange, she sat down by the open window, and wrote a long letter to hermother and a little note to Hatty. It was an exquisite morning; thethrushes and blackbirds, the merle and the mavis of the old Englishpoets, were singing as though their little throats would burst with themelody, and a pair of finches in the acacia were doing their best toswell the concert; the garden looked so sunny and quiet, and such asweet breath of newly made hay came in at the open window that Bessie atlast laid down her pen. The household was stirring, but the family wouldnot be down for half an hour, so the maid had informed her when shebrought Bessie the morning cup of tea. Bessie had looked ratherlongingly at the pretty teapot, but her father had been so strong in hisdenunciations against slow poison, as he called it, imbibed on waking, that she would not yield to the temptation of tasting it, and begged fora glass of milk instead. This the maid promised to bring every morning, and as Bessie ate the bread and butter and sipped the sweet countrymilk, yellow with cream, she thought how much good it would do Hatty. Then she put on her hat and went softly downstairs, and finding a sidedoor open, went out into the garden. 

She thought she and the thrushes and blackbirds had it to themselves, but she was mistaken, for in turning into a shrubbery walk, skirting themeadow, she was surprised to see Richard Sefton sitting on a low bench, with Mac's head between his knees, evidently in a brown study. Bessiewas sorry to disturb him, but it was too late to draw back, for Mac hadalready seen her, and had roused his master by his uneasy efforts to getfree, and Mr. Sefton rose, with the awkward abruptness that seemednatural to him, and lifted his cap. 

"Good morning, Miss Lambert. You are an early riser. My mother and Ednaare hardly awake yet. "

"Oh, I am always up long before this, " returned Bessie, smiling at hisevident astonishment, as she stooped to caress Mac, who was fawning onher. 

"Mac seems to know you, " he observed, noticing the dog's friendlygreeting. 

"It is very strange, but he seems to have taken a fancy to me, " repliedBessie, and she narrated to Mac's master how the hound had pleaded foradmission to her room, and had lain under her table watching her unpack. 

"That is very odd, " observed Richard. "Mac has never bestowed a similarmark of attention on any one but a certain homely old lady that mymother had here for a time, as a sort of charity; she had been agoverness, and was very poor. Well, Mac was devoted to the old lady, andshe certainly was an estimable sort of woman, but he will have nothingto say to any of Edna's fine friends, and generally keeps out of the waywhen they come. "

"An animal's likes and dislikes are very singular, " remarked Bessie, looking thoughtfully into Mac's brown eyes. "I believe Mac knows that Iam a lover of dogs. "

"Are you indeed, Miss Lambert? Would you like to see mine?" returnedRichard quickly; and his face lighted up as he spoke. He lookedyounger and better than he did the previous night. His powerful, muscular figure, more conspicuous for strength than grace, showed toadvantage in his tweed shooting-coat and knickerbockers, hisordinary morning costume. The look of sullen discomfort had gone, and his face looked less heavy. Bessie thought he hardly seemed hisage--nine-and-twenty--and, in spite of his natural awkwardness, hehad a boyish frankness of manner that pleased her. 

Bessie was a shrewd little person in her way, and she already surmisedthat Richard Sefton was not at ease in his stepmother's presence. Shefound out afterward that this was the case; that in spite of hisstrength and manhood, he was morbidly sensitive of her opinion, and wasnever so conscious of his defects as when he was presiding at his owntable, or playing the part of host in her drawing-room, under hercritical eye. And yet Richard Sefton loved his stepmother; he had anaffectionate nature, but in his heart he knew he had no cause to begrateful to her. She had made him, the lonely, motherless boy, thescapegoat of his father's deceit and wrongdoing. He had been allowed tolive at The Grange on sufferance, barely tolerated by the proud girl whohad been ignorant of his existence. If he had been an engaging child, with winning ways, she would soon have become interested in him, buteven then Richard had been plain and awkward, with a shy, reservednature, and a hidden strength of affection that no one, not even hisfather, guessed. Mrs. Sefton had first disliked, and then neglected him, until her husband died, and the power had come into Richard's hands. Since then she had altered her behavior; her interests lay inconciliating her stepson. She began by recognizing him outwardly asmaster, and secretly trying to dominate and guide him. But she soonfound her mistake. Richard was accessible to kindness, and Mrs. Seftoncould have easily ruled him by love, but he was firm against a cold, aggressive policy. Secretly he shrunk from his stepmother's sarcasticspeeches and severe looks; his heart was wounded by persistent coldnessand misunderstanding, but he had sufficient manliness to prove himselfmaster, and Mrs. Sefton could not forgive this independence. Richardtook her hard speeches silently, but he brooded over them in a morbidmanner that resembled sullenness. Yet he would have forgiven themgenerously in return for one kind look or word. His stepmother hadfascinated and subjugated him in his boyhood, and even in his manhoodit gave him a pang to differ from her; but the truth that was in him, the real inward manhood, strengthened him for the daily conflicts ofwills. 

Poor Richard Sefton! But after all he was less to be pitied than thewoman who found it so difficult to forgive a past wrong, and who couldwreak her displeasure on the innocent. 

CHAPTER X. 

BESSIE IS INTRODUCED TO BILL SYKES. 

"Would you care to see my dogs, Miss Lambert?" asked Richard, and Bessieonly hesitated for a moment. 

"Very much. That is, if it will not trouble you. "

"Not in the least; they are only just outside in the stable yard. Leo, our big mastiff, who gained the prize last year, is over at the farm. Heis a splendid fellow, but a trifle fierce to strangers. He pulled a mandown once, a tramp who was lurking about the place. Leo had got loosesomehow, and he was at his throat in a moment. The poor fellow has thescar now; but I made it up to him, poor wretch. "

"I should not care to go near Leo's kennel, " returned Bessie, with ashudder. 

"Oh, it would be all right if I were with you. I should just put my handon your arm and say, 'A friend, Leo, ' and he would be as gentle as Mac, here. Leo is my faithful servant and guardian at the farm. I alwaystake him out for a walk on Sunday afternoons. Leo knows Sunday as wellas I do. Now, we must be quick, or the gong will sound. There is no needto go through the house; this door leads to the kitchen garden, and wecan reach the stables that way. " And talking in this easy, friendlyfashion, Richard quickly conducted Bessie down the trim gravel walks, under the apple and plum trees, and then unlocking a green door in thewall, Bessie found herself in the stable yard, where the groom wasrubbing down a fine brown mare. The mare neighed as soon as she heardher master's voice, and Richard went up to her and petted her glossysides. 

"That is brown Bess, " he observed. "She is a skittish young thing, andplays her pranks with every one but me; but you and I understand eachother, eh, old lady?" And the mare rubbed her nose against him in aconfiding manner. Bessie looked on with an earnest air of interest. 

"Do you ride?" asked Richard presently. 

Bessie shook her head. 

"I have never been on horseback in my life; but I can imagine what apleasure riding must be. "

"What a pity!" he returned briefly. "There is nothing like it. " And sosaying, he unlatched a gate and ushered his guest into a small pavedyard, and then, opening a door, he uttered a prolonged whistle, andyelps, and a number of dogs, small and large, rushed out upon him. 

"Hi, there, Gelert! down, Juno; down, down, good dogs all. " And Richardthreatened them with his dogwhip. 

"Is this Gelert?" asked Bessie, pointing to a fine black retriever. 

"Yes; and that is Brand, " patting the head of a handsome pointer. "Thatbrown setter is Juno; she is the mother of those three puppies--finelittle fellows, aren't they? Look at this curly haired one; two of themare promised to friends; they are a capital breed. Do you care forterriers, Miss Lambert? because Spot is considered a perfect beauty. Look at his coat; it is like satin. "

"And that knowing little fellow, what is his name?" and Bessie pointedto a very small black and tan terrier, who sat up and begged at once. 

"Oh, that is Tim; he ought by rights to be a house-dog, but he has takena fancy to Spot, and insists on sharing his straw bed at night; theyboth have the run of the house by day--at least, as far as the hall andsmoking-room are concerned. My mother hates dogs, and will not tolerateone in the drawing-room. "

"Surely, that is not one of your dogs, " exclaimed Bessie, looking withsome disfavor on an ugly white mongrel, with a black patch over one eye;her attention was attracted by the creature's ugliness. Evidently heknew he was no beauty, for, after uttering a short yelp or two in theattempt to join in the chorus of sonorous barks, he had crept humblybehind Richard, and sat on his haunches, looking up at him with apathetically meek expression. 

"Oh, you mean Bill Sykes; yes, he is a pensioner of mine. Come along, Bill, and say good morning to your master. "

It was impossible to describe the change that came over the dog asRichard spoke to him in this kindly fashion; his whole body quiveredwith pleasure as he sprung up and licked Richard's hands. 

"What do you think, Miss Lambert? I found Bill one day tearing throughMelton with a tin kettle tied to his tail, hunted by a pack of rascallyschool-boys; one of the little wretches had thrown a stone at him, andpoor Bill was bleeding. I managed to stop him, somehow, and to free thepoor beast from his implement of torture, and left him licking his woundby the roadside, while I caught two of the boys and thrashed themsoundly. I reserved thrashing the others until a convenient season, butthey all caught it. I read them a pretty lesson on cruelty to animals. Bill followed me home, and I have never parted with him since. The otherdogs disdained his company at first, but now they tolerate him, and, onthe whole, I think he leads a pleasant life. He knows he is of humbleextraction, and so he keeps in the background, but he is a clever dog;he can walk across the yard on his hind legs--the gardener's boy taughthim the trick. Now, then, Bill, walk like a gentleman. " And Billobediently rose on his hind legs and stalked across the yard with an airof dignity, followed by a fat, rollicking puppy, barking with all hismight. 

Bill had just received his meed of praise when the gong sounded, andthey had to hurry in to breakfast. They found Edna in a bewitching whitemorning dress. 

"I hope I am not late, " observed Bessie, apologetically. "Mr. Seftontook me to see the dogs. I did so enjoy looking at them; they are suchbeautiful creatures. "

"Yes, especially Bill Sykes, " returned Edna sarcastically. "Well, thereis no accounting for tastes, " with a critical look at Bessie's neat bluecotton. "I never venture in the yard myself, unless I have an old ulsteron. I could not put on my dress again if all those scratchy paws hadbeen over it. Richard does not train them properly; they all spring upand nearly knock me down in their clumsy gambols. "

"They are like their master, eh, Edna?" returned Richard good-humoredly. "Mother, shall I give you some ham? What time do you mean to bring MissLambert to the lower meadow, Edna? We shall be carrying this evening. "

"Oh, you need not expect us at all, " returned Edna, to Bessie'sdisappointment. "I quite forgot the Atherton's are coming thisafternoon, to practice for to-morrow. "

"I thought Miss Lambert wanted to see us make hay, " observed Richard, looking at Bessie as he spoke; but she replied hastily:

"Not if your sister has other plans, Mr. Sefton, thank you all the same;I would rather do as she wishes. "

"Yes, and you are fond of lawn tennis, are you not? We have a gardenparty to-morrow, and you ought to practice, you see. I want you to knowthe Athertons; they are such nice girls, Florence especially; plenty ofgo in them, and no nonsense. "

"Yes, Florence is a sweet girl, " assented her mother. "Mrs. Atherton isa sad invalid, and they are such devoted daughters. Edna, it is your dayfor writing to Neville, is it not? I want to send a message to Mrs. Sinclair; don't you think it would be a pretty attention if you were towrite to her as well? She seems very poorly again. "

"I am not inclined to pay pretty attentions to any one this morning, "returned Edna, with a little laugh. "Bessie, can you amuse yourselfwhile I do my duty to my _fiancé_? There are plenty of books in themorning-room, and a deliciously shady seat under that big tree. "

"Oh, that will be delightful, " replied Bessie, to whom a book was apowerful attraction. She was some time making her selection from thewell-filled bookcase, but at last fixed on some poems by Jean Ingelow, and "The Village on the Cliff, " by Miss Thackeray. Bessie had read fewnovels in her life; Dr. Lambert disliked circulating libraries for youngpeople, and the only novels in the house were Sir Walter Scott's andMiss Austin's, while the girls' private book shelves boasted most ofMiss Yonge's, and two or three of Miss Mulock's works. Bessie had read"Elizabeth, " by Miss Thackeray, at her Aunt Charlotte's house, and thecharming style, the pure diction, the picturesque descriptions, and thebeauty and pathos of the story made her long to read another by the sameauthor. As Bessie retraced her steps through the hall Mac raised himselfup slowly, and followed her out, and in another moment Spot and Tim flewthrough a side door and joined her. 

Bessie never passed a pleasanter morning; her tale enthralled her, butshe laid down her book occasionally to notice her dumb companions. Awhite Persian kitten had joined the group; she was evidently accustomedto the dogs, for she let Tim roll her over in his rough play, and onlyboxed his ears in return, now and then. When he got too excited, shescrambled up a may-tree, and sat licking herself in placid triumph, while the terriers barked below. Bessie was almost sorry when the quietwas invaded by Edna. Edna, who never opened a book, by her ownconfession, unless it were an exciting novel, looked a littledisdainfully at the book Bessie had chosen. 

"Oh, that old thing!" she said contemptuously; "that is not much of astory; it is about a Breton peasant, is it not? Reine, I think she wascalled. Oh, it was amusing enough, but I prefer something morethrilling. "

"I think it lovely, " returned Bessie. "It is all so sweet and sunshiny;one can smell the flowers in that studio, and the two Catherines, one sohappy and charming, and the other so pathetic. All the people are sonice and good, they seem alive somehow. In other books there are wickedpeople, and that troubles me. "

"You would not like the sort of books I read;" returned Edna, shruggingher shoulders. "There was a murder in the last; I could hardly sleepafter it--some one thrown out of a train. Oh, it was deliciouslyhorrible! I have not sent it back to Mudie; you can read it if youlike. "

"No, thank you, " returned Bessie quietly; "it would not suit me at all. Father is very particular about what we read, and mother, too; he willnot let us touch what he calls 'the sensational literature of theday'--oh, you may laugh, " as Edna looked amused; "but I think father isright. He says it makes him quite unhappy to see books of thisdescription in the hands of mere children. He is a doctor, you know, andhe declares that a great deal of harm is done by overstimulating theimagination by highly wrought fiction. 'A meal of horrors can nourish noone, ' he would say. "

Edna chose to dispute this point, and a long and lively argument ensuedbetween the girls until the luncheon bell silenced them. 

Richard did not appear at this meal; he was taking his bread and cheeseunder the hedge with the haymakers, Edna explained, or in other words, he had desired his luncheon to be sent to him. 

"He does not favor us much with his company, as you will soon see foryourself, Miss Lambert. My stepson is not a society man, " observed Mrs. Sefton. 

"So much the better, " was on Bessie's lips, but she prudently refrainedfrom speaking the words. She was beginning to wonder, however, if Mrs. Sefton or Edna could mention his name without adding somethingdisparaging. Edna especially was forever indulging in some light sarcasmat her brother's expense. 

They sat in the cool drawing-room a little while after luncheon, untilthe Athertons arrived with their rackets; and then they all went down tothe tennis lawn. 

The Atherton's were nice-looking girls, and Bessie was rather taken withthem, but she was somewhat surprised when they opened their lips. Shewas walking across the grass with Florence, the tallest and prettiest ofthe sisters, and, indeed, she was rather a sweet-looking girl. 

"Is it not a lovely day?" observed Bessie. 

"Awfully jolly, " replied Miss Florence, in a sharp, clipping voice; andthe next minute Bessie heard her call one of her sisters a duffer formissing the ball. 

"What would mother say?" thought Bessie. She was not much used to thetypical girl of the period; after all, she was an old-fashioned littleperson. 

The Athertons were really nice girls, although they talked slang liketheir brothers, and conformed to all the foolish fashions of the day, disguising their honest, womanly hearts under blunt, flippant manners. 

"What a pity, " said Bessie to herself, when she came to know thembetter. They were good-natured, clever girls, very fond of each other, and devoted to their mother and brothers. Reggie's examination--exam. , Florence called it--for Sandhurst; Harold's new coach, and Bertie'sscore at cricket, were the theme of their conversation. "I am afraidHarold won't pass, " observed Sabina sadly. "His last coach was such amuff, but the man he has got now seems a good old sort. Harold canget on with him comfortably. "

"Well, what do you think of the girls?" asked Edna, when she and Bessiewere left alone at the close of the afternoon. 

"I think they are very nice, Florence especially, but it is such a pitythat they talk slang; it seems to spoil them, somehow. "

"I agree with you that it is bad style, but, you see, they have learnedit from their brothers. "

Bad style, that was all. Bessie's gentle-looking mouth closed firmlywith the expression it always wore when politeness forbade her to airher true opinions, but in her own heart she was saying:

"Bad style. That is how worldly minded people talk. That is how theypalliate these sins against good taste and propriety. I like thesegirls; they are genuine, somehow; but I suppose our bringing up has madeus old-fashioned, for I seemed to shrink inwardly every time they openedtheir lips. Surely it must be wrong to lose all feminine refinement inone's language. There were no young men here, happily, to hear them; butif there had been, they would have expressed themselves in the samemanner. That is what I cannot understand, now girls can lay aside theirdignity and borrow masculine fashions. What a little lady Christinewould have seemed beside them! Chrissy has such pretty manners. "

The dinner hour passed more pleasantly than on the previous evening. Richard talked more, and seemed tolerably at his ease. He followed theminto the drawing-room afterward, and asked his sister to sing, but, toBessie's vexation, Edna declined under the pretext of fatigue, and couldnot be induced to open the piano. Bessie felt provoked by herwilfulness, and she was so sorry to see the cloud on Richard's face, forhe was passionately fond of music, as he had informed Bessie atdinner-time, that she ventured to remonstrate with Edna. 

"Do sing a little, just to please your brother; he looks sodisappointed, and you know you are not a bit tired. " But Edna shook herhead, and her pretty face looked a little hard. 

"I do not wish to please him; it is just because he has asked me that Iwill not sing a note this evening. I intend to punish Richard for hisrudeness to me. I begged him to stay home for our garden partyto-morrow; but no, he will not give up his stupid cricket. He says he iscaptain, and must be with his boys; but that is all nonsense; he does itto spite me. "

"Oh, very well, " returned Bessie good-humoredly, for she would notquarrel with Edna for her perversity. "If you mean to be so obdurate, Iwill sing myself. " And Bessie actually walked across the room andaddressed Richard, who was moodily turning over his sister's music. 

"Edna does not feel inclined to sing to-night, but if you can put upwith my deficiencies, I will try what I can do. My music is ratherold-fashioned, but I know one or two pretty ballads, if you care to hearthem. "

"Thanks; I should like it very much, " was all Richard said, as he openedthe piano; but his face cleared like magic. It was not the song hewanted, but that some one should care to please him. All his life longthis had been his longing; and the cold indifference with which hisexpressed wishes had always been met by his mother and Edna had chilledhis affectionate nature. Bessie had a pretty voice, though it showedwant of training, but she could sing a simple ballad with much sweetnessand feeling, and Richard, who had a fine ear for music, avowed himselfmuch pleased. 

"You ought to have some good lessons, " he said frankly. "Your voice hasgreat capabilities, but it has not been properly trained. I hope you donot think my criticism rude. "

"No, indeed; I am too much aware of my own faults. I have only had a fewlessons. Miss James was not much of a teacher, but I cannot helpsinging somehow. Now, have I tired you, or do you want another song?"

"I want more than one, " returned Richard, growing bold. Bessie'sreadiness to please, her good-humored reception of his criticism, charmed him. She was so amiable, so willing to be friendly; she was sodifferent from the other girls who came to The Grange. Richard had nopatience with them; their airs and graces, their evident desire formasculine admiration disgusted and repelled him. They seemed alwaysseeking for him to pay them little compliments and attentions, and inhis heart he despised them. 

"Thank you, my dear, " observed Mrs. Sefton graciously, when Bessie hadfinished. "She sings very nicely, does she not, Edna?"

"Charmingly, " replied Edna; but her smile was hardly as pleased asusual, and she bade Bessie a somewhat cold good-night when they partedan hour later. 

CHAPTER XI. 

EDNA HAS A GRIEVANCE. 

Bessie did not concern herself much about her friend's coldness. She hadtried to atone to Richard for his sister's unkindness, and she hadsucceeded in giving one person pleasure. 

"I dare say her conscience tells her that she has been naughty, and thatmakes her cross with me, " thought Bessie, who was too healthy minded toharbor unnecessary scruples. 

Hatty would have made herself wretched under the circumstances; wouldhave accused herself of boldness, and love of display, and a want ofconsideration for Edna; for Hatty, who was a self-tormentor by nature, could spin a whole web of worries out of a single thread; but Bessienever troubled herself with morbid after-thoughts. "Edna will be allright with me to-morrow, " she said to herself; and she was right in herprognostication. 

Edna came downstairs the next morning radiant with good humor, and waseven civil to Richard. It was a brilliant day; her friends had allaccepted her invitation, and she was looking forward to a most enjoyableafternoon. 

It was impossible for Bessie to resist the influence of her friend'sgayety and flow of spirits. Edna's example was infectious, and Bessiewas soon laughing heartily at her nonsensical speeches. There was noquiet for reading that morning. She had to practice tennis with Edna, and help her arrange the flowers; and finally she was carried off to bemade smart. 

"I wish you had a white dress, too, " observed Edna regretfully; for inher heart she thought Bessie's favorite gray gown very dowdy andQuakerish. "But we must try to enliven you with a few flowers. You aregoing to wear a gray hat. Wait a moment. " And Edna darted out of theroom, and returned a moment afterward with a dainty cream lace fichu. "Look, this lace is lovely! Mamma gave it to me, but I never wear itnow, and it will just suit you. Now let me fasten in a few of thosecreamy roses. Well, you do look nice after all, Daisy dear. "

"Yes; but not half so nice as you, " replied Bessie, looking with honestadmiration at the pretty young creature. Edna's soft white dress justsuited her fair hair and delicate complexion, and she looked so slim andgraceful, as she stood before the glass fastening a rosebud at herthroat, that Bessie said, involuntarily, "How nice it must be to be sopretty!" but there was no trace of envy in her tone. 

Edna blushed a little over the compliment. 

"Do I look pretty? Thank you, Bessie. Isn't it a pity Neville cannot seeme?" and she laughed mischievously over her vain speech. "Now, comealong, there's a dear, or the people will arrive before we are ready forthem. There, I declare I hear Florence's voice!" And the two girls randown and joined Mrs. Sefton in the drawing-room. 

Well, it was a very pleasant garden party, and Bessie thoroughly enjoyedherself, though it was the grandest affair she had ever seen--so manypeople driving up in their carriages, and such smart footmen lingeringin the hall, and a bevy of officers who were quartered in theneighborhood. But Bessie was not left out in the cold. Florence Athertontook her under her wing, and introduced some nice people to her. Sheeven took part in one game when there was a vacancy, and her partner, ayoung lieutenant, was very good-natured, and only laughed when shemissed the ball. 

"We have won, after all, you see, " he observed, when the match was over. 

"Yes, thanks to you, " replied Bessie honestly. 

"Not at all. You played very well. Now shall we go and get an ice? Iwonder what's become of Sefton? I don't see him anywhere. "

"Oh, he is playing cricket at Melton. He is captain of the village club, I believe. I don't think he cares for tennis. "

"I suppose not, " was the dry rejoinder; but the young man slightlyelevated his eyebrows in a meaning manner. Bessie heard other remarks onRichard's absence before the end of the afternoon. A young lady to whomshe had been recently introduced addressed the same question to her. 

"Mr. Sefton is not putting in an appearance this afternoon, MissLambert. "

"No, I believe not; he is otherwise engaged. "

"It is very odd, " replied Miss Green significantly; "but Mr. Seftonalways is engaged when his sister gives one of her parties. I am told hehates society, and that sort of thing. Isn't it a pity that he should beso different from Edna? She is a darling, and so charming, but herbrother--" and here Miss Green shrugged her shoulders, and her keenblack eyes seemed to demand Bessie's opinion; but Bessie made norejoinder. She was not much prepossessed with Miss Green, and left heras soon as politeness allowed her, to sit with an old lady who was verychatty and amusing, and who called her "my dear" at every word. 

It was no use trying to speak to Edna; she was always surrounded by agroup of young people. Once or twice the thought crossed Bessie's mind, how Mr. Sinclair would like to see her laughing and talking so longwith that handsome Captain Grant. She was not exactly flirting--Bessiewould not do her that injustice--but she allowed him to pay her a greatdeal of attention. It struck her that Mrs. Sefton was uneasy, for shecalled her to her side once. 

"My dear Miss Lambert, I cannot attract Edna's attention, and I want tospeak to her particularly; she is somewhere in the shrubberies with thattall man with the dark mustache--Captain Grant. I spoke to her as shepassed just now, but neither of them heard me. "

"Shall I go and fetch her, Mrs. Sefton?"

"I shall be very glad if you will do so, my dear. " And Bessie at oncestarted in pursuit. She overtook them by the summer-house. Edna lookedrather bored as she received her mother's message, though she at onceobeyed it; but Captain Grant kept his place at her side. 

Mrs. Sefton received him rather coldly. 

"Edna, " she said, addressing her daughter, "I want to speak to you aboutthe Mackenzie's; they are sitting quite alone, and no one is talking tothem; and that tall brother of their's has not played a single game. "

"That is his own fault. I offered him Marian Atherton for a partner agesago, but he plays badly; as for the girls, they keep aloof fromeverybody. I introduced Mr. Sayers and Major Sparkes to them, but theyhave evidently frightened them away. Mamma, are we engaged for Thursday?because Captain Grant wants us to go and see the officers play polo. "

"That is the day I am going up to town, Edna. "

"But you can put it off, " she interposed eagerly. "It will be such fun. Mrs. Grant is to give us tea, and it will be such a treat for Bessie. "

"My mother is counting upon the pleasure of seeing you all, Mrs. Sefton. She has been unable to call, but she is hoping to make your acquaintancein this way. "

"She is very kind, Captain Grant, " returned Mrs. Sefton stiffly; "butunfortunately, as my daughter knows, I have a very important engagementfor that day. "

"I am extremely sorry to hear it; still, if the young ladies care todrive over, my mother will chaperone them, " persisted Captain Grant; "orperhaps their brother. "

"Oh, of course! I forgot Richard, " exclaimed Edna, disregarding hermother's evident objections. 

Mrs. Sefton looked annoyed, but she said civilly:

"I will see what Richard thinks; but you must not take anything forgranted, Edna, until I have spoken to him. "

"Oh, I will tease him into taking us, " returned Edna gayly. "I do lovepolo, and I am sure Bessie will be delighted. Now we must start anothergame, Captain Grant. " And before her mother could interpose Edna hadcrossed the lawn with him. 

"Shall you be very disappointed if you do not see polo, Miss Lambert?"asked Mrs. Sefton presently. 

"No, indeed. But I am afraid Edna will be; she seems to have set herheart on going. "

"Richard will not take her, " returned Mrs. Sefton; "he has a strongobjection to Captain Grant; and I must own I think he is right. He isvery handsome, but he has not a straightforward look. I have no wish tosee him intimate here. He is forward and pushing, and does not take arebuff. But Edna does not agree with me, " with a quick, impatient sigh. 

Captain Grant's unfortunate invitation entirely marred the harmony ofthe evening. Directly the guests had left, the family sat down to a coldcollation, instead of a regular dinner. Richard had only just come inand taken his place, declaring that he was as hungry as a hunter, whenEdna informed him of their plans for Thursday. 

"Mamma has to go up to town, so she cannot possibly go with us, and thecarriage will have to fetch her from the station, so you must drive usover to Staplehurst in your dog-cart, Ritchie. I dare say Bessie willthink that fun. "

Richard glanced uneasily at his stepmother before he answered, asthough he wished for her opinion, and she gave him a significant look. 

"I am very sorry, Edna, but I am afraid it is impossible. I have to goover to Fordham on business, and I cannot possibly be back until six. "

"On some stupid farming business, I suppose, " returned Edna, and it wasevident her temper could ill brook the contradiction. Her color rose, and there was an ominous sparkle in her eye; but Richard answeredcomposedly:

"Yes; I have to meet Medway and Stephenson. I am sorry to disappoint youand Miss Lambert but Thursday is never a free day with me. "

"No, indeed, nor any other day of the week when I want you to doanything, " returned Edna, with rising excitement. "Now don't make anymore excuses, Richard. Do you think I am a child to believe in yourMedways and Stephensons? I saw you look at mamma before you answered, and you think she does not wish me to go. "

"My darling, why need you excite yourself so?" exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. 

"It is you that excite me, mamma, you and Richard. You have got somefoolish notion in your heads about Captain Grant, just because the poorman is civil to me. You treat me, both of you, as though I were ababy--as though I could not be trusted to take care of myself. It isvery unjust, " continued Edna, "and I will not bear it from Richard. "

"I confess I don't see the gist of your remarks, " returned her brother, who was now growing angry in his turn; "and I don't think all this canbe very amusing to Miss Lambert. If my mother has an objection to yourkeeping up an acquaintance with Captain Grant, it is your duty to givethe thing up. In my opinion she is right; he is not the sort of friendfor you, Edna, and his mother is disliked by all the officers' wives. Ishould think Sinclair would have a right to object to your frequentvisits to Staplehurst. "

But Edna was in no mood to listen to reason. 

"Neville knows better than to state his objections to me, " she returnedhaughtily; "and it is quite unnecessary to drag his name into thepresent conversation. I will only trouble you to answer me one question:Do you absolutely refuse to do me this favor, to drive Miss Lambert andme over to Staplehurst on Thursday?"

"I must refuse, " returned Richard firmly. "It is quite true that myengagement can be put off, but it is so evident that my mother objectsto the whole thing, that I will not be a party to your disobeying herwishes. "

Edna rose from the table and made him a profound courtesy. "Thank youfor your moral lecture, Richard; but it is quite thrown away. I am notgoing to be controlled like a child. If you will not take us, Bessie andI will go alone. I quite mean it, mamma. " And Edna marched angrily outof the room. 

"Oh, dear, " observed Mrs. Sefton fretfully; "I have not seen her so putout for months; it must have been your manner, Richard. You were so hardon the poor child. Now she will go and make herself ill with crying. "

"Did I misunderstand you?" asked Richard, astonished at this. "Did youwish me to take them, after all?"

"Of course not; what an absurd question! I would not have Edna go forworlds. Neville only said the other day how much he disliked the Grants, and how he hoped Edna kept them at a distance. I think he has heardsomething to Captain Grant's disadvantage; but you know how wilful sheis; you might have carried your point with a little tact and _finesse_, but you are always so clumsy with Edna. "

"You did not help me much, " returned Richard rather bitterly. "You leftme to bear the brunt of Edna's temper, as usual. Why did you not tellher yourself your reasons for disliking her to go? But, no; I am to bethe scapegoat, as usual, and Edna will not speak to me for a week. " Andso saying he pushed his chair away and walked to the window. 

Mrs. Sefton did not answer her stepson. Most likely her conscience toldher that his reproach was a just one. She only glanced at Bessie'sgrieved face and downcast eyes, and proposed to retire. 

The drawing-room was empty when they entered it, and as Bessie noticedMrs. Sefton's wistful look round the room, she said timidly:

"May I go and talk to Edna?"

"No, my dear; far better not, " was the reply. "Edna has a hot temper;she takes after her poor father in that. We must give her time to cool. I will go to her myself presently. She was very wrong to answer Richardin that way, but he has so little tact. "

Bessie did not trust herself to reply. She took her book to the window, that her hostess might not find it incumbent on her to talk, and in ashort time Mrs. Sefton left the room. Richard entered it a moment later. 

"Are you alone?" he asked, in some surprise. "I suppose my mother hasgone up to Edna?"

"Yes; she is uneasy about her. Shall I play to you a little, Mr. Sefton?It is getting too dark to read. " Bessie made this overture as a sort ofamends to Richard, and the friendly little act seemed to soothe him. 

"You are very kind. I should like it of all things, " he returnedgratefully. So Bessie sat down and played her simple tunes and sung herlittle songs until the young man's perturbed spirits were calmed andquieted by the pure tones of the girlish voice; and presently when shepaused for a minute, he said:

"It is awfully good of you to take all this trouble for me. "

"Oh, no, it is not, " replied Bessie, smiling. "I like singing; besides, you are feeling dull this evening; your talk with your sister has upsetyou. "

"No one ever noticed before if I were dull or not, " he replied, with asigh; "but I am afraid that sounds ungracious. I think we owe you anapology, Miss Lambert, for airing our family disagreements in yourpresence. I am more sorry than I can say that you should have beensubjected to this unpleasantness. "

"Oh, never mind me, " returned Bessie cheerfully. "I am only sorry forall of you. I dare say Edna did not mean half she said; people say allsorts of things when they are angry. I am afraid she is bitterlydisappointed. I have heard her say before how fond she is of watchingpolo; but I dare say she will soon forget all about it. "

"I cannot flatter myself with that belief. Edna does not so easilyforget when her whims are crossed. I dare say she will send me toCoventry all the week; but I can't help that. Nothing would induce me todrive her over to Staplehurst, and she will hardly carry out her threatof going without me. "

"Of course not, " and Bessie fairly laughed. 

"No, it was an idle threat; but all the same it is very vexatious. " ButBessie would not let him dwell on the grievance. She began telling himabout Tom, and a funny scrape he had got into last term; and this led toa conversation about her home, and here Bessie grew eloquent; and shewas in the midst of a description of Cliffe and its environs when Mrs. Sefton reappeared, looking fagged and weary, and informed them that Ednahad a headache and had retired to bed. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE FIRST SUNDAY AT THE GRANGE. 

The unfortunate dispute between Edna and her brother had taken place onSaturday evening, and as Bessie went up to her room that night she madeup her mind that the first Sunday at Oatlands would be a failure, as faras enjoyment was concerned. 

"I never can be happy myself unless I see others happy round me, "thought Bessie, rather mournfully; "and Edna has taken thisdisappointment so badly that I am afraid she will make us all suffer forit. " But in this opinion she was wrong. Her acquaintance with Edna hadbeen brief, and she had no suspicion of the intense pride that blendedwith Edna's wilfulness, nor of the tenacity, strange in such a brightyoung creature, that could quietly maintain its purpose under acareless, light-hearted exterior. 

Edna had evidently been ashamed of her outburst of temper on theprevious evening, for she came down on Sunday morning looking a littlepale and subdued, and very gentle in her manner to her mother andBessie. She seemed to ignore Richard; beyond a cold good morning shedid not vouchsafe him a word or a look; and as all his overtures towardreconciliation were passed over in chilling silence, he soon left her toherself. 

They all went to church together, and as they walked through the lanesEdna seemed to recover her buoyancy. She laughed and chatted with hermother, and made sprightly speeches in her usual way; and no one couldhave judged from her manner that there was a spot of bitterness underthe smooth surface--an angry consciousness that Richard had dared tocross her will. 

Ah, well! there are many beside Edna who enter God's house with theirdarling sin hugged close to their bosom, fondled and cherished. Truly wemay say we are miserable sinners, and that there is no health in us, forthe black plague spot is often hidden under the white vesture, undetected by human insight, but clearly legible to the "Eye that seethnot as man seeth. "

Once Bessie looked up from her hymn-book as Edna's clear, high notesreached her ear. Edna seemed singing with all her heart:

 "Oh, Paradise! Oh, Paradise! Who does not crave for rest?"

Her brown eyes were soft with feeling, there was a sweet, almostangelic look upon her face; a passing emotion possessed her. Alas, thatsuch moods should be transitory! And yet it has ever been so in theworld's history. Unsanctified human nature is always fickle, and the"Hosanna" of yesterday become the "Crucify Him" of to-day. 

After their early luncheon, Edna asked Bessie if she would go with herto see the Athertons. 

"Mamma indulges in a nap on Sunday afternoons, " she explained, "and as Iam not fond of my own company, I run in and have a chat with the girls. "

"If you would excuse me, " returned Bessie, looking rather uncomfortable, "I would so much rather stay at home. You see, I have been accustomed tospend Sunday very quietly. We have never paid visits as some people do. Church and Sunday-school and a little sacred music and reading, and theday soon passes. If you do not mind, I would rather sit in the garden, or take a stroll through those lovely lanes, than go to the Athertons'. "

Edna looked exceedingly amused at this speech, and at Bessie's hotcheeks. 

"My dear Daisy, don't look so perturbed. This is Liberty Hall, and ourguests always do exactly as they please. I would not interfere with yourlittle prudish ways for the world. I do not require your company in theleast. You may retire to your own room and read the 'Pilgrim'sProgress, ' with the blinds down, if you please, and mamma and I will notsay a word. There's Blair's 'Sermons' in the attic, and Hervey's'Meditations Among the Tombs. ' They are a bit dusty, perhaps, but youwon't object to that, for they are full of wholesome and cheerfulreading. "

"Thank you, " returned Bessie, undisturbed by this light banter. "But Ibrought a book from home, in which I am much interested--'BishopHannington's Life'--and as you are so good as to spare me, I mean toexplore some of those shady lanes; they are so nice and quiet. "

Edna was about to make another mischievous rejoinder, but as she lookedat Bessie she refrained. Bessie's contented, gentle expression, thequiet dignity that seemed to invest her girlishness, closed Edna'smouth. 

"She is a good little thing, and I won't tease her, " she thought. Andshe refrained with much magnanimity from one of her droll speeches whenMaud Atherton asked where Miss Lambert was. 

"She preferred taking a walk, " returned Edna; which was the truth, butnot the whole truth, for, as she said to herself, "those girls shall nothave the chance of laughing at my dear little Bessie. " And she cleverlychanged the conversation to a safer topic; for she was quite adiplomatist in her small way. 

"Edna is really very good-natured, " thought Bessie gratefully, as shesauntered happily through the leafy lanes. 

How delicious the air felt! It was June, and yet there was still thecrispness of the spring. She felt as though she and the birds had thisbeautiful world to themselves, and the twitterings and rustlings in thethicket were the only sounds that broke the Sabbath stillness. 

Bessie had just turned into a sunny bit of road when an abject-lookingwhite dog with a black patch over his eye suddenly wriggled himselfthrough a half-closed gate. 

"Why, I do believe that is Bill Sykes, " thought Bessie, as the creaturestood looking at her. "Bill, what are you doing so far from home?" Billwagged his tail feebly in a deprecating manner. "Why don't you walk likea gentleman?" continued Bessie, and, to her great amusement, the dogrose solemnly on his hind legs and commenced stalking down the lane. Bessie burst into a laugh that was echoed by another voice. 

"Well done, old Bill. " And, looking up, Bessie saw Richard Seftonleaning on the gate, with his dogs round him. "Don't move, MissLambert, " he continued hastily; "stand where you are till I join you. "And as Bessie looked rather surprised at this peremptory speech, hewalked quickly to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. "A friend, Leo. Excuse my unceremoniousness, Miss Lambert, but Leo needs anintroduction;" and at his words a huge mastiff, who had been eyeingBessie in a dubious manner, walked quietly up to her. 

"Will it be safe for me to pat him?" asked Bessie, as she looked at thebig tawny head and heavy jowl of the magnificent beast; but the brownsunken eyes had a friendly expression in them. 

"Oh, yes, Leo will be as quiet as a lamb; and what is more, he willnever forget you. You may go within the reach of his chain any day, andhe will behave to you like a gentleman. Leo is an aristocrat, and neverforgets _noblesse oblige_. "

"He is a splendid animal, " returned Bessie; and then she noticed theother dogs. They were all there: Gelert and Brand, and Juno and herpuppies, and Spot and Tim. 

"We have been for a long walk, " observed Richard, as they turned theirfaces homeward. "The dogs have been wild with spirits, and I had somedifficulty with them at first. You see, they make the most of theirweekly holiday. "

"What do you do on a wet Sunday?" asked Bessie curiously. 

"Well, I smoke a pipe with them in the stable, and so give them thepleasure of my company. I do hate disappointing dumb animals, MissLambert--they have their feelings as well as we have, and I think weought to behave handsomely to them. I remember when I was quite a littlefellow my mother taught me that. "

"Your mother!" in some surprise, for somehow Mrs. Sefton never gaveBessie the impression that her relations with Richard were of themotherly sort. 

"Oh, I mean my then mother, " he returned hastily, as though answeringher unspoken thought. "I was very young when she died, but I have neverforgotten her. She was not a lady by birth, you know; only a farmer's oryeoman's daughter, but there is not a lady living who is prettier orsweeter than she was. "

"I am glad you feel like that to your mother, " replied Bessie, in asympathetic voice that seemed to ask for further confidence. 

Richard Sefton had never spoken of his mother to any one before. Whatcould have drawn the beloved name from his lips? Was it this girl'ssoothing presence, or the stillness of the hour and the quiet beauty ofthe scene round him? Richard was impressionable by nature, and possiblyeach of these things influenced him. It was a new pleasure to speak to akindly listener of the memories that lay hidden in his faithful heart. 

"Yes, and yet I was a mere child when I lost her, " he went on, andthere was a moved look on his face; "but I remember her as plainly as Isee you now. She was so young and pretty--every one said so. I rememberonce, when I was lying in my little cot one night, too hot and feverishto sleep, that she came up to me in her white gown--it was made of someshining stuff, silk or satin--and she had a sparkling cross on her neck. I remember how it flashed in my eyes as she stooped to kiss me, and howshe carried me to the window to look at the stars. 'Are they not bright, Ritchie?' she said; 'and beyond there is the great beautiful heaven, where my little boy will go some day;' and then she stood rocking me inher arms. I heard her say plainly, 'Oh, that I and my little child werethere now!' And as she spoke something wet fell on my face. I have heardsince that she was not happy--not as happy as she ought to have been, poor mother!"

"And is that all you can remember?" asked Bessie gently. 

"Oh, no; I have many vague recollections of making daisy chains with mymother on the lawn; of a great yellow cowslip ball flung to me in theorchard; of a Sunday afternoon, when some pictures of Samuel, and Davidand Goliath, were shown me; and many other little incidents. Children doremember, whatever grown-up people say. "

"I think it would be terrible to lose one's mother, especially when oneis a child, " observed Bessie, in a feeling voice. 

"I have found it so, I assure you, " replied Richard gravely. "Mystepmother was young, and did not understand children--boys especially. I seemed somewhat in the way to every one but my father. A lonelychildhood is a sad thing; no success nor happiness in after life seemsto make up for it. "

"I understand what you mean; father always says children claim happinessas a right. "

"It is most certainly their prerogative; but I fear I am boring you withmy reminiscences. "

"Not at all; you are giving me a great pleasure, Mr. Sefton. I do likeknowing about people--their real selves, I mean, not their outside; itis so much more interesting than any book. I think, as a rule, peopleshut themselves up too much, and so they exclude light and sympathy. "

"One longs for sympathy sometimes, " said Richard; but he turned away hisface as he spoke. 

"Yes; every one needs it, and most of us get it, " replied Bessie, feeling very sorry for the young man in her heart. He was too manly andtoo generous to complain openly of his stepmother's treatment, butBessie understood it all as well as though he had spoken. 

"In a large family there is no complaint to be made on this score. WhenI have a grievance there is always mother or Hatty, or Christine andfather. We take all our big things to father. Oh, at home, no one isleft out in the cold. "

"I think your home must be a happy one, Miss Lambert--but here we are atThe Grange. I must bid you good-bye for the present, for I have anerrand in the village. "

But Richard did not explain that his errand was to sit with a crippledlad, whose life of suffering debarred him from all pleasure. If therewere one person in the world whom Bob Rollton adored it was "the youngsquire. "

"He is a real gentleman, he is, " Bob would say; "and not one of yourmake-believe gentry. It is all along of him and Spot and the little 'un, Tim, that I don't hate Sundays; but he comes reg'lar, does the squire;and he brings some rare good books with him; and Tim curls himself up onmy blanket, and Spot sits on the window-sill, making believe to listen, and we have a good old time. "

Other people beside Bob could have cited instances of the young squire'sthoughtfulness and active benevolence; but Richard Sefton was one whodid good by stealth, and almost as though he were ashamed of it, andneither his stepmother nor Edna guessed how much he was beloved in thevillage. 

Mrs. Sefton was one of those people who never believed in virtue, unlessit had the special hall-mark that conventionality stamps upon it, andRichard's simple charities, his small self-denials, would have appeareddespicable in her eyes. She herself gave largely to the poor atChristmas; blankets and clothing by the bale found their way to the EastEnd. The vicar of Melton called her "The benevolent Mrs. Sefton, " butshe and Edna never entered a cottage, never sat beside a sick bed, norsmoothed a dying pillow. Edna would have been horrified at such asuggestion. What had her bright youth to do with disease, dirt andmisery? "Don't tell me about it, " was her usual cry, when any onevolunteered to relate some piteous story. That such things should beallowed in a world governed by a merciful Providence was incredible, terrible, but that she should be brought into contact with it was anoffence to her ladylike judgment. 

Many a girl has thought like Edna Sefton, and yet a royal princess couldenter a squalid cottage, and take the starving babe to her bosom; andfrom that day to this Princess Alice has been a type of lovingwomanhood. 

Edna had not returned from the Athertons when Bessie entered the house, so she went alone to the evening service. As the service was athalf-past six, an informal meal was served at a quarter past eight, toallow the servants to attend church. Bessie was rather surprised at thismark of thoughtfulness, but she found out afterward that Richard hadinduced his stepmother, with some difficulty, to give up the ceremoniouslate dinner. She urged as an objection that neither she nor Edna everattended the evening service; but he overruled this, and carried hispoint. 

Just before service commenced, Bessie was surprised to see him enter thechurch. She had no idea that he would come, but he told her afterwardthat it was his usual practice. 

Just as they were starting for the homeward walk they were joined by acousin of the Athertons. Bessie had seen her the previous day. She was afair, interesting-looking girl, dressed in deep mourning. Her name wasGrace Donnerton. Richard seemed to know her well. He had evidentlywaited for her to overtake them, and they all walked on happilytogether. 

Bessie was much taken with her. She was the daughter of a clergyman, whohad a large parish in Leeds, and she interested Bessie very much in heraccount of her own and her sister's work. They had lately lost theirmother, and it was surprising to hear of the way in which these youngcreatures helped their father in his good work. 

"When any one is ill, we generally help in nursing them, " Grace hadsaid, quite simply. "There are so many of us that we can easily bespared, and we are so fond of our poor people. We have all attendedambulance lectures, and Lizzie, that is my eldest sister, is nowtraining for a year at a hospital. She is very strong, and so fond ofnursing, and she hopes to be very useful when she comes home. There arefive of us, and we take turns in being papa's housekeeper. Emma, who isvery clever, manages the mother's meeting, and the rest of us dodistrict work. "

Bessie was so interested by all this that she was sorry when the walkdrew to a close. After they had said good-bye to Miss Donnerton, Bessiesaid "What a nice girl! I am sure I should like to know more of her. "

"Yes; I knew she would be your sort; that is why I waited for her, "replied Richard, as he opened the gate. 

Bessie wondered over this speech as she ran up to her room. "My sort!what could he have meant by that?" she said to herself. "I only wish Iwere like Miss Donnerton, for I am sure she is sweet and good. Well, ithas been a lovely day. I have not wished myself at home once. Now I mustdevote myself to Edna. "

Edna looked a little tired and bored, and Bessie did not find it easyto interest her. She appeared to be quite indifferent to MissDonnerton's merits. 

"Oh, Grace! so you like her, do you? Well, I must confess she is toogood for me. I never found her say anything interesting yet, but then Idid not talk to her about poor people, " and Edna sneered slightly in aladylike way. "I think all the girls were relieved when she went tochurch, for we could not get her to talk about anything. "

Yes, Edna was decidedly impracticable that evening. She would not beinduced to play or sing; she was not in the humor for sacred music; no, she did not want to read; and everything was slow and stupid. 

Bessie coaxed her into the garden at last, and the soft evening airrefreshed her in spite of herself. 

"Don't you ever feel _ennuyée_ and horrid?" she asked, in a sort ofapologetic manner, presently. 

"Oh, yes, I suppose so; at least, I don't quite know what you mean, "returned Bessie; but she was not thinking of the question. The starswere glittering overhead, and Richard Sefton's words recurred to her. How clearly she could see it all! The little lonely boy in his cot, theyoung mother coming up to soothe him. She could picture her so plainlyin the white shining gown and the sparkling cross, with the tearsfalling on the child's face. "Oh, that I and my little child were therenow!" Oh, how sad it all sounded; and she had gone, and not taken theboy with her. "Poor Mr. Sefton!" thought Bessie, as she recalled thesad, quiet tones and the moved look on Richard's face. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

WHITEFOOT IN REQUISITION. 

Three days after this Bessie wrote the following letter--it wascommenced on Wednesday, and finished on Thursday morning:

 "MY DEAR LITTLE HATTIE: It is your turn for a regular long letter, as I have already written to mother and Christine. I don't write to father because he is so busy, and letters bother him; but you must tell him all the news. You cannot think how Edna laughs at my correspondence; she always says it is such waste of time; but you and I know better than that. It is just the one thing that I can do for you all, now that I am away, and I am not so selfish that I grudge an hour in the day. I know how disappointed one face looks when there is no letter from Bessie in the morning, and so I lay down my book and scribble away as I am doing now. 

 "I am having a lovely time. I do not think I have ever played so much in my life before. It is such a new thing, and yet it is rather nice, too, to hear Edna say in the morning, 'Now, what shall we do to-day?' as though one's whole duty were to amuse one's self. Father always says, 'Whatever you do, do it thoroughly, ' and I am carrying out his maxim to the letter, for I do nothing but enjoy myself, and I do it thoroughly. On Monday I finished my letter to Crissy before breakfast, and afterward, as Edna was busy, I spent a long morning reading 'The Village on the Cliff. ' I have finished it now, and think it lovely. I do enjoy these mornings in the garden; but I must not read too many stories, only Edna says I shall like 'Old Kensington, ' and I must indulge myself with that. I assure you we make quite a picture. Mac lies at my feet, and Spot generally curls himself up on my lap. Tim prefers lying on the lawn and keeping an eye upon the kitten. She is such a droll little creature, and her antics quite distract me. 

 "Well, I had this delicious morning to myself, and in the afternoon we played tennis at the Athertons'. There were no visitors, but we girls played by ourselves, and I had a long talk with Grace Donnerton. I liked her better than ever; but just as she was talking to me about her sister's hospital, Maud Atherton disturbed us by telling us tea was ready. 

 "The next morning Edna drove me over to Kimberley--such a lovely drive; and the ponies were so frisky and went so well. We called at a beautiful old house, called Kimberley Hall--I never saw such a place--and had luncheon there. Mrs. Blondell, our hostess, is such a dear old lady, with pretty white curls, and such a sweet old face. Her husband is such a handsome old man; but he is quite deaf, and no one seems to make him hear anything except his wife, and she goes up and speaks to him in a low, distinct voice, and tells him things, and he brightens up at once. He is such a courtly old man, and pays little old-fashioned compliments. He took Edna's hand and said, 'We do not often see a pretty young face, my dear, but it is a very pleasant sight. I remember your mother when she was a girl, and a fine, handsome creature she was. I think her daughter does her credit, eh, Dolly?' And Dolly--that is the dear old lady's name--put her pretty old hand on his arm, and said, 'She does indeed, Rupert, and she has got a look of our Maisie about her;' and then they looked at each other in such a way. 

 "Edna explained it to me as we drove home. She said they had one child, a beautiful girl, who lived until she was seventeen, and then died of some wasting disease. She had been dead fifteen years, but the old couple had never got over her loss. 'I am there often, ' Edna went on, 'but I have never once been without hearing Maisie's name mentioned; they are always talking about her. One day Mrs. Blondell took me upstairs and showed me all her things. There were her little gowns, most of them white, folded in the big wardrobe. 'She was to have worn this at her first ball, ' said the poor woman, pulling down a lace dress; it looked quite fresh somehow, only the satin slip was a trifle discolored. There were the shoes, and the silk stockings, and a case of pearls, and the long gloves. 'She would have looked lovely in it, ' she went on, smoothing out the folds with her tremulous fingers. 'Rupert says she would have made hearts ache. Thank you my dear, you are very kind, ' for I could not help hugging the dear old thing. It made me cry, too, to hear her. 'I go there very often because they like to see me; they will have it I am like Maisie, but I am not half so pretty. ' And Edna laughed, though her eyes were moist, and touched up Jill rather smartly. 

 "We had some people to dinner that evening, so Edna made me put on my Indian muslin, which she said looked very nice. She wore a soft white silk herself, which suited her admirably. She has some beautiful dresses which she showed me; she says her mother thinks nothing too good for her, and showers presents on her. She gets tired of her dresses before they are half worn out. I was half afraid she was going to offer me one, for she looked at me rather wistfully, but I made a pretext to leave the room. I enjoyed myself very much that evening. The curate took me in to dinner, and I found him very clever and amusing, and he talked so much that, though I was very hungry, I could hardly get enough to eat; but Edna, who declared that she had had no dinner either, brought me up a great plate of cake when we went to bed. Edna sang beautifully that evening, and the curate--his name is Horton--sung too, and Florence Atherton brought her violin. I had never heard a lady play the violin before, but Edna tells me I am old-fashioned, and that it is all the rage at present, and certainly Miss Atherton played extremely well. 

 "Good-bye for the present, dear Hatty; I will add more to-morrow. This is a sort of journal, you know, not a letter, and I shall write a little bit each day. 

 "'Do be nice and lengthy, ' you said, and I am sure I am carrying out your wish. "

 "Thursday morning. 

 "Well, here I am again sitting at my writing-table, pen in hand, and 'the top of the morning to ye, darlint, ' as Biddy used to say; but my Hatty will be still asleep, I know, as she is not one of the strong ones, poor little Hatty! Such a wonderful thing happened to me yesterday--I actually had a riding-lesson. Do tell father that, for he knows how I used to envy Tom when Colonel Miles gave him a mount. It happened in this way. Edna was talking at breakfast time about her ride in the Row, and Mr. Sefton said suddenly, 'How would you like to learn to ride, Miss Lambert?' and not thinking he meant anything by the question, I said, 'I should like it of all things. I do long for a good gallop. '

 "'Oh, you must not gallop before you trot, ' he returned, quite seriously; 'Edna, if you still have your old habit by you, I don't see why I should not give Miss Lambert a lesson. Old Whitefoot is doing nothing for her living. '

 "Well--would you believe it?--he was quite in earnest, and Edna, who is very good-natured, seemed to think it a good bit of fun, for she jumped up from the table and told her brother to bring Whitefoot round in half an hour; and then she made me go upstairs with her and put on a beautiful blue habit, which seemed to me quite new; but she said she had a much better one made for her last season. It fitted me tolerably, and only required a little alteration to be perfect--and I assure you I hardly knew myself in it, I looked so nice; but a dark habit is always so becoming. Edna looks like a picture in hers. 

 "Well, when we went downstairs, there was Whitefoot--such a pretty brown mare--with Mr. Sefton standing beside her, and Brown Bess was being brought round from the stable. I was just a little nervous at first, but Mr. Sefton was very kind and patient; he taught me how to gather up my reins, and how to hold myself; and he would not mount for some time, but walked beside me for a little distance, telling me things, and when he saw I felt less strange he jumped on Brown Bess, and we had a canter together. 

 "My dear Hatty, it was just delicious! I never felt happier in my life. But Mr. Sefton would not let me ride long; he said I should be very stiff at first, and that we should have a longer ride to-morrow, when Edna would be with us; and of course I had to submit. 

 "I was far too lazy to play tennis that afternoon, so Edna made me get into the hammock, and I had a nice, quiet time with my book, while she and the Athertons had their usual games, and bye and bye Grace Donnerton came and sat by me, and we had another nice talk. 

 "The next morning Edna said she would ride with us, so Mr. Sefton ordered the horses directly after breakfast, and we had a glorious ride for more than two hours. I found trotting rather difficult at first, but Mr. Sefton would not let Edna laugh at my awkwardness, and he encouraged me by telling me that I should soon ride well, and after that I did not mind a bit. Edna really rides perfectly; it was a pleasure to watch her. Once she left us and had a tearing gallop by herself over the common. The other horses got excited and wanted to gallop too, but Mr. Sefton held Whitefoot's reins, and managed to quiet them both with some difficulty. I thought Edna looked lovely as she rode back to us; she had such a beautiful color, and her eyes looked so bright I don't wonder people admire her so. 

 "Edna was going to an archery meeting that afternoon with the Athertons, but as there was no room for me in their wagonette, I stayed at home quietly with Mrs. Sefton, and managed to make myself useful, for several people called, and I had to make tea and help entertain them; but I got a quiet hour in my favorite garden seat. Edna brought Florence and Maud Atherton back to dinner, and we had a very merry evening, playing all sorts of games. Mr. Sefton came into the drawing-room for a little while, but he did not stay long. I think the girls quizzed him, and made him uncomfortable. It is such a pity that he is not more at his ease in society; people think he is stupid and cannot talk, but he is really very intelligent, and knows a great deal about a good many subjects. There is to be no ride to-morrow. Mrs. Sefton is going up to town on business, and Edna is to accompany her to the station, for, although Mr. Sefton suggested that I should go out with him for an hour, I could see that they did not second it. 

 "Now, darling, I have told you everything, and I think you will own that I am having a good time. I hope all this pleasure is not spoiling me, but I think of you all as much as ever, and especially of my Hatty. Are you very dull without me, dear? And how do you sleep? Write and tell me everything--how mother looks, and what Tom said in his last letter, and if father is busy. And if any of you want me very badly, you must say so, and I will come home at once, though I do want some more rides, and Edna has promised to drive me over to Kimberley again. But there is the gong, and I must run down to breakfast. Good-bye, my dearest Hatty. 

 "Your loving "BESSIE. "

Bessie had written out of the fullness of her girlish content. Shewanted to share her pleasure with Hatty. Happiness did not make herselfish, nor did new scenes and varied experiences shut out homememories, for Bessie was not one of those feeble natures who are carriedout of themselves by every change of circumstances, neither had she thechameleon-like character that develops new tendencies under newinfluences; at The Grange she was just the same simple, kindly BessieLambert as she had been at Cliffe. 

After all, she was not disappointed of her ride. Jennings, the groom, had a commission to do at Leigh, and Richard proposed to his stepmotherthat Bessie should ride over there too. Jennings was an old servant, andvery trusty and reliable, and she might be safely put in his charge. Tothis Mrs. Sefton made no objection, and Bessie had a delightful morning, and made good progress under Jennings' respectful hints. Bessie had justtaken off her habit, and was preparing for luncheon, when Edna enteredthe room. 

"What dress are you going to wear this afternoon, Bessie?" she askedrather abruptly, and her manner was a little off-hand. "I shall be inwhite, of course, and I shall wear my gray dust cloak for the roads, but----"

"What dress!" returned Bessie, rather puzzled at the question; she washot and tired from her long ride, and had been looking forward to anafternoon of delicious idleness. "Is any one coming? I mean, are wegoing anywhere?"

"Why, of course, " replied Edna impatiently, and she did not seem in thebest of tempers; "it is Thursday, is it not? and we are engaged for thepolo match. You must make haste and finish dressing, for we must startdirectly after luncheon. "

"Do you mean that Mr. Sefton is going to drive us over to Staplehurst, after all?" asked Bessie, feeling very much astonished at Richard'schange of plan; he had not even spoken on the subject at breakfast-time, but he must have arranged it afterward. 

"Richard!" rather contemptuously. "Richard is by this time lunching atthe Fordham Inn, with half a dozen stupid farmers. Have you forgottenthat he flatly refused to drive us at all? Oh, I have not forgotten hislecture, I assure you, though it does not seem to have made muchimpression on you. Well, why are you looking at me with such big eyes, Bessie, as though you found it difficult to understand me?"

"Because I don't understand you Edna, " replied Bessie frankly. "You knowboth your mother and brother objected to Captain Grant's invitation; youcannot surely intend to go in opposition to their wishes. "

"Their wishes! I suppose you mean Richard's wish, for mamma never openedher lips on the subject; she just listened to Richard's tirade. "

"But she did not contradict him; and surely you must have seen from herface that she agreed with every word. " Bessie did not dare to add thatMrs. Sefton had expressed her strong disapproval of Captain Grant toher. "She was looking at you so anxiously all the time. "

"Oh, that is only mamma's fussiness. Of course I know she does not wantme to go. I don't mean to pretend that I am not aware of that, but mammaknows that I generally have my own way in this sort of thing, and shedid not actually forbid it. "

"Oh, Edna! what can that matter when you know her real wishes?"

"My dear, don't preach; your words will not influence me in the least. Itold Richard, before mamma, that I should go, and I mean to carry out myword. You are a free agent, Bessie; I cannot oblige you to go with me, but as the Athertons are all engaged, I could not get one of them inyour place. "

"But if I say I cannot go, what will you do then?" asked Bessieanxiously. 

"In that case I should go alone, " returned Edna coldly; "but I shouldthink you were unkind to desert me. "

"I should have to bear that, " replied Bessie rather sadly; "it is notwhat you would think of me, but what I ought to do. Oh, Edna, you areplacing me in a very difficult position. I do not know how to act, andthe whole thing distresses me so. Do give it up for my sake, and just toplease me; do Edna, dear. "

"I cannot give it up, " was Edna's answer; "but I will not argue any moreabout it. Make up your mind quickly, Bessie, for there is no time tolose. " And so saying, she left the room, and a moment afterward Bessieheard her ringing for her maid. 

Bessie had never felt more distressed; she was so tired and so perplexedhow to act, that she could almost have cried from worry. "If I go withher, will not Mrs. Sefton and Mr. Richard have a right to be offendedwith me?" she thought. "They will not know that I have tried to turnEdna from her purpose; they do not know me well enough to be sure of mymotives. Edna told him that I wanted to see polo played; they maybelieve that I was willing to go. I cannot bear to put myself in thisposition; and yet, will it be right to let her go alone? Will they notblame me for that, too? Oh, how I wish I could speak to Mr. Sefton; buthe is away. What shall I do? I must decide. It seems such a little thingto pray about, and yet little things bring big consequences. No, I can'tmoralize; I am too worried. Why can I not see the right thing to do atonce?"

Bessie sat and reflected a moment, and then a sudden impulse came toher, and she opened her blotting-case, and wrote a few hurried lines. 

"Dear Mrs. Sefton, " she wrote, "I am so troubled, I hardly know what todo. Edna has just told me that she intends to drive over to Staplehurstafter luncheon to see polo played, and has asked me to accompany her. Icannot induce her to give it up. Please do not think that I have nottried. I know how much you and Mr. Sefton were against it; but I do notthink you would wish me to stay behind. She ought not to go alone. Ifeel you will be less anxious if I go with her. " Bessie dashed off thesefew lines, and then dressed herself hurriedly; but before she had halffinished the gong sounded. 

As she ran downstairs she met Dixon, the butler, coming out of thedining-room, and putting the note in his hand, begged that he would giveit to his mistress directly she returned. 

"Certainly, ma'am, " replied Dixon civilly; and it struck Bessie that helooked at her in an approving manner. He was an old servant, too, andmost likely was accustomed to his young mistress' vagaries. "We expectmy mistress home at six, and I will take care she gets the note, " hecontinued, as he opened the door for her. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

BESSIE SNUBS A HERO. 

"So you are going, after all?" was the only remark made by Edna, as shecaught sight of Bessie's gray gown. "Well, be quick; I have nearlyfinished my luncheon. I thought you were never coming, and there was notime to lose. "

"I will not keep you waiting, " returned Bessie, whose healthy youngappetite failed her for once. "I am not hungry. "

"Nonsense?" said Edna, with restored good-humor. "You will find thismayonnaise excellent. You have had a long ride, and the drive toStaplehurst will take nearly an hour. We shall have a lovely afternoonfor our expedition. "

Edna was chatting in her old lively fashion. She really lookedexquisitely pretty this afternoon, and she seemed to take a delight inher own naughtiness. Her eyes sparkled mischievously every time shelooked at Bessie's grave face. She was as frisky as a young colt who hadjust taken his bit between his teeth and had bolted. Her spirits seemedto rise during her long drive, and she talked and laughed withoutintermission. 

Bessie tried to respond and to make herself agreeable, but her effortsfailed signally. She looked forward to the afternoon as a long martyrdomto be endured; the thought of Mrs. Sefton's and Richard's reproachfulfaces came between her and all enjoyment. Edna took no notice of herunusual gravity; she had gained her end, and obliged Bessie to bear herunwilling company, and so she was satisfied. It was almost a relief toBessie when the drive was over, and they found themselves atStaplehurst. 

Polo was to be played in a large park-like meadow belonging toStaplehurst Hall. As they drove in at the gate, two or three of theofficers who were to play were walking about in their bright silkjerseys, while their ponies followed them, led by their grooms. One cameup at once, and greeted the young ladies. 

"I was on the lookout for you, Miss Sefton, " he observed, with a smilethat he evidently intended to be winning, but which Bessie thought wasextremely disagreeable. "I knew you would not disappoint me, even ifSefton proved obdurate. "

"Richard had some stupid farming engagement, " returned Edna, "so Ibrought Miss Lambert instead. Is your mother on the ground, CaptainGrant?"

"Yes; let me take you to her, " he replied, with alacrity; but it wassome time before Jack and Jill made their way to the central point wherethe ladies were sitting. Several of the officers joined Captain Grant, and there was quite a triumphal procession through the field. Edna satlike a little queen guiding her ponies, and distributing smiles and gayspeeches. Admiration and pleasure were as the breath of life to her; shewas at once peremptory and gracious; she looked down at her escort witha sort of benign amusement. When Captain Grant handed her out of the lowchaise, she made her way through the ladies with the air of a princess. 

A tall, high-colored woman, with dark hair, and dressed in rather badtaste, held out her hand and welcomed her warmly. 

"My dear, I am so glad to see you; Jem told me you were sure to come. Isthis Miss Lambert? Put those chairs closer, Jem. And so your mothercould not come. Never mind; I am used to chaperoning young ladies, though I never had girls of my own. "

Edna answered civilly, but Bessie soon perceived that Mrs. Grant'sconversation was not exactly to her taste. She spoke in a loud voice, and as most of her remarks were about her boy Jem, as she called him, his extraordinary cleverness and good luck at polo, and his merits as ason and officer, it was extremely desirable that they should not beoverheard, but Mrs. Grant seemed quite indifferent to the amused looksof the ladies round her, and her broad, good-natured face beamed withsmiles as Jem made a fine stroke and won the goal. 

"He rides better than any of the men, " she exclaimed proudly. "I'll backmy boy against any of them. Oh, look, Miss Sefton, Singleton has hit theball away--no, Jem is galloping after him, he means to carry it. Yes--no--yes! they are through! Bravo, Jem, bravo!" and Mrs. Grantclapped her hands excitedly. 

In spite of her uneasiness, it was impossible for Bessie not to becomefirst interested and then absorbed in the game, and for a little whileshe forgot all about The Grange. She had never seen polo played before, and she was carried away by the excitement of that fascinating butperilous game; the mad rush of the horses across the grass, the quickstrokes of the players, the magnificent riding, and the ease and gracewith which the officers guided their ponies and leaned over theirsaddles to strike the ball; the breathless moment when young Singletonrode alone with all the others pursuing him wildly; no wonder Bessiefelt enthralled by the novelty of the sight. She uttered a little screamonce when the horses and riders all crushed together in a sort ofconfused melee. 

"Is any one hurt?" she exclaimed in much distress; but Edna and Mrs. Grant only laughed. 

"You must come with me and have some tea, " observed Mrs. Grant, when thematch was over. "My lodgings are just by. "

Edna hesitated for a moment, and Bessie touched her arm. 

"It is already five, " she whispered. "Do you see those dark clouds? Weshall have a thunder-shower soon; I think it would be better to startfor home. "

"And be caught in the rain, " replied Edna, with a shrug. "And we have noumbrellas nor waterproofs. No, Bessie; we must take refuge at Mrs. Grant's until the shower is over. Come along; don't make a fuss. I donot want to go any more than you do, but it is no use getting wetthrough; we cannot help it if we are late for dinner. " And so saying, Edna again joined the talkative Mrs. Grant. 

Bessie said no more, but all her uneasiness returned as she followedEdna. Mrs. Grant had temporary lodgings in the High Street, over alinen-draper's shop. She ushered her young guests into a large untidylooking room with three windows overlooking the street. One or two ofthe other ladies joined them, and one officer after another soon foundtheir way up the steep little staircase, for Mrs. Grant was noted forher hospitality. She called Edna to help her at the tea-table, andBessie seated herself by one of the windows. No one took much notice ofher; her good-natured partner at tennis, Leonard Singleton, was notamong Mrs. Grant's guests. 

Captain Grant brought her some tea, and offered her cake and fruit, buthe soon left her to devote himself exclusively to Miss Sefton. Bessiefelt very dull, and out in the cold, and yet she had no wish to join thegay group round the tea-table. The room felt close and oppressive; thefirst heavy drops were pattering on the window; two or three childrenwere running down the street with a yellow dog barking at their heels. 

"You will get wet; shall I close the window?" observed a voice behindher, and Bessie started and looked round at the tall, solemn-lookingyoung officer who had been introduced to her two hours previously as"Captain Broughton, not of ours, Miss Lambert. "

"Oh, no, I prefer it open, it is so warm, " replied Bessie hastily. 

"Oh, ah, yes! Are you fond of polo?"

"I never saw it played until this afternoon; it is very exciting, but Iam sure it must be dangerous. "

"Nothing to speak of; an accident now and then--man half killed lastThursday, though. "

"Oh, dear, how dreadful!"

The solemn-faced officer relaxed into a smile. 

"Well, he might have been killed outright in battle, don't you know;accidents will happen now and then; it is just luck, you see, and Owenalways is such an unlucky beggar. "

Bessie refuted this with some vivacity. She explained that though itmight be a man's duty to die for his country, it was quite another thingto imperil a valuable life on a mere game; but she could make noimpression on the solemn-faced captain. 

"But it is an uncommonly good game, don't you know, " he persisted; andBessie gave up the point, for Captain Broughton's mind seemed as woodenas his face. 

"It was no good talking to such a man, " she observed to Edna, as theydrove home; "he said 'Don't you know' at the end of every sentence, andseemed so stupid. "

"Are you talking about Captain Broughton?" asked Edna calmly. "My dearDaisy, it is not always wise to judge by appearances. Captain Broughtonis not specially amusing in conversation, but he is a brave fellow. Doyou know, he wears the Victoria Cross for his gallantry in saving awounded soldier; only a private too. Yes; though he was wounded himself, he carried him off the field. He was a village lad--one of his owntenants--who had followed him out to India, and when another ball struckhim he just staggered on. "

"Oh, dear, " groaned Bessie; "this is a punishment to me for judging tooquickly. To think I had the opportunity for the first time in my life oftalking to a hero, and that I called him stupid! This is a case ofentertaining angels unawares. But if one could only know they wereangels. "

Edna only laughed at this; but Bessie found food for uncomfortablereflection all the way home. The rain had ceased at last, but not beforeEdna had grown secretly conscious of the lateness of the hour. It wasnearly seven before the weather allowed them to start, and for the lasthalf hour she had stood at the window quite oblivious of Captain Grant'sentreaties that she would make herself comfortable, and evidently deafto his unmeaning compliments for she answered absently, and with amanner that showed that she was ill at ease. 

The moment the rain ceased, she asked him peremptorily to order herpony-chaise round. 

"Mamma will be getting anxious at this long delay, " she said, so gravelythat Captain Grant dare not disobey her. 

"You will come over next Saturday and see our match with the Hussars, "he pleaded, as she gathered up the reins. 

"Perhaps; but I will not promise, " she returned, with a nod and a smile. "Oh, dear; how tiresome these last two hours have been. You have notenjoyed yourself a bit. Bessie. I am so sorry!"

"Oh, never mind. " returned Bessie wearily, and then they had both beensilent. Neither was in the mood to enjoy the delicious freshness of theevening; that clear shining after the rain that is so indescribable, thewet, gleaming hedges, the little sparkling pools, the vivid green of themeadows; for Edna was feeling the reaction after her excitement; andBessie, tired out with conflicting feelings was thinking regretfully ofher unsatisfactory conversation with Captain Broughton. 

"It serves me right, after all, " she thought penitently. "Father alwayssays that we ought to take trouble to please even the most commonplace, uninteresting person, not to let ourselves be bored by anyone, howeveruncongenial they may be, and of course he is right. I was just fidgetingabout the weather, and how we were to get home, and so I did not try tobe entertaining. " And here Bessie made a mental resolution to be morecharitable in her estimate of people. 

She had no idea that Captain Broughton had said to himself as he lefther, "Nice little girl, no nonsense about her; not a bad sort, after thewomen one sees; can talk to a man without looking for a compliment; likeher better than Miss Sefton. "

Just as the drive was drawing to a close, Bessie roused up from herunwonted depression. They had turned out of the narrow lane, and a widesweep of country lay before them, bathed in the soft tints of thesetting sun. A mass of golden and crimson clouds made the westernheavens glorious, the meadows were transfigured in the yellow radiance, every hedgerow and bush seemed touched by an unearthly finger, a senseof distance, of mystery, of tranquil rest seemed to pervade the world. 

"Oh, Edna, how beautiful! If only one were an artist to try and paintthat. "

"Yes; it is a fine evening, " remarked Edna carelessly. 

"Thank goodness, there is The Grange at last. Yes, there is Richard, evidently on the lookout for us. So I suppose they have finisheddinner. "

"Did you think we were lost?" she asked with a little air of defiance, as her brother came forward and patted the ponies. 

"No, " he said gravely; "I told my mother the rain must have detainedyou. It is a pity you went, Edna. Sinclair has been here two hours. Hecame down in the same train with mother. "

"Neville here!" And Edna's look changed, and she became rather pale. "What has brought him, Richard?"

Richard shrugged his shoulders, and replied that he had not the leastidea. He supposed it was a whim. It was evident that Edna was not toowell pleased at the news. A little hardness came into her face, and shewalked into the house without taking any notice of Bessie. 

As Bessie stood hesitating for a moment in the hall, Richard followedher. He had not even looked at her, and poor Bessie felt sure that hismanner expressed disapproval. 

"Will you not go into the drawing-room, Miss Lambert?"

"Oh, no. Mr. Sinclair is there, is he not? I would rather go upstairsand take off my things. I am very tired. " And here Bessie faltered alittle. 

But to her surprise Richard looked at her very kindly. 

"Of course you are tired. You had that long ride; but Edna would notthink of that. Take off your things quickly and come down to thedining-room. Dixon will have something ready for you. There is somecoffee going into the drawing-room. You will like some?"

"Oh, yes, please, " returned Bessie, touched by this thoughtfulness forher comfort. After all, he could not be angry with her. Perhaps shewould have time to explain, to ask his opinion, to talk out herperplexity. How comfortable that would be! Bessie would not stay tochange her dress, she only smoothed her hair, and ran down. 

Richard was waiting for her, and Dixon had just brought in the coffee. When he had gone out of the room she said eagerly:

"Oh, Mr. Sefton, I am so glad to be able to ask you a question. You werenot vexed with me for going to Staplehurst with your sister?"

"Vexed!" returned Richard, in a tone that set her mind at rest in amoment. "You acted exactly as I expected you to act. When mother showedme your note I only said, 'I never doubted for a moment what MissLambert would do; she would go, of course. '"

"Yes; I only hesitated for a moment; but, oh! what a miserable afternoonit has been!" And as she touched on the various incidents, including her_tête-à-tête_ with Captain Broughton, Richard listened with muchsympathy. 

"I never dreamed for a moment that Edna would go after all, but it wasjust a piece of childish bravado. The foolish girl does not think ofconsequences. It is a most unfortunate thing that Sinclair should turnup at this moment; he is a little stiff on these subjects, and I amafraid that he is terribly annoyed. "

"Did Mrs. Sefton tell him all about it?"

"My mother? No; she would have given worlds to hide it from him. Ednatold him herself that she was going in her last letter. Oh, you don'tknow Edna, " as Bessie looked extremely surprised at this; "her chiefvirtue is truthfulness. She will defy you to your face, and trample onall your prejudices, but she will never hide anything. "

"And she actually told Mr. Sinclair?"

"Yes she did it to tease him, I believe, because his last letter did notplease her. Sinclair has to put up with a good deal, I can tell you, buthe wrote back in a great hurry, begging her not to carry out her plan. Sinclair told us both this evening that he could not have written astronger letter. He told her that he had good reasons for wishing her tosee as little as possible of Captain Grant. And when he came down justto give her a pleasant surprise, as he had a leisure evening, it wasquite a shock to him to find his entreaties had been disregarded, andthat she had actually gone after all. He is excessively hurt, and nowonder, to find Edna has so little respect for his wishes. "

"It was a grievous mistake, " returned Bessie sorrowfully. "I don'tbelieve Edna enjoyed herself one bit. "

"No; it was just a freak of temper, and she chose to be self-willedabout it. I hope she will show herself penitent to Sinclair; she canturn him around her little finger if she likes; but sometimes sheprefers to quarrel with him. I really think Edna enjoys a regular flareup, " finished Richard, laughing. "She says a good quarrel clears the airlike a thunder-storm; but I confess that I don't agree with her. "

CHAPTER XV. 

"SHE WILL NOT COME. "

Bessie did not enter the drawing-room that evening; she felt that herpresence would be decidedly _de trop_ under the circumstances. She madethe pretext of fatigue the reason for retiring to her room early, andRichard accepted the excuse as though he believed in it. 

"Well, I dare say you will be more comfortable, " he agreed. "My motherwill be sure to come up and wish you good-night. Confess now, MissLambert, are you not wishing yourself at home this evening?"

"No; of course not, " replied Bessie briskly. "Have you not promised meanother ride to-morrow?" But all the same, as she went upstairs, shethought a talk with her mother and Hatty would have been very soothing. She was sitting by her window, thinking over things in general, whenthere was a tap at her door, and Mrs. Sefton entered. 

"Richard told me you were tired and had gone up to bed, " she said, morekindly than usual. "I am so sorry, my dear, that you have had such anuncomfortable afternoon. Edna has been very naughty--very naughtyindeed; but Richard and I feel very grateful to you for accompanyingher. "

"I thought it was the right thing to do, Mrs. Sefton. "

"Yes, of course; there was nothing else to be done; but it was a foolishfreak on Edna's part. " Mrs. Sefton spoke in a worried voice, and herface looked tired and harassed. Bessie said as much, and she replied:

"Oh, yes; I am worried enough. I have had a fatiguing day in town, andthen when Neville and I entered the house, expecting a welcome, therewas Richard's moody face and your note to greet us. And now, to makethings worse, Edna chooses to be offended at Neville's coming down inthis way, and declares he meant to be a spy on her. She won't say acivil word to him, and yet it is for him to be displeased; but I thinkhe would waive all that if she would only own that she has actedungenerously to him. I must say Neville is behaving beautifully. Hespeaks as gently as possible; but Edna is in one of her tempers, and shewill not listen to reason. "

"I am sorry, " replied Bessie, looking so full of sympathy that Mrs. Sefton relaxed from her usual cold dignity. 

"Oh, my dear, " she said, and now there were tears in her eyes, "I amafraid it is all my fault. I have indulged Edna too much, and given herher own way in everything; and now she tyrannizes over us all. If I hadonly acted differently. " And here the poor woman sighed. 

Bessie echoed the sigh, but she could think of nothing to say that couldcomfort Mrs. Sefton; she was evidently reaping the effects of her owninjudicious weakness. She had not taught her child to practiceself-discipline and self-control. Her waywardness had been fostered byindulgence, and her temper had become more faulty. "What man is there ofyou, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?" asked theDivine Teacher; and yet there are many parents who offer these stonygifts to their children, loading them with false kindness andindulgence, leaving evil weeds unchecked, and teaching them everythingbut the one thing needful. 

"Oh, how different from mother!" thought Bessie, when she was leftalone, and recalled the time when her young will had been over strong, and there had been difficult points in her character, and yet, howsensibly and how tenderly her mother had dealt with them. 

She had never been blind to one of her children's faults, and up to acertain age it had been her habit on the eve of their birthdays, to talkquietly to them, pointing out their failings and defective habits, andgiving her opinion on the year's improvement. "On a birthday one oughtto begin afresh, " she would say, "and make a new start. " How well Bessiecould remember these talks, and the gentle words of praise thatgenerally closed them. She was almost sorry when she was too grown upfor them, and quiet self-examinations took the place of those fondmaternal admonitions. 

When Bessie joined the family at breakfast she found Mr. Sinclairhelping Edna with the urn. He accosted Bessie with much friendliness, and seemed pleased to see her again. She had been prepossessed with himat their first meeting, and she thought his manner still pleasanter onthis second occasion, and she was struck afresh with his air of quietrefinement. He took part in the conversation with much animation, andtalked more to Richard than to any one else. 

Edna did not appear to have recovered herself; she took very littlenotice of anybody, and received her _fiancé's_ attention ratherungraciously. Bessie thought she looked as though she had not sleptwell; her eyes had a heavy look in them, as though her head ached. Bessie had her ride directly afterward, and as Richard assisted her tomount, Mr. Sinclair stood on the steps and watched them. 

"What are you and Edna going to do with yourselves?" asked Richardpresently. 

Mr. Sinclair smiled. 

"I shall do whatever Edna likes; perhaps she will drive me somewhere;she looks as though the fresh air would do her good. I shall have to goback to town this evening, so I must make the most of my day in thecountry. "

The house was so still when they returned that Bessie thought they hadstarted for the drive, when she ran upstairs to take off her habit. Sheseated herself presently by one of the drawing-room windows with herwork, wondering what everyone was doing. 

Her work interested her, and she was quietly enjoying herself when sheheard quick footsteps in the hall outside, and a moment afterward a doorslammed. 

"They have come back, I suppose, " thought Bessie; and she worked on, until the drawing-room door opened and Mr. Sinclair came in alone. Heseemed surprised to see Bessie, but the next minute he had crossed theroom hastily. 

"Miss Lambert, will you do me a favor? I cannot find Mrs. Sefton, and Ihave no one else to ask. "

"Certainly, " returned Bessie, and she rose at once. 

Mr. Sinclair looked pale and troubled, and his manner was extremelynervous. 

"Then will you be so good as to beg Edna to come down to me for amoment; she has misunderstood--that is, I wish to speak to her--there isa slight misconception. Edna has gone to her own room. "

"I will go at once, " exclaimed Bessie, feeling convinced by his mannerthat something was very wrong. Edna must have quarrelled with him again. She ran upstairs and knocked on Edna's door, but received no answer; itwas not locked, however, and after a moment's hesitation she entered. 

Edna had evidently not heard her; she was standing by the window in herwalking-dress. As Bessie spoke to attract her attention, she turnedround and frowned angrily; something in her face made Bessie breathlesswith apprehension. 

"What do you want?" she asked harshly. 

"Mr. Sinclair sent me, " pleaded Bessie; "he is very anxious to speak toyou; he begs that you will come downstairs. He thinks that there is somemistake. "

"No, there is no mistake, " replied Edna slowly; "you may tell him so forme. "

"Why not tell him yourself, Edna?"

"Because I have had enough of Mr. Sinclair's company this morning. Because nothing would induce me to speak to him again. I thought I hadlocked my door to prevent intrusion; but I suppose I forgot. Please givehim my message that there is no mistake--oh, none at all. "

Bessie hesitated, but another look at Edna's face showed her that anyentreaty at this moment would be in vain, so she went out of the roomwithout another word. 

Mr. Sinclair was standing just where she had left him; he looked at heranxiously. Bessie shook her head. 

"She will not come, " she said sorrowfully. 

"Will not? Did she give no reason--send no message?"

"Only that there was no mistake; she repeated that more than once. Perhaps she will change her mind in a little while. "

But Mr. Sinclair did not seem to hear her. 

"No mistake! Then she meant it--she meant it!" he muttered, and his facebecame quite changed. He had walked to the window, but he came backagain. 

"Thank you, Miss Lambert. I am very much obliged to you, " he said, asthough feeling he had been deficient in politeness; but before she couldreply he had left the room. 

The gong sounded for luncheon directly afterward, but Bessie found thedining-room empty, so she sat down to her work again, and bye and byeDixon brought her a message that his mistress was waiting. Mrs. Seftonwas in the room alone; she motioned Bessie to a seat, and began to carvethe chicken before her. No one else made their appearance; but Mrs. Sefton did not apologize for their absence. She scarcely eat anythingherself, and made no attempt to sustain the conversation. She lookedpreoccupied and troubled, and as soon as the meal was over she beggedBessie to amuse herself, as she had some important business to settle, and left the room. 

Bessie passed a solitary afternoon; but though her book was interestingher attention often wandered. She was sure something was seriouslywrong, and she felt vaguely unhappy on Edna's account. She could notforget Mr. Sinclair's face when she had brought him that message. It wasas though he had received a blow that he scarcely knew how to bear. 

Dixon brought her some tea, and told her that his mistress and Miss Ednawere having theirs in the dressing-room. Later on, as she went indoorsto prepare for dinner, she encountered Richard; he had just driven up tothe door in his dog-cart, and Brand and Gelert were with him. 

"Where is Mr. Sinclair?" she ventured to ask, as he smiled at seeingher. 

"He has gone, " he replied. "I have just driven him to the station. Doyou know where my mother is to be found?"

"I have not seen her since luncheon, " answered Bessie. "I think she iswith Edna. "

"Very likely. I will go and see. " And Richard sprung up the staircasethree steps at a time. Bessie thought he looked tired and worried, too;and to add to the general oppression, a storm seemed gathering, for theair felt unusually still and sultry. 

Edna did not join them at dinner, and the meal was hardly more festivethan the luncheon had been. Mrs. Sefton hardly opened her lips, andRichard only made a few general remarks. 

Bessie expected that her evening would be as solitary as her afternoon, but, rather to her surprise, Mrs. Sefton beckoned her to sit down besideher. 

"My dear, " she said, "you are feeling very uncomfortable, I can see, andyou do not like to ask questions; you think something is the matter, andyou are right. Edna is making us all very unhappy. She has quarrelledwith Neville, and has broken off her engagement with him, and nothingthat Richard or I can say to her will induce her to listen to reason. "

"Oh, Mrs. Sefton, how dreadful!"

"Yes, is it not heart-breaking? Poor Neville! and he is so devoted toher. They were to have been married next spring, but now Edna declaresthat nothing would induce her to marry him. She will have it that he isjealous and monopolizing, and that he distrusts her. Over and over againshe told us both that she would be the slave of no man's caprice. Ofcourse it is all her temper; she is just mad with him because he isalways in the right, and she knows how ungenerously she has acted; butbye and bye she will repent, and break her heart, for she is certainlyfond of him, and then it will be too late. "

"And she has really sent him away?"

"Yes; she told him to go, that she never wanted to see him again; and hehas gone, poor fellow! Richard drove him to the station. He says henever saw a man so terribly cut up, but he told Richard, just at thelast, that perhaps it might prove the best for them in the end, thatthey were not suited to each other, and never had been, but that Ednahad never shown him her temper quite so plainly before. "

"Oh, Mrs. Sefton, how terrible it all seems! Can nothing be done?"

"Nothing, " in a voice of despair. "Richard and I have talked to her forhours, but it is no use. She declares that it is a good thing she andNeville at last understand each other, that she will never repent herdecision, and yet all the time she looks utterly wretched. But she willnot own it; it is just her pride and her temper, " finished the unhappymother, "and I must stand by and see her sacrifice her own happiness, and say nothing. "

"May I go up to her, Mrs. Sefton? Do you think she would care to seeme?"

"I think she will see you now, and it is not good for her to be alone;but you will find her very hard and impracticable. "

"I shall not mind that, if she will only let me be with her a little;but I cannot bear to think of her shut up with only miserable thoughtsto keep her company;" and here Bessie's eyes filled with tears, for shewas very sympathetic and soft-hearted. 

"Then go to her, my dear, and I hope you may do her some good. " AndBessie went at once. 

Just outside the door she met Richard; he was on his way to thedrawing-room. 

"I am going up to Edna, " she said, as he looked at her inquiringly. "Oh, Mr. Sefton, I am so sorry for her! She is making herself and every oneelse miserable. "

"I am more sorry for Sinclair, " he returned, and his face looked verystern as he spoke. "She has treated him abominably. Wait a moment, MissLambert, " as she seemed about to leave him; "there is no hurry, isthere? and I have not spoken to you to-day. Do you think you are wise tomix yourself up in this? My mother is thinking more of Edna than of you, but you will do no good, and only make yourself miserable. Leave Ednaalone to-night, and come and play to me instead. "

"Mr. Sefton, I never thought you could be so selfish. "

He laughed outright as Bessie said this very seriously. 

"Never trust any man; we are all of us selfish. But to tell you thetruth, I was not thinking of my own enjoyment at that minute. I wantedto save you an hour's unpleasantness, but I see you prefer to makeyourself miserable. "

"I think I do in the present instance, " returned Bessie quietly. 

"Very well, have your own way; but if you take my advice, you will notwaste your pity upon Edna. She is flinging away her happiness with hereyes open, just to gratify her temper. You see I can speak plainly, MissLambert, and call things by their right names. Just out of pride andself-will, she is bidding good-bye to one of the best fellows living, and all the time she knows that he is a good fellow. She won't findanother Neville Sinclair, I tell her. "

"No; and it is just because she is doing it herself that I am sorry forher, " replied Bessie. "Please don't keep me, Mr. Sefton; you do notunderstand--how can you? If he had died, if anything else had separatedthem, it would be so much easier to bear, but to do it herself, and thento be so sorry for it afterward--oh, how miserable that must be!" andBessie's voice became a little unsteady as she hastily bade him goodnight. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A NOTE FROM HATTY. 

Bessie knew that she would find Edna in her mother's dressing room--alarge, comfortable room, much used by both mother and daughter when theywere tired or indisposed. Mrs. Sefton generally used it as amorning-room, and it was fitted up somewhat luxuriously. 

Bessie found Edna lying on a couch in her white tea-gown, with a novelin her hand. The pink shade of the lamp threw a rosy glow overeverything, and at first sight Bessie thought she looked much as usual;her first words, too, were said in her ordinary tone. 

"So you have found your way up at last, " she exclaimed, throwing downher book with an air of disgust and weariness; "my head ached thisafternoon, and so mamma thought I had better stay here quietly. "

"Is your head better now?"

"Yes, thanks; only this book is so stupid. I think novels are stupidnowadays; the heroes are so gaudy, and the heroines have not a spark ofspirit. You may talk to me instead, if you like. What have you beendoing with yourself all day?"

Bessie was dumb with amazement. Was this pride or was Edna acting apart, and pretending not to care? She could break her lover's heart oneminute and talk of novels the next. Bessie's simplicity was at fault;she could make nothing of this. 

"Why are you looking at me in that way?" asked Edna fretfully, onreceiving no answer; and as she raised herself on the cushions, Bessiecould see her face more plainly. It looked very pale, and her eyes werepainfully bright, and then she gave a hard little laugh that had nomirth in it. "So mamma or Richard has been talking to you! What atransparent little creature you are, Bessie! You are dreadfully shocked, are you not, that I have sent Neville about his business?"

"Oh, Edna, please don't talk about it in that way. "

"If I talk about it at all it must be in my own way. If Neville thoughtI could not live without him, he finds himself mistaken now. I am notthe sort of girl who could put up with tyranny; other people may submitto be ordered about and treated like a child, but I am not one of them. "

"Edna, surely you consider that you owe a duty to the man you havepromised to marry. "

"I owe him none--I will never owe him any duty. " And here Edna's mannerbecame excited. "It is mamma I ought to obey, and I will not alwaysyield to her; but I have never given Neville the right to lecture andcontrol me; no man shall--no man!" angrily. 

"Edna, how can you bear to part with Mr. Sinclair, when he is so goodand loves you so much?"

"I can bear it very well. I can do without him, " she repliedobstinately; "at least I have regained my liberty, and become my ownmistress. "

"Will that console you for making him miserable? Oh, Edna, if you hadonly seen his face when I gave him your message, I am sure you must haverelented. He has gone away unhappy, and you let him go. "

"Yes, I let him go. How dare he come down here to spy on my movements?Captain Grant, indeed! But it is all of a piece; his jealously isunbearable. I will no longer put up with it. Why do you talk about it, Bessie? You do not know Mr. Neville--Mr. Sinclair, I mean. He is astranger to you; he has given me plenty to bear during our engagement. He has a difficult nature, it does not suit mine; I must be treatedwholly or not at all. "

"Will you not let your mother explain this to him and send for him tocome back?" But Edna drew herself up so haughtily that Bessie did notproceed. 

"I will never call him back, if I wanted him ever so; but I am notlikely to want him, he has made me too miserable. No one shall speak tohim; it is my affair, and no one has any right to meddle. Mamma takeshis part, and Richard, too. Every one is against me, but they cannotinfluence me, " finished Edna proudly. 

"Mrs. Sefton was right; I can do no good, " thought Bessie sorrowfully;"it seems as though some demon of pride has taken possession of thegirl. Mr. Sinclair is nothing to her to-night; she is only conscious ofher own proud, injured feelings. " And Bessie showed her wisdom byceasing to argue the point; she let Edna talk on without checking her, until she had exhausted herself, and then she rose and bade her goodnight. 

Edna seemed taken aback. 

"You are going to leave me, Bessie?"

"Yes, it is very late; and your mother will be coming up directly. I cando you no good; no one could to-night. I shall go and pray for youinstead. "

"You will pray for me! May I ask why?"

"I will not even tell you that to-night; it would be no use, the evilspirits will not let you listen, Edna; they have stopped your ears too;to-night you are in their power, you have placed yourself at theirmercy; no one can help you except One, and you will not even ask Him. "

"You are very incomprehensible, Bessie. "

"Yes, I dare say I seem so, but perhaps one day you may understandbetter. You want us not to think you unhappy, and you are utterlymiserable. I never could pretend things, even when I was a child. Imust say everything out. I think you are unhappy now, and that you willbe more unhappy to-morrow; and when you begin to realize yourunhappiness, you will begin to look for a remedy. Good-night, dear Edna. Don't be angry at my plain speaking, for I really want to do you good. "

Edna made no answer, and yielded her cheek coldly to Bessie's kiss. Ifsomething wet touched her face she took no apparent notice, but Bessiecould not restrain her tears as she left the room. 

"Oh, why, why were people so mad and wicked? How could any one callingherself by the sacred name of Christian suffer herself to beovermastered by these bitter and angry passions? It is just temper; Mrs. Sefton is right, " thought Bessie; and her mind was so oppressed by thethought of Edna's wretchedness that it was long before she could composeherself to sleep. 

But she rose at her usual early hour, and wrote out of the fullness ofher heart to her mother, not mentioning any facts, but relieving heroverwrought feelings by loving words that were very sweet to her mother. 

"I think it is good to go away sometimes from one's belongings, " wroteBessie; "absence makes one realize one's blessings more. I don't think Iever felt more thankful that I had such a mother than last night, whenEdna was talking in a way that troubled me. "

When Bessie went downstairs after finishing her letter, she was muchsurprised to see Edna in her usual place pouring out the coffee. Shelooked a little pale and heavy-eyed; but no one could have detected fromher manner that there was anything much amiss. A slight restlessness, however, an eagerness for occupation and amusement, and a shade ofimpatience when any one opposed her, spoke of inward irritability. Nowand then, too, there was a sharpness in her voice that betrayed nervoustension; but none dared to express sympathy by look or word. Once whenshe announced her intention of joining Bessie and Richard in their ride, and her mother asked her if she were not too tired, she turned on heralmost fiercely. 

"I tired, mamma! What an absurd idea; as though riding ever tired me! Iam not an old woman yet. Bessie, " turning to her, "the Athertons arecoming this afternoon, and I have written to the Powers to join them. Wemust have a good practice, because we have to go to the Badderleys'to-morrow, and Major Sullivan will be my partner; he is our best player, and we have Captain Grant and Mrs. Matchett against us. "

It was so in everything. Edna seemed bent all that day on tiring herselfout. She rode at a pace that morning that left the others far behind, but Richard took no notice; he continued his conversation with Bessie, and left Edna to her own devices. 

In the afternoon she played tennis in the same reckless fashion; onceBessie saw her turn very pale, and put her hand to her side, but thenext minute she was playing again. 

"What spirits Edna is in!" Florence said once. "Really I do not knowwhat we shall all do next spring when she gets married, for she is thelife and soul of everything;" for none of the girls had noticed that thediamond ring was missing on Edna's finger; some brilliant emerald andruby rings had replaced it. 

Edna continued in this unsatisfactory state for weeks and not once didshe open her lips, even to her mother, on the subject of her brokenengagement. Every morning she made her plans for the day. It seemed toBessie as though air and movement were absolutely necessary to her. Whenthe morning ride was over she would arrange to drive her mother orBessie to some given place, and the intervening hours were always spentin tennis or archery. When the evening came she would often lie on thedrawing-room couch in a state of exhaustion, until she compelled herselfto some exertion. 

"Oh, how stupid every one is!" she would say, jumping up in a quick, restless manner. "Ritchie, why don't you think of something amusing todo? Bessie, I hate those dreamy old ballads; do come and play some game. Mamma, " she exclaimed, one evening, "we must have a regular picnic forBessie; she has never been at a large one in her life. We will go toArdley, and Florence shall take her violin, and Dr. Merton his cornet, and we will have a dance on the turf; it will be delightful. "

Well, to please her, they talked of the picnic, and Richardgood-naturedly promised to hire a wagonette for the occasion, but shehad forgotten all about it the next day, and there was to be an archerymeeting in the long meadow instead. 

"Bessie, she is killing herself, " exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, for in thosedays she found Bessie a great comfort. "Do you see how thin she isgetting? And she eats next to nothing; she is losing her strength, andall that exercise is too much for her. The weather is too hot for thosemorning rides. I must speak to Richard. "

"She does not really enjoy them, " replied Bessie; "but I think she feelsbetter when she is in the air, and then it is something to do. Mrs. Sefton, I want to speak to you about something else. I have been herenearly a month, and it is time for me to go home. "

"You are not thinking of leaving us, " interrupted Mrs. Sefton, ingenuine alarm. "I cannot spare you, Bessie; I must write to your father. What would Edna do without you? My dear, I cannot let you go. "

"Hatty is not well, " observed Bessie anxiously. "She always flags in thewarm weather. I don't believe Cliffe really suits her; but father neverlikes to send her away. Christine wrote to me yesterday, and she saidHatty had had one of her old fainting fits, and had been very weak eversince. I cannot be happy in leaving her any longer, though they saynothing about my coming home. "

"But she has your mother and Christine. You are not really wanted, "urged Mrs. Sefton rather selfishly, for she was thinking of her own andEdna's loss, and not of Bessie's anxiety. 

"Hatty always wants me, " returned Bessie firmly. "I think I am more toher than any one else, except mother. I have written to father thismorning to ask what I had better do. I told him that I had had a longholiday, and that I was ready to come home at once if Hatty wanted me. "

"Oh, very well, if you have made your plans, " returned Mrs. Sefton, inrather a chilling manner; but Bessie would not let her proceed. 

"Dear Mrs. Sefton, " she said, much distressed at her obviousdispleasure, "you must not think that I leave you willingly. I have beenso happy here; it has been such a real holiday that I am afraid I am nota bit anxious to go home, but if father thinks it is my duty----"

"Your father is a sensible man. I don't believe he will recall you, anyhow. I will write to him myself, and tell him how anxious we are tokeep you. That will do no harm, eh, Bessie?"

"No, " hesitated the girl; "I dare say he will only think you are all tookind to me. " She did not like to offend her hostess by begging her notto write. Her father knew her well enough; he would not misunderstandher. He knew her love for Hatty would never let pleasure stand in theway if she required her. "All the enjoyments in the world would not keepme from Hatty if she really needed me, and father knows that; we areboth quite safe with him. "

Bessie was perfectly comfortable in her own mind; she was sure of herown motives, and she had implicit faith in her father; but she would nothave been quite so easy if she had known that Mrs. Sefton intended tosend a little note to Hatty as well. It was only a kindly worded note, full of sympathy for Hatty's little ailments, such as any friendlystranger might write; but the closing sentence was terribly damaging toBessie's plans. 

 "Please do not let your father recall Bessie unless it be absolutely necessary. We are all so fond of her, and my poor girl, who is in sad trouble just now, is dependent on her for companionship. Bessie is so happy, too, that it would be cruel to take her away. She is becoming a first-rate horsewoman under my son's tuition, and is very much liked by all our friends; indeed, every one makes much of her. If you can spare her a little longer, I shall be truly grateful, my dear Miss Lambert, for my poor child's sake. "

And then followed a few kindly expressions of goodwill and sympathy. 

Bessie was rather surprised to receive a letter from Christine thefollowing morning, with a little penciled note from Hatty inside. 

"Father was too busy to write, " Christine said. "He had a very anxiouscase on hand, but he hoped Hatty was rather better that day, and hethought they could do without Bessie a little longer, as her friendsseemed to need her so much. He was sorry to hear Miss Sefton had brokenoff her engagement; it was a very serious thing for any young lady todo, and he hoped none of his girls would act so dishonorably to anyman. "

Hatty's note was short and much underlined. 

 "DARLING BESSIE: You are not to come home on my account. Chrissy is very nice, and does everything for me, and I won't have your pleasure spoiled, and Miss Sefton's too, poor thing, just because I was stupid enough to faint. It is only the hot weather--oh, it is so hot and glaring here! Chrissy and I cannot imagine how you can ride and play tennis in such heat; but perhaps it is cooler in the country. Now, remember, I mean what I say, and that I don't want you one bit. At least that is a fib in one way, because I always want my Betty; but I am quite happy to think you are enjoying yourself, and cheering up that poor girl--she must be very miserable. Write to me soon again. I do love your letters. I always keep them under my pillow and read them in the morning. Good-bye, darling; you are my own Betty, you know. 

 "Your loving little "HATTY. "

"I suppose I must stop a week or ten days longer, " thought Bessie, laying down her letters with rather a dissatisfied feeling. "I wishfather could have written, himself, but I dare say he will in a day ortwo. I will try not to fidget. I will wait a little, and then write tomother and tell her how I feel about things. When she understands howdifficult it is for me to get away without giving offense, she will besure to help me, and six weeks are enough to satisfy Mrs. Sefton. "

Bessie spoke of her letters at luncheon-time. Edna heard her withlanguid attention, but Mrs. Sefton was triumphant. 

"I knew they could spare you, Bessie, " she said, with a look ofamusement that made Bessie feel a little small. 

Richard glanced at her without speaking, and then busied himself in hiscarving. But that evening, as Bessie was pausing in the hall to look outat the dark clouds that were scurrying across the sky, she found Richardat her elbow. 

"There is going to be a storm, " he said quietly. "I have been expectingit all day. Edna is always nervous; she hates the thunder. What was thatmy mother was saying at luncheon, Miss Lambert? Surely you do notintend leaving us?"

"Not just yet--not for another week, " returned Bessie, much surprised bythe gravity of his manner. "They will want me at home after that. "

"They will not want you as much as some of us do here, " he returned, with much feeling. "Miss Lambert, do not go unless you are obliged. Mysister needs you, and so--" He broke off abruptly, colored, and finallywished her good-night. 

"I wonder why he did not finish his sentence?" thought Bessieinnocently, as she went up to her room. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

"TROUBLE MAY COME TO ME ONE DAY. "

Bessie had hardly fallen asleep before the storm broke. A peal ofthunder crashing over the house woke her; the next minute a flash oflightning seemed to fill her room with white light. 

"What a terrific clap! It must have woke Edna, " she thought; and just asshe was summoning up resolution to cross the dark passage in search ofher, there was a hasty tap at the door, and Edna entered, fully dressed, and with a candle in her hand. 

"Edna! what does this mean? You have not been to bed at all?" exclaimedBessie, regarding her friend with dismay. Edna's pale, disordered looksexcited her alarm. 

"No, " she returned, in a tone of forced composure, as she put down thecandle with a shaking hand; "I was too nervous to sleep. I knew thestorm was coming, and I sat up and waited for it; but I could not stopby myself any longer. Did I wake you, Bessie?"

"The thunder woke me, and I thought of you. I am not a bit frightened;but one cannot sleep in such a noise. Hark at the rain; a perfectdeluge! Come and lie down beside me, Edna, dear. You look quite wan andexhausted. 

"I have been thinking myself stupid, but I am still too restless to liedown. I feel as though I never want to sleep again, and yet I am sotired. Ah, you don't know the feeling! One seems on wires, and all sortsof horrid, troublesome thoughts keep surging through one's brain, andthere seems no rest, no peace anywhere. " And she shivered, and hid herface on the pillow as another peal broke over the house. 

Bessie did not speak for a minute, and then she said very tenderly:

"Edna, dear, I know all about it. I am quite sure that you aremiserable; I have known it all the time. Pride does not help you a bitnow; in your heart you are sorrowful and repentant. You would give allyou have in the world to bring him back again. "

But Edna silenced her. "Don't, Bessie, you are torturing me. I cannotbear sympathy; it seems to madden me somehow. I want people to think Idon't care--that it is all nothing to me. "

"Ah, but you do care, Edna. "

"Yes, I know I do, " in a despairing voice. "I will own, if you like, that I am very miserable, but you must not take advantage of me. I amweak to-night, and I seem to have no strength to brave it out. Don't behard upon me, Bessie; you have never been in trouble yourself. Youcannot put yourself in my place. "

A great pity rose in Bessie's heart as she listened to Edna's sad voice. "No, " she said gently, "I have never known real trouble, thank God, except when Frank died. Mine has been a very happy life; but trouble maycome to me one day. "

"Yes, but not through your own fault, " replied Edna, in the same drearyhopeless voice. "There is no trouble so hard to bear as that. To thinkthat I might have been so happy, and that my own temper has spoiled itall. Let me tell you all about it, Bessie; it will be a relief, eventhough you cannot help me, for to-night the misery is more than I canbear. " And here she hid her face in her hands, and gave vent to a fewchoking sobs. 

Bessie only answered by a quiet caress or two, and after a few momentsEdna recovered herself. 

"I was unreasonably angry with Neville that day, but I never guessedthat my passion would overmaster me to that extent. Oh, Bessie! why, whywas I never taught to control my temper? Why was my mother so cruellykind to me? If I had been brought up differently--but no, I will onlyreproach myself. If Neville had been more masterful--if he had shownmore spirit; but there again I am ungenerous, for nothing could exceedhis gentleness; but it only exasperated me. I was bent on quarrellingwith him, and I fully succeeded; and I worked myself up to such a pitchthat I almost hated the sight of him. I wanted to be free--I would befree; and I told him so. I was still in the same mind when you broughtme that message, but, all the same, something seemed to whisper to methat I should live to repent that day's work; but I would not listen tothis inward prompting--I would be firm. Bessie, I verily believe someevil spirit dominated me--I felt so cold, so inexorable, so determinedon my own undoing. For one moment I quailed, and that was when I sawNeville drive away from the house. I saw his face, and it looked so paleand sad. Something within me said, 'Call him back, and he will come evennow;' but I was too proud to give the sign. I wanted to do it, but mydemon would not suffer me, and in a moment he was gone. Oh, Bessie, howI suffered that night and the night after! But my pride was strong. Iwould not let people see how unhappy I was. But I want him back now. There is no one in the world like Neville--so gentle, and brave, andgood; but I have lost him, and I deserve to lose him, for I was neverworthy of his love. " And here Edna broke into bitter weeping, and for alittle while there was no comforting her. 

"Oh, how selfish I am!" she exclaimed at last, starting up. "I have onlymade you miserable; and, after all, no one can do me any good. Don'tlook at me so reproachfully, Bessie; you are very dear and good to me, but you cannot put yourself in my place. "

"You are wrong, " returned Bessie quickly. "Though I have never beenthrough your experiences, I can still sympathize with you. If I were inyour position, Edna, I would not speak as you are doing now, as thoughthere were no hope for you, as though everything were only black andmiserable. The Lord Jesus is always able and willing to help all whopenitently and trustfully look to Him for pardon. There are no depths ofhuman suffering deep enough to hide us from His tender sympathy andforgiving love. "

"Oh, but I am not religious, Bessie. I am not good, like you. "

"Please don't talk so, Edna; it only pains me to hear you. Let me tellyou how I think I should try to feel in your place. I would try to bearmy trouble bravely, knowing that it had come through my own fault. If wedo wrong, we must surely take our punishment. Oh, I know it is easy totalk, but all the same this is how I would strive to carry my burden. "

"Ah, but such a burden would crush any girl. "

"You must not let it crush you, Edna. You must not let it lead you todespair. However heavy the burden, and however much we deserve thesuffering which our follies and mistakes and sins bring, there is oneall-sufficient way of deliverance. Jesus, by His death on the cross, hasmade it possible for us to be freely forgiven; and if we come to Him infaith and prayer, the Holy Spirit will lead us into the full experienceof salvation and peace. Your will is very strong; why do you not willthis one thing--to become worthy of the love of a true man like Mr. Sinclair? I do not say that things will be the same between you; I knowtoo little about the world to guess how a man acts under suchcircumstances; but if you care for him really--if indeed he stands sohigh in your estimation as a good man whom you have misunderstood andwronged, then, even if you lead your lives apart, you may still try tolive nobly that he may think of you with respect. You may still let theinfluence of this trial guide you to a higher and better life. Would notthis make things more bearable?"

Bessie's words, spoken with intense earnestness, seemed to stir Edna'smind, rousing it from its bitter apathy of hopeless remorse and grief; afaint light came into her eyes. 

"Do you think I could grow better--that Neville would ever hear of me?Oh, I should like to try. I do so hate myself, Bessie. I seem to growmore selfish and horrid every year. I thought Neville would help me tobe good, but without him----" And here the tears came again. 

"Without him it will be doubly hard. Yes, I know that, Edna dear; butyou must lean on a stronger arm than his--an arm that will never failyou. Cast all your burden upon the loving sympathy and tender heart ofthe Lord Jesus, and He will lead and comfort you. Now you are utterlyexhausted, and the storm is quite lulled; do go back to your room; youwill be able to sleep, and it is nearly three o'clock. "

"And I have kept you awake all this time, " remorsefully. "Well, I willgo; the pain is a little easier to bear now. I will think over yourwords; they seem to have a sort of comfort in them. Yes, I deserve to beunhappy for making Neville so wretched. Good-bye, dear Bessie; you are areal friend to me, for you tell me nothing but the truth. "

Bessie kissed her affectionately, and then Edna left the room; butBessie found it difficult to resume her interrupted dreams; the splashof the raindrops against her windows had a depressing sound, thedarkness was dense and oppressive, a vague sadness seemed to brood overeverything, and it was long before she could quiet herself enough tosleep. Strangely enough, her last waking thoughts were of Hatty, not ofEdna, and she was dreaming about her when the maid came to wake her inthe morning. 

Edna did not come down to breakfast; the storm had disturbed her, Mrs. Sefton said. "I think it must have kept you awake, too, " she observed, with a glance at Bessie's tired face. 

Bessie smiled and said a word or two about the wild night, but she didnot speak of Edna's visit to her room. Afterward she went up to preparefor her ride, but during the next hour Richard noticed she was not inher usual spirits, and questioned her kindly as to the cause of herdepression. Bessie made some trifling excuse; she had slept badly, andher head ached; but in reality she could find no reason for her vaguediscomfort. 

The morning was fresh and lovely, and bore no signs of last night'sstorm. Whitefoot was in frisky spirits, but she found herself looking ateverything with melancholy eyes, as though she were looking her last atthe pleasant prospect. In vain she strove to shake off the uncannyfeeling, and to answer Richard's remarks in her usual sprightly fashion. The very effort to speak brought the tears to her eyes, and she had thevexed feeling that Richard saw them and thought something was amiss, forhe told her very kindly to be sure and rest herself that afternoon. 

Edna was in the front garden when they returned; she was standing at thegate evidently watching for them. Bessie thought she looked very pale. As Richard lifted her down Edna opened the gate. 

"You have had a longer ride than usual, have you not, Richard? Bessielooks very tired. Will you take off your habit, or will you go into thedrawing-room? Your brother has just arrived, Bessie. "

"My brother? Do you mean Tom? Oh, what does he want with me? Hatty mustbe worse. " And here Bessie's numb, unaccountable feelings quickened intolife. "Oh, Edna, speak--what is it?" And then Bessie grew pale withapprehension. 

"Hatty is not very well, " replied Edna gently; "but Mr. Tom will tellyou himself. "

"Yes, go to him, " whispered Richard; "your brother will be your bestinformant; don't wait to ask Edna. "

And Bessie needed no further bidding. Oh, she knew now what that vaguepresentiment meant! That was her last ride--her last everything, shetold herself, as she hurried into the house. Of course, Hatty was ill, very ill--dying perhaps--she always knew she would die. Tom's boyishface looked unusually grave as he caught sight of Bessie. She walked upto him and grasped his arm. 

"What is it, Tom?" she said almost clinging to him. 

Poor Tom was hardly equal to the occasion. He was young, and hatedscenes, and Mrs. Sefton was looking at them both, and he felt uncommonlychoky himself; but Edna, who had followed Bessie, said promptly:

"Don't be afraid of telling Bessie, Mr. Lambert; she knows that Hatty isnot so well. You have come to fetch her--have you not?--because Hattyhad another bad fainting fit, and your father thinks her very ill. "

"That is about it, " blurted out Tom. "Can you get ready and come backwith me, Bessie? Hatty asked for you last night for the first time, andthen father said I had better come and fetch you; so I took the lasttrain to London, and slept at Uncle George's, and came on this morning. "

"And Hatty is very ill?" asked Bessie, with a sort of desperate calmnessthat appeared very ominous to Tom, for he answered nervously:

"Well, she is pretty bad. Father says it is a sudden failure. It is herheart; and he says he always expected it. He never did think well ofHatty, only he would not tell us so--what was the use? he said. But nowthese fainting attacks have made him anxious, for he says one can nevertell what may happen; and then he said you must be fetched at once. "

"I suppose we can start by the next train, Tom?"

"Yes, by the 3:15; there is none before that. We must catch the 6:05from Paddington, so you will have time to look about you. "

"Let me help you, " exclaimed Edna eagerly. "Mamma, will you send Brandonto us?" And she followed Bessie. 

Richard came into the room that moment, and took possession of Tom, carrying him off to the garden and stable-yard, and trying to make thetime pass in a less irksome manner. Richard could show his sympathy forBessie in no other way than this, and he felt sorry for Tom, who wasfeeling awkward among so many strangers, and was trying to repress hisfeelings, after the fashion of young men. 

"I am afraid your sister is very much cut up about this, " observedRichard presently. 

"Oh, yes, she will take it uncommonly badly; she and Hatty are suchchums. "

"Yes, but I trust that your sister is not dangerously ill?"

"Well, she does not seem so to me, " replied Tom vaguely. "She is weak, of course; any one would be weak after such an attack; but she looks andtalks much as usual, only she is too tired to get up. "

"And it is her heart, you say?"

"Well, my father says so. You see, she has always been weakly, but therenever seemed much amiss to us; and now my father says that he neverexpects her to make an old woman, and that there is something wrong withher heart, and he is afraid that she may go off in one of these attacks, and that is why he wants Bessie to come home at once. "

"Yes, I see; it looks very serious. Oh, there is the luncheon-bell. Ihave ordered the carriage round directly afterward, so you will be inplenty of time. "

When the two young men returned to the house they found Bessie in thedining-room. She took her old place by Richard, and made some pretenseof eating. Once, when Richard spoke to her, begging her to remember thelong journey before her, she looked up at him with a faint smile; thatsmile, so gentle and childlike, haunted Richard during the remainder ofthe day. 

Bessie was battling bravely with her feelings all luncheon, and duringthe short interval that elapsed before the carriage was brought roundshe managed to say a few words to Mrs. Sefton, thanking her for all herkindness, and just before she left the house she found an opportunity tospeak to Edna. 

"Edna, " she whispered, holding her friend's hand, "you will not forgetour talk. I shall be thinking of you even when I am with Hatty. " Andthen for the moment she could say no more. 

"Will you come, Miss Lambert?" urged Richard gently. He had followed thegirls, and had overheard this little speech; but Bessie did not heedhim. 

"Will you try to be brave, Edna?" But her voice was almost inaudible. 

"Go with Richard, Bessie, darling; he is waiting for you. " And thenBessie got into the carriage. 

She looked back and waved her hand as they drove away, but this timethere was no smile on her face. Edna was standing on the porch, and theafternoon sun was shining on her face and hair and white dress, and herlarge wistful eyes were full of sadness. Bessie's lip quivered, herheart ached. How beautiful it all was! The world seemed glorified insunshine; every one they met seemed happy, and yet Edna was wretched, and Hatty ill--perhaps dying; and a great black cloud seemed toovershadow everything, a sense of terror and confusion, of utter chaos. "In the midst of life we are in death. " Why did those words come toBessie? Just before the train moved Richard broke the silence. 

"You will let us hear how things are, Miss Lambert?"

"Oh, yes, I will write to Edna. "

"And you will take care of yourself?"

"Yes, thank you. "

"Things maybe better than you expect; one can never tell. " He stoppedand looked earnestly in her face, and she could see that he was verymuch moved. "I wish you could be spared all this, but I know you will doyour best for everybody. I will not tell you now how we shall all missyou; the house will seem very empty when I go back. "

"You have been very good to me, Mr. Sefton; thank you for everything. "

"No one can help being good to you, " he replied gravely. "Good-bye, Godbless you!" The train moved on, and he lifted his hat and stood aside. 

"Oh, how kind every one is!" thought Bessie, as she leaned back wearilyand closed her eyes. Was it all a dream, or was her beautiful holidayreally over? Alas! the dull, aching consciousness told her too trulythat it was sorrowful reality. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

"FAREWELL, NIGHT!"

The journey seemed endless to Bessie, but she restrained her painfulrestlessness for Tom's sake. Tom was very kind after his own fashion; hegot her some tea at Paddington, and was very attentive to her comfort, and every now and then he gave utterance to a few remarks, bidding herkeep up her heart like a brave little woman. 

"'While there is life there is hope, ' you know, Bessie, " he said. "Ithink my father takes too dark a view of the case; but then, you see, Hatty is his own child. I don't believe she is as bad as all that;depend upon it, she will take a good turn yet. "

"Don't let us talk about it, Tom, " pleaded Bessie, with a sick, wretchedfeeling that Tom's boyish testimony was not very reliable. How shewished he would be silent; but in a few minutes he was back again on thesame subject, with another homely axiom for Bessie's comfort. 

But the longest day must have an end, and at last they reached Cliffe. No one met them at the station, but Tom assured her that he neverexpected to be met; he put Bessie into a fly, and again there was needfor patience, as the horse toiled slowly up the steep road. It was longpast nine when they reached the house, and by that time Bessie'soverwrought feelings bordered on nervous irritability. 

The door opened as the fly stopped, and by the hall lamp she saw hermother's face, looking paler and sadder, but her voice was as quiet andgentle as ever. 

"Is that you, Bessie? My dear child, how tired you must be!"

"Oh, mother, mother!" and now Bessie literally fell on her mother's neckand wept. 

Mrs. Lambert seemed to understand all about it; she made her sit down onthe couch, and took off her hat, and smoothed her hair with caressingfingers. 

"You have had a long day, and have been keeping up as well as you could;don't be afraid of giving way a little, now you are with your ownmother, " she said tenderly. 

"Oh, mother, you are such a comfort; but I must not trouble you likethis, and I am keeping you from Hatty. "

"Hattie is asleep, " replied her mother quietly. "Christine is with her;you must come into the dining-room with me, and have something to eatand drink before you go upstairs;" but Bessie detained her "Wait amoment, mother, darling; Tom is there, and I want to speak to you alone. What does father really think of Hatty?"

"He thinks her very ill, " was the sorrowful answer; "it seems a suddenfailure. She was much as usual until the warm weather came, and then oneevening she complained of palpitation and faintness, and the next dayshe seemed very weak, and so it has gone on. Your father says he wasalways afraid there was latent mischief, but I think he hardly expectedit would be like this. There was a consultation this morning, but theysay there is no rallying power, and another attack may carry her off. "

"Oh, mother, if I had only stayed at home!"

"Don't say that, Bessie; you must not even think of it; no care on yourpart could have prevented this. Hatty seemed as well as usual for a weekor two after you left, and none of us suspected anything. You are verygood not to reproach us for not sending for you before, but Hattyprevented us; she would not have your pleasure spoiled, and it was onlylast night that your father looked so grave, and said Tom had betterfetch you. "

"But is there no hope--no hope at all, mother?"

"I dare not ask the question, " and here Mrs. Lambert's eyes filled withtears. "Your father looks so harassed. Dr. Morton said she might go onlike this for a long time, getting weaker and weaker, or it might besudden. Dear little Hatty is so good and patient, and gives us notrouble. Now you must not talk any more, and you must be a good childand take your supper; we all need to keep up our strength. I will leaveTom to take care of you while I go up to Hatty. "

Bessie did as she was told, and Ella and Katie waited on her, and thenshe went up to her own room, and stayed there until Christine came tofetch her. 

"Hattie is awake now, Bessie, and she is asking for you, and mother hasgone downstairs to speak to father. "

"Thank you, Chrissy dear. I will go to her at once;" and Bessie wenthurriedly across the passage. 

Hattie lay on her little bed with her eyes closed. As she opened them asudden sweet smile came over her face, and she held out her arms toBessie. "My own Betty, is it really you?"

"Yes, it is really I, " returned Bessie, trying to speak brightly; butnow her heart sunk as she looked at her sister. There was no need totell her Hatty was very ill; the life was flickering in the feeble body, the mysterious wasting disease had made rapid strides, even in these fewdays. "Oh, Hatty darling, to find you like this! Why--why did you notlet them send for me? You wanted me; I am sure you wanted me. "

"Why, of course I wanted you, " returned Hatty, in a weak, happy voice, "and that is just why I would not let them send. You know how unhappy Ihave always been because of my horrid selfishness, and I did want to begood for once, and I said to myself when Mrs. Sefton's letter came, 'Bessie shall not know how poorly I feel, nor what strange suffocatingfeelings I have sometimes. I won't try to get my own way this time; sheshall be happy a little longer. '"

"Oh, Hatty! as though I cared for any happiness without you!"

"You must not say that, Bessie dear, " replied Hatty, stroking hersister's hand; "and yet it seems nice to hear you say so. Do yourecollect what I used to say--that it would take very little to kill me, because I was so weak? Well, I think it is coming true. "

"Don't talk so, Hatty; I can't bear it. I feel as if I want to lie therein your stead. "

But Hatty shook her head. 

"No, darling, no; that would not do at all. You are so strong and fullof life, and people could not spare you. It does not matter for a weaklylittle creature like myself. I have never been strong enough to enjoyanything. I have just been 'Little Miss Much-Afraid, ' full oftroublesome fears and fancies; but they seem gone somehow. "

"I am so glad, my Hatty; but ought you to talk?"

"Yes, when I feel like this. Oh, I am so comfortable, and it is so niceto have you with me again. What talks we will have! Yes, I don't feellike dying yet. Oh, there's mother, and she is going to send you away. "

"Yes, for to-night, love. Bessie is tired, and it is not good for you totalk so much. Bessie shall be head nurse to-morrow, if she likes, butfather says she is to go to bed now. "

"Very well, mother, " replied Hatty meekly. "Bid me good-night, Bessie. Idon't mean to be selfish ever again. " And as Bessie kissed her withoutspeaking and moved away, she said to herself, "It was Bessie that alwayshelped me to be good; but bye and bye I shall be quite good. Oh, hownice that will be!"

Bessie's life was changed, indeed, from this day. No more thoughtless, merry hours, no more rides and drives and pleasant musical evenings. Herdays were passed in a sick-room, and from hour to hour she seemed onlyto live on Hatty's looks and words. Bessie had for many years been hermother's right hand, and now she shared her watch beside the sick-bed. Her bright, healthy color began to fade from fatigue and anxiety, and itneeded her father's stringent orders to induce her to take needful restand exercise. For the first time in her life Bessie found it difficultto submit, and she had to fight more than one battle with herself beforeshe yielded. More than once her mother remonstrated with her tenderlybut firmly. 

"Bessie dear, " she said once, "this may be a long illness, and it isyour duty to husband your strength most carefully. You are looking palefrom confinement to the house and want of exercise. You know your fatherinsists that Christine should relieve you for two hours in theafternoon. "

"Yes, mother; and of course father is thinking of me; but what does itmatter if I look a little pale? I cannot bear to lose an hour of Hatty'scompany when--when--" but Bessie could not finish her sentence. 

"My dear, the feeling is natural; but don't you think Chrissy likes tohave her to herself sometimes? We all love Hatty; you must rememberthat. "

"Oh, mother, how selfish I am, after all! I see what you mean. I want tomonopolize Hatty, and I grudge her to every one else--even to you andChrissy. I never knew I could be so horrid; but I see even trouble hasits temptations. "

"Indeed it has, Bessie; but I will not have you say such hard thingsabout yourself. You are our dear child, and our greatest comfort, and Ido not know what your father and I would do without you. Don't fret anymore, darling; go out with Katie, and get a little turn in the woods, and come back fresh for the evening work. "

Mrs. Lambert's words were not thrown away. Bessie's sweet, reasonablenature was easily guided; her passionate love for Hatty had blinded herto her own selfishness, but now her eyes were open. The mother's heartwas often touched by the cheerful alacrity with which Bessie would yieldher place to Christine. Even Hatty's plaintive, "Oh, must you go, Bessie?" seemed to make no impression; but how long those two hoursseemed!

Bessie did not forget her friends in her trouble; she sent frequentnotes to Edna, and heard often from her in return. Now and then a kindmessage came from Richard, and every week a hamper filled with farmproduce and fruit and flowers were sent from The Grange. Hatty used torevel in those flowers; she liked to arrange them herself, and would sitpillowed up on her bed or couch, and fill the vases with slow, tremulousfingers. 

"Doesn't the room look lovely?" she would say, in a tone of intensesatisfaction. When her weakness permitted she loved to talk to Bessieabout her friends at The Grange, and was never weary of listening toBessie's descriptions. 

"What a nice man Mr. Richard must be, Betty!" she would say. "I shouldlike to see him. " And she often harped on this theme, and questionedBessie closely on this subject; but often their talk went deeper thanthis. 

One evening, about five weeks after Bessie's return, she was alone withHatty; she had been reading to her, and now Hatty asked her to put downthe book. 

"Yes, it is very nice, but I feel inclined to talk. Come and lie on thebed, Bessie, and let us have one of our old cosy talks. Put your headdown on the pillow beside me. Yes, that is how I mean; isn't thatcomfortable? I always did like you to put your arm round me. How strongand firm your hand feels! Look at the difference. " And Hatty laid herwasted, transparent fingers on Bessie's pink palm. 

"Poor little Hatty?"

"No, I am not poor a bit now. You must not call me that. I don't think Ihave ever been so happy in my life. Every one is so kind to me--evenTom--he never finds fault with me now. "

"We are all so sorry for you. "

"Yes, but you must not be too sorry. Somehow I am glad of this illness, because it makes you all think better of me. You will not remember nowhow cross, and jealous, and selfish I used to be. You will only say, 'Poor little thing, she always wanted to be good, even when she was mostnaughty and troublesome. '"

"Don't, Hatty; I can't bear to hear you!"

"Yes, let me say it, please; it seems to do me good. How often you havehelped me over my difficulties. 'If I could only tell Bessie, ' that waswhat I used to say. I am glad you went away and gave me something tobear. I used to be glad every night when I prayed; it was something todo for you, and something to bear for His sake. " And Hatty dropped hervoice reverently, for she was speaking of the Lord Jesus. 

"Yes, darling, I see what you mean. "

"I am glad that it has not been too easy, and that I have really triedfor once not to be selfish. I don't want to get well, Bessie. I shouldhave all the old, miserable feelings over again. I have been 'LittleMiss Much-Afraid' all my life, and the fears have been a part of me. Doyou recollect what Bunyan said about Much-Afraid? 'She went through theriver singing;' that was because she had left all her fears and troubleson the bank. "

"And you are not afraid to die, Hatty?"

"No, not really afraid. Sometimes in the night, when I lie awake withthat strange oppression, I think how strange it will be without you all, and to have only the angels to talk to me. But I suppose I shall getused to it. I always say that psalm over to myself, and then the queerfeeling leaves me. Don't you know? 'He shall give His angels charge overthee. They shall bear thee up in their hands. ' That verse gives one sucha restful feeling; just as though one were a little child again. "

"Dear Hatty, you will be in that city where 'the inhabitants shall notsay, I am sick, and they that dwell therein shall be forgiven theiriniquity. ' You will be where Jesus is. 

 'Peace, perfect peace with loved ones far away! In Jesus' keeping we are safe--and they. '

It does me good to hear you; but you must not talk any more, your voiceis so weak. Let me repeat one of your favorite hymns, and then perhapsyou will get drowsy. " And then Hatty consented to be silent. 

After all, the end came very suddenly, just when it was least expected. Hatty had seemed better that day; there was a strange flicker of lifeand energy; she had talked much to her mother and Bessie, and had sent aloving, playful message to Tom, who was away from home. 

It had been her father's custom to take the early part of thenight-watch, and then to summon one of the others to relieve him. He hadpersisted in this, in spite of long, laborious days. Hatty was very dearto her father's heart, and he loved those quiet hours beside her. Bessiehad retired to bed early, as it was her turn to be roused, but longbefore the usual hour her mother was beside her. 

"Come, my child, come; do not wait to dress, Hatty is going home fast. "

One startled, non-comprehending look, and then the truth rushed onBessie, and she threw on her dressing-gown and hurried to the sick-room. 

"Going home fast!" nay, she had gone; the last sigh was breathed asBessie crossed the threshold "Thank God, she has not suffered!"murmured her father. Bessie heard him as she flung herself down besideHatty. 

There had been no pain, no struggle; a sudden change, a few short sighs, and Hatty had crossed the river. How peaceful and happy she looked inher last sleep--the sweet, deep sleep that knows no awaking! An innocentsmile seemed to linger on her face. Never more would Hatty mourn overher faults and shortcomings; never more would morbid fears torment andharass her weary mind; never more would she plead for forgiveness, norfalter underneath her life's burden, for, as Maguire says, "To thosedoubting ones earth was a night season of gloom and darkness, and in theborderland they saw the dawn of day; and when the summons comes they areglad to bid farewell to the night that is past, and to welcome with joyand singing the eternal day, whose rising shall know no sunset. "

Many and many a time during that mourning week did Bessie, spent andweary with weeping, recall those words that her darling had uttered, "Idon't want to get well, Bessie; I should have all the old miserablefeelings over again. " And even in her desolation Bessie would not havecalled her back. 

 "My Hatty has gone, " she wrote to Edna, in those first days of her loss. "I shall never see her sweet face again until we meet in Paradise. I shall never hear her loving voice; but for her own sake I cannot wish her back. Her life was not a happy one; no one could make it happy, it was shadowed by physical depression. She had much to bear, and it was not always easy to understand her; it was difficult for her to give expression to the nameless fears, and the strange, morbid feelings that made life so difficult. She loved us all so much, but even her love made her wretched, for a careless word or a thoughtless speech rankled in her mind for days, and it was not easy to extract the sting; she was too sensitive, too highly organized for daily life; she made herself miserable about trifles. I know she could not help it, poor darling, and father says so too. Oh, how I miss her. But God only knows that, and I dare say He will comfort me in His own good time. Mother is ill; she is never strong, and the nursing and grief have broken her down, so we must all think of her. Pray for us all, dear Edna, for these are sorrowful days. I do not forget you, but I seem to look at you through the mist of years; still, I am always your loving friend, "BESSIE. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

"I MUST NOT THINK OF MYSELF. "

Bessie's words to Edna had been strangely prophetical--"Trouble may cometo me one day;" it had come already, in its most crushing form. The bondof sisterhood is very strong; it has peculiar and precious privileges, apart from other relationships; a sort of twinship of sympathy unitesmany sisters who have grown up together. Their thoughts and interestsare seldom apart. All their little pleasures, their minor griefs, youthful hopes, disappointments, are shared with each other. They movetogether through the opening years of their life. Sometimes old agefinds them still together, tottering hand in hand to the grave. Of allher sisters, Bessie could least spare Hatty, and her death left a voidin the girl's life that was very difficult to fill. From the first, Bessie had accepted the responsibility of Hatty. Hatty's peculiartemperament, her bad health and unequal spirits, had set her apart fromthe other members of the family, who were all strong and cheerful andfull of life. 

Bessie had realized this and had made Hatty her special charge and duty;but now there was a gap in her daily life, a sense of emptiness anddesolation. There was no need now to hurry through her morning's taskthat she might sit with Hatty. When she went out, there was no Hatty towatch for her return and listen to all her descriptions of what she hadseen. At night, when Bessie went upstairs, she would creep softly into acertain empty room, which was dearer to her than any other room. Hatty'slittle gowns, her few girlish possessions, were all locked away in thewardrobe; but her Bible and Prayer-book, and her shabby littlewriting-case, lay on the table. Bessie would pull up the blinds, andkneel down by the low bed; she liked to say her prayers in that room. Sometimes as she prayed the sense of her sister's presence would comeover her strongly; she could almost feel the touch of the thin littlehands that had so often toiled in her service. Hatty's large wistfuleyes seemed to look lovingly out of the darkness. "Oh! my Hatty, are younear me?" she would sob; but there was no answer out of the silence. 

Who has not tasted the bitterness of these moments, when the craving forthe loved presence seems insupportable, hardly to be borne? How our poorhuman hearts rebel against the unnatural separation, until the thrillingwords make themselves heard: "He is not the God of the dead, but of theliving. " Oh, yes, of the living! Cease, then, to mourn, poor soul, asone without hope. Somewhere, not here, but in the larger room of apurified existence, your beloved one lives, breathes, nay, thinks ofthee. Be comforted; one day we shall meet them, and the friendship oftime will become the love of eternity. 

Bessie strove hard not to be selfish in her grief. Her mother'sstrength, never very great, had broken down utterly for a time. Bessieknew that this failure of power added to her father's anxiety, and inthe most touching manner she tried to console them both. When she lookedback at these sad days, Bessie owned that she had been marvellouslyhelped and supported. With the day's burden had come daily strength tobear it. 

"I must not think of myself; I must think of father and mother, " shewould say, as she awoke in the morning with that blank sense of loss. "There is nothing to do for Hatty now, but there are others who needme. " And this thought helped her through the day. 

In that busy household there was no time to sit alone and brood. A quietwalk now and then, and that half hour in Hatty's room, was all Bessiecould conscientiously spare. If she stayed away for an hour, Christinecomplained of dullness, and her mother looked sadder on her return. Ella and Katie, too, made constant demands on her time and patience. Christine was very unlike Bessie in temperament. She was a pretty, bright girl, warm-hearted and high-spirited, but she did not possessBessie's contented nature. Christine often found her quiet life irksome. She was inquisitive, restless, eager to see the world. She hadinsatiable curiosity; a love of change, her small girlish ambitions. Shewanted to plume her wings a little--to try them in flights hither andthither. The gay world seemed to her ignorance a land flowing with milkand honey. She had yet to spell the meaning of the words illusion andvanity. Bessie was fond of Christine. She loved all her sisters dearly, but there was less sympathy between them than there had been betweenherself and Hatty. 

Hatty, in spite of her morbid humors and difficult tendencies, had arefined and cultured mind; her chief source of fretfulness was that sheloved the best, and failed to reach it. The very loftiness of herstandard produced despondency akin to despair. 

Hatty's faith was pure, but feeble. She hated everything false and mean. She despised the conventionalities of life, while Bessie laughed atthem. She and Bessie had their ideals, their simple secrets, their crudegirlish notions, that were nevertheless very true and sweet. 

Bessie could make allowances for Hatty's sharp speeches as she watchedher daily struggles with her faulty temper. She could rejoice in Hatty'svictories all the more that she had borne so patiently with herfailures, and there was no abiding sting in her grief now, no remorsefulfeelings for duties undone and opportunities wasted; but with Christinethings were different. 

One Sunday afternoon when Bessie was stealing away for a quiet half hourin Hatty's room, she was surprised to find Christine following her. 

"May I come in too, Bessie?" she said very humbly, and her eyes werefull of tears; "I do so want a little comfort, and I can't talk tomother. I am making myself miserable about Hatty. "

"About our dear Hatty! Oh, Chrissy, what can you mean?" asked Bessiereproachfully. "We can talk here, and perhaps our poor darling may belistening to us. I do love this room; it seems to breathe of Hattysomehow. There, I will open the window. How sweet the air is? and look, how red the leaves are, though it is only the end of September!" Andthen she added, softly: "Hatty has been six weeks in her new home. "

"Oh, how I envy you, Bessie!" sighed Christine, "you can talk and thinkhappily about our dear little Hatty, but with me it is all so different. If I had only been good to her, if she had not made me so impatient ButI cannot help remembering how horrid I used to be. " And here one tearafter another rolled down Christine's pretty, troubled face. 

Bessie's soft heart grew very pitiful. "Dear Chrissy, " she said gently, "there is no need to fret over that now. Hatty was always fond of you, and you of her; she told me that night, when I came home, how kind youhad been to her. There was no one but you to do things, and you weresuch a comfort to her. "

"How could I help being kind to her, when she was so ill, and there wasthe fear of losing her? Somehow, I never thought there was much amisswith Hatty. I could not get it out of my mind that she always made themost of every little ailment, and that it was wrong of you and mother togive in to her. I never thought it would come to this. " And Christinesobbed afresh. 

"Yes, I know what you mean; but, indeed, Chrissy, dear, you need notdistress yourself so. Hatty forgave everything long ago; she was neverone to bear malice--no, her nature was too sweet for that. "

"But I might have made her happier, " persisted Christine. "I need nothave minded her worrying so over every little trifle, but I was alwayslosing patience, and getting vexed with her. I used to wonder at yourbearing with her as you did, and I thought it a mistake to give way toall her humors. I never imagined that she was cross because she wassuffering, but father says all her gloomy fancies and tiresome littleways came from her bad health. "

"I might have made her happier!" That speech went to Bessie's heart. "Listen to me, darling, " she said eagerly; "think rather of how, by yourwaywardness, you have wounded the loving heart of Jesus, and sinnedagainst Him. Let the sense of Hatty's loss send you to him in penitencefor pardon. Nothing can now undo the past; but you can set yourself inthe grace and strength which Jesus gives to do all in your power to makethe lives of those around you happier. I do not want to make you moremiserable, but what you have just said reminds me so of a passage Icopied only the other day out of one of Tom's books; it was written by aman who failed in his own life, but was very gentle and very tolerant ofother people. 'Oh, let us not wait, ' he says, 'to be just, or pitiful, or demonstrative toward those we love, until they or we are struck downby illness, or threatened with death. Life is short, and we have nevertoo much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are travelling thedark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind!' Andthen in another place he says, and that is so true, too, 'Never to tire, never to grow cold; to be patient, sympathetic, tender; to look for thebudding flower and the opening heart, to hope always like God; to lovealways--this is duty. '"

Christine made a despairing gesture. "It is a duty in which I haveutterly failed, " she said bitterly. 

"You think you might have been kinder to Hatty; that is just what Tomsaid of himself the other day. I am afraid many people have these sortof reproachful thoughts when they lose one they love. Everything seemsdifferent, " she continued, in a musing tone; "we see with other eyes. Death seems to throw such a strange, searching light over one's life;big things are dwarfed, and little things come into pre-eminence; ourlooks and words and actions pass in review before us--we see where wehave failed, and our successes do not comfort us. "

"But you, at least, are free from these thoughts, Bessie?"

"Not entirely. There were times when I found Hatty trying, when shedepressed me, and made me impatient. Indeed, Chrissy dear, we mustremember that we are human, and not angels. None of us are free fromblame; we have all failed in our turn. You have never been morbidbefore; try to forget the little everyday frictions, for which Hatty wasto blame as well as you, and only remember how good you were to her inher illness--what a comfort to me as well as to her. 'Chrissy has beensuch a darling, ' Hatty said to me one day. "

After all, Christine was quite willing to be comforted, and presentlyshe dried her eyes. 

"You must let me talk to you sometimes, Bessie, " she said; "it will dome good, because you have such a nice clear way of putting things, andyou never mind trouble. I know I can't take Hatty's place, but if youwill let me do things for you sometimes, and feel that I am a help, forwe are sisters as much as you and Hatty were, and I want to get nearerto you somehow. "

"And so you shall, dear, " replied Bessie, touched by this humility. "Youmust not think that I do not love you because Hatty was so much to me. There is nothing I would not do for you, Chrissy--oh, you may be sure ofthat;" and Bessie kissed her affectionately. 

This conversation made Christine happier, for she was a good-heartedgirl, and her repentance was very real, and it strengthened Bessie inher resolve to do her best for them all. Sorrow is a great test ofcharacter; it makes the selfish more selfish, and hardens the proud, butBessie grew softer under its influence. After all, Edna was right insaying that it was harder to suffer through one's own fault. Anaffliction that comes straight from God's hand (though, in one sense, all trouble is permitted by His providence) wounds, and yet heals at thesame time, and Bessie was to learn this by degrees; and, after all, hercross was wreathed with the soft flowers of hope. 

One morning early in October Bessie had a most unexpected pleasure. Shehad just returned from a long walk, and was on her way to themorning-room in search of her mother, when Christine opened thedrawing-room door and beckoned to her with a very excited face. 

"Do come in, Betty, " she said, in a loud whisper that must have beendistinctly audible inside the room. "What a time you have been! andthere is a friend of yours waiting for you. "

Bessie quickened her steps, feeling somewhat mystified by Christine'smanner, and the next moment she was face to face with Edna. Bessieturned very pale and could hardly speak at first for surprise andemotion; but Edna took her in her arms and kissed her. 

"My dear Bessie, " she said softly; and then she laughed a littlenervously, and it was not the old musical laugh at all--"are you verysurprised to see me? Oh, it was a bright idea of mine. I have beenvisiting those same friends (I had returned from them that day, youknow, when we were snowed up together). Well, when I saw Sheen Valley, all of a sudden the thought popped into my head that I would stop atCliffe, and take a later train; so I telegraphed to mamma, who is inLondon, and now I have a whole hour to spend with you. Is not thatnice?"

"Very nice indeed. I am so glad to see you, Edna; but you are lookingdelicate; you have lost your color. "

"What nonsense!" with a touch of her old impatience. "You are as bad asmamma; she is always finding fault with me. People who live in glasshouses should not throw stones at their neighbors. You do not look likeyourself either, Bessie. "

"Oh, that is different, " and Bessie's lips trembled a little; "I havegone through so much since we parted. I try to take it properly, andevery one helps me, but I think I miss my Hatty more every day. "

"You want a change, " returned Edna kindly, for she was much touched bythe alteration in her friend's looks. 

Bessie had lost her pretty fresh color, and looked pale and subdued inher black dress; her gray eyes had a sad look in them, even her voicehad lost its old cheery tones, and her very movements were quieter; thebright elasticity that had been her charm was missing now, and yet Ednathought she had never looked so sweet. 

"My poor little Daisy, " she continued, "you have a crushed look. Youwant country air to revive you. Will you come to us? Mamma will bedelighted; you are such a favorite of hers; and as for myself, I wantyou more than I can say. "

"Not yet; I could not leave mother yet, " returned Bessie; but a faintcolor stole into her face. No, she could not leave her post, and yet itwould have been nice to see The Grange again, and Richard's friendlyface; he had been so kind to her; and there was Whitefoot, and the deardogs, and the lanes would be full of hips and haws. "No, not yet; but Ishould like to come again one day. "

"Well, well, I will not tease you; bye and bye I will make anotherappeal, but if your mother be not well----" She paused, and thensomething of the old mischief came into her eyes. "You see I amimproving, Bessie; I am not always trying to get my own way; my goodnessmakes mamma quite uneasy. I think she has got it into her head that Ishall die young; all good young people die--in books. No, it was wrongof me to joke, " as a pained look crossed Bessie's face. "Seriously, I amtrying to follow your advice; but, oh! it is such hard work. "

"Dear Edna, do you think I do not see the difference in you?"

"Am I different?" she asked eagerly, and a wistful look came into herlovely eyes. "Richard said the other day how much nicer I was; we arequite friends, Ritchie and I, now, and I won't let mamma be so hard onhim. He was very kind to me when--when--Neville went away; he tells meabout him sometimes, for once or twice he has seen him in London; butjust fancy, Bessie, he never even asked after me. 'Are your peoplewell?' That is all he said; but of course he will never forgive me; menare like that. "

"He may not think that you want to be forgiven, " returned Bessie. 

Edna's color rose. 

"He will never know it, " she said proudly; but the next moment her tonechanged. "Oh, Bessie, what shall I do? Sometimes I am so miserable thatI hardly know how I am to go on living. I never thought I should missNeville like this, but I do--I do. "

"Do not think me unkind if I say that I rejoice to hear it; it proveshow deep and real your affection was. "

"It was the only real part of me, " was the reply. "Now it is toolate, I have discovered it for myself. I never would let myselfthink seriously of my engagement. I liked Neville, and I meant tomarry him one day, and that was all I thought about it; but now Isee that the real feeling was there all the time, only choked upwith rubbish, and I am quite sure that I could never care for anyone else in the same way--never--never. "

"Poor Edna! it is very hard, and I am so sorry for you. "

But as Bessie spoke Christine came back into the room with a small trayof refreshments, and her mother followed, so she and Edna were obligedto break off the conversation. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"BESSIE'S SECOND FLITTING. "

Just before Edna left them Dr. Lambert came into the room. He seemedvery pleased to see her, and at once offered to drive her to thestation. Bessie was a little disappointed at this, for she had hoped towalk down with her friend; it would have given them time to finish theirconversation; but Edna certainly looked tired, so she refrained from adissenting word. 

Edna bade her good-bye very affectionately, and begged her to write toher frequently, and just before they reached the station she said a wordor two to Dr. Lambert; would he spare Bessie to them bye and bye--notnow, but a little later--for Oatlands was pleasant even in the winter?

"Yes, bye and bye, " he returned hastily; "but her mother cannot sparethe girl now; she is not well; her strength has flagged since Hatty'sdeath, and Bessie is mother's crutch; but later on you shall have her;and indeed she looks pale, and in need of change, and I shall bethankful to let her go. " And when he reached the home he told them allof Edna's invitation to Bessie, and how he had answered her. 

Mrs. Lambert looked wistfully at her daughter. 

"You would like to go, Bessie; it would do you good, and indeed I amgrowing stronger every day. I would spare you willingly. "

"No, mother, I am not going to leave you just now. Why, you have notbeen down yet to breakfast. When you are quite well and strong I willthink of it. " And Bessie looked tenderly at her mother's thin, fadedface. 

Perhaps it was not quite so thin as it was, not so pinched and anxious, but there was plenty of room for improvement; and though Mrs. Lambertsighed, she could not conscientiously own that she was well. But whenshe was alone with her husband, she spoke to him about Bessie's looks. 

"She is not like the same girl, " she said sadly. "She feels darlingHatty's loss more than the others. What does it matter about me, Herbert? A mother must think of her children before herself. "

"Perhaps so, " he replied rather dryly, "but it is my duty to think firstof you, my dear Dora. We both love our children, and would willingly doour best for them. I am not blind to Bessie's looks; but she is reallystrong, and her health will not suffer. "

"No; but the change will do her good, " she pleaded. 

"I do not doubt it, and I wish you were strong enough to spare her; butBessie is young enough to wait a little. It is we who are growing old, my dear, and who need to be comforted quickly; the young have their lifebefore them. "

But though the doctor expressed himself after this stoical fashion, hewas very tender in his manner to Bessie, and though he would not haveavowed it to his wife, he watched the girl narrowly, and often took herfor drives, or contrived errands for her at the other end of the town. Nay, more, he became extravagant, and brought home books for her andChristine, bidding them improve their minds, and Bessie found herselfthe possessor of several nice books, not wholly instructive--for "LornaDoone, " and Miss Austen's "Emma, " and "A Sister's Story, " by Mrs. Craven, were among them. 

Bessie had other little surprises that pleased her greatly; every weekor two a hamper came from Oatlands--new-laid eggs and cream, a chickenor two, and often a brace of partridges or a pheasant. Bessie, who washousekeeper, used to rejoice over the contents of these hampers; sheknew the game would tempt her mother's sickly appetite. Many of Dr. Lambert's patients remembered that he had an invalid wife, and fruit andflowers and all sorts of delicacies found their way to the doctor'shouse, for the Lamberts were much respected in Cliffe, and even the poorpeople would step up with a couple of new-laid eggs from a speckledhen, or a pot of blackberry-jam, or a bottle of elderberry wine for Mrs. Lambert. 

"The world is very full of nice people, " observed Bessie one day, when, near Christmas, she looked at the larder shelves fairly laden with goodthings. One kind friend had sent them a barrel of oysters. AuntCharlotte's contribution had been a stock of apples that would last themhalf through the winter. 

The hamper from Oatlands had been unusually rich, for a turkey, and agreat fat goose dangled from the ceiling, and Edna had added a rich cakeand a packet of bonbons and chocolate for Ella and Katie. But the letterthat accompanied it had made Bessie somewhat anxious. Edna had a cold, asevere cold, for she could not shake it off, and her mother had decidedto take her to Brighton for a month or two. The doctor had recommendedHastings or Bournemouth as being warmer, but Edna had a fancy forBrighton, so her mother had taken a suite of rooms in the GlenyanMansions--a big drawing-room overlooking King's Road and the sea, and asmall dining-room leading out of it. 

 "And we have four bedrooms, " wrote Edna, "for Richard proposes to run down for a night or two now and then, and mamma suggests an invitation to you. Do you think you could come, Bessie--that your mother could spare you? We are going on the third of January, and want you to join us a few days afterward. Do try, there's a dear! My cold has made me so weak and miserable, and the cough will not let me sleep properly at night, so of course my life is not very pleasant. It will be such a comfort to have you, for I never can talk to mamma; she frets herself into a fuss over everything, and that makes me, oh, so impatient, I should like to jump into the sea! But you are such a patient, reasonable little creature, Daisy dear, and I am so fond of you. Bye the bye, Richard has sent you a message. He was very particular in repeating it more than once. Let me see; oh, this is it: 'Do you not think that you owe some duty to your friends, especially when they need you?' That he was sure you could do me good, and that he hoped you would make every effort to come, if only for my sake. Was that not kind and brotherly of him? But then Richard is very much improved, too. "

Bessie hardly knew what she was to say in reply. Her mother was better, certainly; but she could not propose to leave her. She was muchsurprised when her father asked her that evening if no letter hadaccompanied the hamper, and on her replying in the affirmative, hecoolly asked to see it. 

"Well, " he said interrogatively, as he handed back the letter, "whatanswer do you propose to give, Bessie?"

"I do not know; at least, I have not thought about it, " she answered. 

Her father looked at her steadily. 

"You have never been to Brighton?"

"Never, father. "

"So much the better; it will be all new to you. Sit down and write toMiss Edna at once, and tell her that you will be glad to spend a week ortwo with her and her mother. Let me see, what time did she say? Thefirst week in January, that will fit in well. I am going up to town onthe seventh, and we can travel together. That will do famously, will itnot, mother?"

"Do you think you can spare me, mother?" asked Bessie anxiously. 

And Mrs. Lambert answered without hesitation: "I certainly can and willspare you, Bessie, and I am very grateful to Mrs. Sefton for herinvitation. My dear, " as the girl still hesitated, "your father and Ihave long wished you to have a little holiday, so your mind may be quiteat rest. " And after this Bessie was satisfied. 

But it was with very different feelings that Bessie left her home in themild-tempered sunshine of that January day, to those when, seven monthsago, she paid her first visit to The Grange. Things had been well withher then; no trouble since her brother's death had checkered her bright, sunshiny existence. She had gone in holiday mood to seek fresh interestsand new enjoyments; but now how utterly changed were her feelings! Shecould no longer look out upon the world through the rose-coloredspectacles that youth generally wears. For the second time in her lifeshe had been brought face to face with death, and the great reality hadsobered her. A deep sense of responsibility, of the inner meaning oflife, seemed to cast a weight of gravity over her. A bond of sympathyseemed to unite her with all those who were in sorrow; so many wereunhappy, so many had lost their nearest and dearest. Oh, how she longedto comfort them all!

Bessie was not one to speak of her feelings; the best of her life wasout of sight. Only once she said to Christine, as they were walking homefrom church in the starlight:

"People are very proud when their relatives achieve any worldly honor orattain to any rank, yet no one seems to feel an added dignity when anydear one has finished his or her earthly conflict most gloriously, andhas won a heavenly crown. Why is it, Chrissy? Somehow it seems such anhonor to me to feel I have a sister as well as a brother in heaven; itmakes one more careful not to do anything unworthy of them. "

Bessie's gray eyes had a softer look in them than they had of old; hervoice had grown more gentle. Mrs. Sefton, who was at the station, hardlyrecognized the girl as she came quickly toward her; the black dress andcrape bonnet made her look older, but when she smiled it was the sameBessie. 

"My dear, are you very tired?" she asked, looking at her kindly. "It issuch a cold evening that I dare not let Edna come with me, for hercough is still troublesome. I had some difficulty with her, but at lastI got my way. Edna is not nearly so self-willed as she used to be. " Buthere Mrs. Sefton sighed. 

"Do you think Edna is really better?" asked Bessie, when the carriagedoor was closed, and they drove away from the station. 

"I do not know, " returned Mrs. Sefton, in a troubled voice. "Dr. Miltonassures me that there is nothing radically wrong with her health, onlywant of tone and a severe cold; but I cannot feel comfortable about her. She is losing appetite and flesh, and her spirits are so variable. Sheis not happy, Bessie, and she cannot always hide her feelings from hermother. Richard says that we can do nothing; but how are we to go onlike this?"

Bessie hardly knew what to answer; she was full of sympathy for theanxious mother; she knew Edna was her one thought in life, and that nohappiness was possible to her if her child suffered. They were in theKing's Road now, and the brightly lighted shop-windows almost dazzledBessie. On the opposite side she could see a dark line that wasevidently the sea; a dull, heavy surging of waves broke on her ear; nowand then the splash of the white surf was clearly visible. 

"Edna is young, " she said vaguely; but, after all, there was scantconsolation in this truism, for the young suffer very keenly; a senseof impatience, of injustice, aggravates their pain. The old accept theirsorrows more meekly; their reason comes to their aid. "Man is born totrouble, " they say, and the philosophy enables them to endure at leastwith some show of dignity. 

"Yes, she is young; perhaps she may be consoled, " replied Mrs. Sefton, with another sigh; and then the carriage stopped. "Our rooms are on thefirst floor, " observed Mrs. Sefton, as they stood in the large, brilliantly lighted hall, and she conducted Bessie up the staircase anddown a narrow corridor, and then into a long, well-furnisheddrawing-room, where they found Edna. 

She was sitting on a low chair, looking at the fire, but she sprang upand welcomed Bessie warmly. 

"My dear little Daisy, how delighted I am to see you!" she said, withsomething of her old animation. "Mamma, is it not delicious to have heragain? Sit down there; you look tired and cold, and I mean to wait onyou. Mamma, the tea is all ready, and I am going to pour it out. Takeoff your warm jacket, Bessie; oh, and your bonnet too; and then you willlook more like yourself. "

Bessie did as she was bidden, but her eyes followed Edna's gracefulfigure. How delicate she looked--far, far too pretty! She was almostdazzling to-night. The ruby velveteen set off her fair hair and whiteskin; her face was flushed, and her eyes were too bright; and as shemoved about Bessie heard her cough once or twice--a hard, dry cough. Butthere seemed nothing wrong with Edna's spirits to-night. She wasevidently overjoyed to have her friend with her again; she talked andlaughed after her old fashion. 

"You will be sure to like this place, Bessie, " she said. "The shops aredelightful, and it is so amusing to see the people; and the sea ismagnificent. I have my ponies here, so we can have plenty of drives; andthere are some people that we know at the Bedford. We don't intend tomope, mamma and I; we are going to the grand bazaar at the Pavilion, andthere are some first-rate concerts. But you shall be as quiet as youlike, " with a sudden change of tone, as Bessie looked grave; "your onlyduty will be to talk to me. Now I will show you your room, and you shallunpack and get ready for dinner. "

Bessie was not sorry to be left alone in her comfortable room. When shehad finished her unpacking, she put on her best cashmere dress, with itssoft white frilling, and fastened a few white flowers at her throat. Then she sat down before the fire, and had a quiet quarter of an hourbefore Edna came in search of her and carried her off. 

All the evening Edna was as merry as possible. She played several ofher favorite pieces, and even sung a little; only as the evening drew toits close she began to have a white, exhausted look; but she followedBessie into her room, and sat down on the rug, with the evidentintention of having a talk. 

"Edna, you must not stay; you look far too tired, " remonstrated Bessie;"and we shall have plenty of time for talk to-morrow. "

"But I like fireside talks best, " replied Edna willfully; "and I am notinclined to sleep yet. I do hate the night!" with sudden petulance. "Itis so stupid to lie awake and watch the fire go out, and count sheepjumping through a gap in the hedge; anything to cheat one's self intooblivion. Do you sleep well, Bessie?"

"Yes, always; trouble never keeps me awake. I always think of Hatty whenI lie down, and wonder what she is doing, and what the angels areteaching her, but I fall asleep in the middle of a thought, and it ismorning before I wake. "

"Oh, you have a good conscience, " replied Edna bitterly; "you have noremorseful thoughts to goad you into wakefulness. If one could only haveone's life over again, Bessie? I want you to help me while you are here, to think what I had better do. I cannot go on like this. Is thereanything that I can do? Any work? If it were not for mamma, I would goto some hospital and learn nursing; it is too dreadful living like thisjust to amuse one's self, and try to forget. I must do something, something for the good of myself, if not for my fellow-creatures. "

Bessie listened to her with some surprise. Edna's manner was excited;she looked feverish; her voice had a hard ring in it. 

"Tell me what I must do, " she said, fixing her large eyes on Bessie. 

"Dear, you must get well first, " replied Bessie tenderly. "You are farfrom strong; your mother is right, Edna. "

Edna shook her head impatiently. 

"It is nothing--a cold; what does it signify? How can one feel well withall these worrying thoughts? It is work that I want, Bessie--work thatwill take me out of myself and make me forget. "

"Are you sure that God wishes you to forget?" asked Bessie softly. "Oh, my dear, " stroking her hand, "you can never say again that I do not knowwhat trouble is, that I cannot feel for you; but I have learned that wemust not run away from our trouble; girls so often talk like that, " shewent on, "about going into a hospital, but they do not know what theywant. Nursing is too sacred a work to be done from such a motive. Whatgood would such a work, undertaken in a selfish, self-seeking spirit, dothem? Edna, when God wounds He heals, but it must be in His own time, and in the proper place; and even troubles caused by our ownrecklessness must come under this head. "

"But, Bessie----"

"Wait a minute, dear; I seem to see it so clearly. You have work, onlyyou are throwing it aside and asking for more. 'Thou earnest not to thyplace by accident; it is the very place God meant for thee. ' Don't youremember those lines? Surely, surely, an only daughter's place must bewith her mother; to make her happy must be no light duty. You are herone thought from morning to night; it breaks her heart to see youunhappy. Edna, if your mother died, and you had not tried to make herhappy!"

"Do you mean--oh, I see what you mean, but I am too selfish to find itout for myself. I am only thinking of my own good, not of her at all. Ihave never been good to her; she gives all, and I just take it. "

"Make her your work, " whispered Bessie, "and bye and bye comfort willcome to you, as it would not in any hospital, in any self-chosen duty;for where God puts us, He must find us, or we shall have to give anaccount of why we have erred and strayed, " finished Bessie reverently. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

ON THE PARADE. 

Bessie had spoken out of the simplicity of her honest heart; but thereis a great power in earnestness, and her words were not to fall to theground. In spite of Edna's faults, many and glaring as they were, shewas very susceptible to good influences; her affection for NevilleSinclair proved this, as well as her friendship with Bessie; underneaththe leaven of selfishness and self-will engendered by a false educationthere was a large margin of generosity and truth; if she were quick tosin, she was also quick to repent. 

Edna did not again allude to the subject of her unhappiness; there wereno more fireside confidences with Bessie, but for two or three days shewas very quiet and thoughtful, and there were no excited moods ofmerriment to jar on Bessie. She was gentle and affectionate in hermanner to her mother, and this unusual docility seemed to add to Mrs. Sefton's uneasiness. 

Bessie did not feel comfortable in her mind about Edna; the old springand elasticity seemed gone forever; there was manifest effort ineverything she did through the day, and yet she never rested willingly. She laid out plans for every hour, she made appointments with herfriends; every day there was driving, shopping, tea-drinking, often aconcert or recitation to finish off the evening; but now and then, inthe midst of a lively conversation, there would be the look of utterexhaustion on her face, and when her friends had left she would throwherself on the couch as though all strength had gone. On theseoccasions, when she was spent and weary, it was not always easy tocontrol her irritability. Mrs. Sefton was not a judicious woman, and, inspite of her devotion to her daughter, she often showed a want of tactand a lack of wisdom that galled Edna's jaded spirits. She was alwaysurging Edna to seek new distractions, or appealing to her sense ofvanity. 

"Mamma thinks a new dress or ornament can make any girl happy, " she saidone day, with a curl of her lip; "but she is mistaken; I don't careabout them now. "

One afternoon Mrs. Sefton had been lunching with a friend, and when shereturned she brought Edna a present; it was a pin brooch set withbrilliants, a most costly toy, and Edna had admired it in an idlemoment; but as she opened the little case there was no pleasedexpression on her face. 

"Oh, mamma, why have you bought this?" she asked, in a dissatisfiedvoice. 

"You admired it so much, my darling, and so I thought I would pleasemyself by giving you this surprise. "

"It is very pretty, " holding it out for Bessie's inspection; "but I havemore ornaments than I know how to use now. I am sorry you bought it, mamma; it must have cost so much money. "

"Do you think I begrudge you anything?" replied Mrs. Sefton, who wasmuch chagrined by this reception of her gift. 

Edna looked up at this moment, and saw the disappointed look on hermother's face. Her better feelings were touched, and she threw her armsround her neck. 

"Mother dear, why will you load me so with things?" she remonstrated. "You give me everything, and I do nothing for you in return; pleasedon't give me anything more for a long time. I am horribly discontented, nothing seems to give me pleasure; even this beautiful pin is wasted onme. "

"Don't talk so, Edna, " returned her mother, with the tears in her eyes;"if you knew how it troubled me to hear you. There is nothing that Iwould not do to make you happy, but if you talk in that way you take allthe spirit out of me. "

"Then I won't talk so any more, " replied Edna, repentantly; and shefastened the brilliant pin in some lace she wore, and begged them bothto admire it; and she was very affectionate to her mother all thatevening, and seemed bent on making her smile. 

Mrs. Sefton looked almost happy that night; she thought Edna lookedbetter and more like herself, and she had not coughed once, and no oneknew that as the girl took off her trinket that night she suddenly hidher face in her hands and wept. 

"It is all no use, mother, " she sobbed; "no money can buy me content normake me good and happy; if I were only like Bessie--Bessie is worthy ofhim, but I never was--I never was!"

When Bessie had been with her friends more than a week she began towonder that there was no news of Richard, and one day she asked Edna ifhe were all alone at The Grange. 

"Yes, I believe so, " was the careless answer; "but Richard is a regularold bachelor, and he will not be dull. "

"But he comes to see you sometimes?"

"He has not been yet, but that is mamma's fault, and not Ritchie's; hewrote on Wednesday to say he was coming from Saturday to Monday, butmamma said she wanted the room for Miss Shelton, and after all, she didnot come; so it was a pity Richard should be disappointed; and now MissShelton may come next week, and there is no room for him again. Mammahas just written to say that she cannot possibly have him until Saturdayweek. "

Bessie felt a pang of disappointment; she was going home on theThursday, and would just miss him. What a pity! He had been so kind andfriendly to her during her visit at The Grange, and she would have likedto have seen him. She wondered vaguely if he would be disappointed toowhen he heard that she had gone. It was thoughtless of Mrs. Sefton toinvite Miss Shelton, but most likely she had done it on purpose to keepher stepson away. Edna had told her rather sorrowfully the other daythat her mother did not understand Richard any better. 

"He is never at his ease with her, and so he never appears to advantagein her presence, " she said. "Poor Ritchie! I am afraid he has a dulllife at The Grange!"

Bessie was afraid so too, but she dared not say so; she could onlyappeal to Edna's generosity, and beg her to consider that she owed aduty to her brother. But she could not say much on this point. A girlcannot well enter the lists on a young man's behalf; however sensibleand free from nonsense she may be, she is bound by a sense ofconventionality; and though in her heart Bessie was very sorry forRichard, very much interested in his behalf, she felt her pity must bekept to herself. 

Bessie was not ashamed to own her disappointment, and she was humanenough to bear a grudge against the offending Miss Shelton, who provedto be an old governess of Edna's, and a most worthy woman. 

In consequence of Edna's temporary indisposition, which made her languidin the morning, the family breakfast was unusually late, and was rarelyready before ten. It was Bessie's habit, therefore, to go out, after anearly cup of cocoa, for an hour's solitary walk; she enjoyed this morethan any other part of the day. The Parade was almost deserted at thetime, and she met few people. She loved to stroll down to the beach andwatch the waves rolling on the shore; the cold, fresh air invigoratedher, and her old color returned. Her mother would have been at restabout her if she could have seen the girl's strong, elastic step, ornoticed how the sea breezes had brought back her fresh color. Bessiewould return from these morning walks with refreshed spirits andvigorous, youthful appetite that Edna good-naturedly quizzed. 

"You would be hungry, too, if you had swallowed those delicious seabreezes, " Bessie would answer, nothing daunted by these remarks, and shepersevered in these early strolls. 

The morning after their little conversation about Richard, Bessie wentout as usual. There had been rain during the night, and the seats on theParade were soaking, but the sun was shining now, and the little poolsin the road were sparkling in the warm sunlight, and the sea lookedclear and blue. 

"What a delicious morning, " thought Bessie, as she walked on briskly. "There is rather a strong wind, though. Oh, that gentleman has lost hishat!" The gentleman in question had been leaning on the railings, looking down on some boys playing on the shingle; but as his hat took toitself wings, and rolled playfully down the Parade, after the manner ofhats, he followed it in quick pursuit. Happily, it rolled almost toBessie's feet, and she captured it. 

"Thank you so much, " observed the young man, gratefully; but as Bessieheld it to him with a smile, they mutually started, and a simultaneousexclamation rose to their lips. 

"Mr. Sinclair!"

"Miss Lambert!" and then rather awkwardly they shook hands. "Who wouldhave thought of seeing you here?" went on Mr. Sinclair, rathernervously, as he brushed the wet from his hat. "But of course one meetsevery one at Brighton, so I ought not to be surprised. I only came downlast night, and I have already exchanged greetings with half a dozenacquaintances. Have you been here long?"

"About ten days. I am staying with the Sefton's at Glenyan Mansions. Mrs. Sefton and Edna are both here. "

"Edna here?" and then he bit his lip, and a dark flush crossed his face. "I hope Miss Sefton is quite well, " he continued coldly. 

"Indeed she is not, " returned Bessie bluntly. But this sudden encounterhad taken her by surprise, and she hardly knew what she was saying. "Sheis very far from well. Oh, quite ill, I should say; though she will haveit that there is nothing the matter. But she is so changed that she ishardly like the same girl. Oh, no; she is perfectly different; not likeEdna at all, and----"

"What has been the matter with her?" he asked abruptly; but he turnedhis face away as he put the question. They were both standing by therailings, and now he crossed his arms upon them, leaning heavily againstthem, so that Bessie could not see his face. There was no one in sight, except the boys playing beneath them, and an old man hobbling oncrutches. "What has been the matter with her?" he repeated, as Bessiehesitated. 

"She caught cold, and could not shake it off, and so her mother gotfrightened about her, and brought her here. But it does not seem to doher much good. It is her spirits, I think, for she has lost all her fun, and she is not at all like the old Edna, and it grieves me to see her, "stammered Bessie, confused at having said so much, and yet not willingto be silent. "What can I say? What ought I to do for them both?" shethought, in much distress. 

"There has never been anything wrong with her spirits before, " repliedMr. Sinclair, in rather an incredulous tone. But Bessie had caught sightof his face; it was quite pale now, and he was pulling his mustachenervously, and she was not a bit deceived by his voice. "Do you meanthat she is not happy? I hope--that is--I trust nothing has occurred totrouble her. "

"Nothing fresh. Oh, Mr. Sinclair!" and here Bessie burst out, regardlessof conventionality, of probable consequences, of everything but herhonest heart. "Why do you not understand what it is that ails Edna? Ifyou do not know, no one can--no one--no one;" and then, frightened ather own audacity, Bessie colored up to her forehead and walked on; butMr. Sinclair was by her side the next moment. 

"Don't go, Miss Lambert. Please do not leave me yet. Tell me plainlywhat it is you mean. You are Edna's friend, and I know you will be trueto her. You have a good heart. I see in your eyes that you are sorry forme; do not be afraid to speak out. Why am I to know what is the matterwith Edna?"

"That is a strange question for you to ask; surely you know Edna wellenough to be aware how deeply she can repent of her faults!"

"Do you mean--speak plainly, I beseech you; do you--can you mean thatEdna repents of her cruel treatment of me?"

"Repents! Of course she has repented. Mr. Sinclair, you were very wrongto leave her. Why did you take her at her word? It was all temper; herpride was piqued because she believed herself distrusted. I know Edna sowell; in spite of her faults, she is true and generous. When she loves, she loves once and forever; if she sent you away, she has been sorry forit ever since. What must you think of me for telling you this? I am soignorant of the world, most likely I have acted foolishly, but it seemsto me that truth is everything. "

"I think that you have acted nobly, Miss Lambert; you have made me yourdebtor for life, if this be true;" and then he stopped and passed hishand across his forehead, as though the sudden relief had bewilderedhim. "Oh, thank God!" she heard him say, as though to himself. 

"It is true. "

"I will believe it; I can trust you; my good angel brought me out thismorning. The last seven months have not been the happiest time in myexistence. I had my own trouble to bear, and then my mother fell ill. Ithought I should have lost her, but I was spared that; still, her lifehangs on a thread. I am afraid from your deep mourning that you havebeen in trouble, too, Miss Lambert. "

"I have lost a dear sister. "

"That is sad; but you have other sisters left to comfort you. "

"Yes; three. "

"I had no one but my mother and Edna; I should have been lonely indeed. But now I must not keep you standing any longer; the wind is cold, andyou are beginning to look tired. "

"Yes, and breakfast will be ready; I must not be late. "

"Is Sefton with you?" he asked suddenly. 

"No; he is at Oatlands; he is not coming until Saturday week. "

"I am sorry to hear it; he would have helped me in a great difficulty. Sefton has always been my friend. Miss Lambert, I confess I don'tclearly see my way. I can hardly present myself at Glenyan Mansions, andyet how am I to see Edna? If we could only meet, as it were, accidentally, it would be better for both of us. "

"I see what you mean, " returned Bessie, whose ready sympathy made herquick to detect his meaning "Edna is very proud; you think it would bewiser to leave her in ignorance of this interview. Yes, you are right;there must be some other way;" and then, after a moment's consideration, she added, "There is a fancy bazaar at the Pavilion this afternoon; somefriends of the Sefton's are stall-holders, and we are all going; everyone will be there; why should you not go too?"

"Thank you, " was all he said; but his face brightened perceptibly, andthen in an eager tone: "What time will you go?"

"Mrs. Sefton said she should order the carriage at half-past three, so Isuppose we shall be there about a quarter to four. The Crawfords' stallis at the end of the room, and Minnie and Eleanor Crawford are to bedressed in sacques and hoops, with powdered hair, in the fashion ofGeorge III. 's time. Edna is very anxious to see their stall in its firstglory, before there is a rush of buyers. "

"You have made me your friend for life, " he said lightly. "I must not goany farther, for I see the windows of Glenyan Mansions;" and then heshook hands with her, and quietly retraced his steps to his hotel. 

"I wonder if mother would be shocked, " thought Bessie. "I think I shouldhave been shocked myself under any other circumstances; but when Ithought of poor Edna, and saw him looking so pale and grave, I felt Imust help them both. Was it very forward of me? Have I betrayed Edna'sconfidence? But, no; I found it all out for myself; surely, no one couldblame me for speaking the truth. If Mr. Richard were here, I would askhim. Truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, after all. Onecannot be wrong if only one be absolutely true. "

Bessie found it very difficult to preserve her ordinary demeanor thatmorning. The consciousness that she had a secret oppressed her, butneither Mrs. Sefton nor Edna seemed to notice any difference in hermanner. Edna looked languid and depressed, and seemed to have lost allinterest in the bazaar. She alarmed Bessie in the course of the morningby saying that, after all, she did not care to mix with such a crowd. 

"Oh, Edna, I shall be so disappointed if we do not go!" exclaimedBessie. 

"My dear, I was not talking about you, " replied Edna wearily. "Mammawill go, of course, and you can accompany her; but I am sick of bazaars, and the noise and chatter will make my head ache. You may take my purse, Bessie, and buy something of Minnie and Eleanor;" and Edna threw downher work and began looking over the batch of novels that her mother hadsent in from the circulating library, leaving Bessie to digest herdismay and disappointment as well as she could. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

BESSIE BUYS A JAPANESE FAN. 

Edna continued in this unsatisfactory mood until luncheon. Nothingpleased her. The novels were stupid. She was tired of love tales--whycould not people find something else to write about? She was sick ofsuch namby-pamby sentimentality; and then they were so untrue to life. Stories in real life did not always end happily, or there would not beso many old maids in the world. 

"Single women, Edna; I like that term ever so much better. "

"No; old maids, " persisted Edna, obstinately; "cross, cranky old maids. "

"Old maids, as you call them (and you are very rude to a lot of good, nice women, Edna), are not necessarily cross and cranky; the unmarriedwomen I know are all busy, cheerful creatures, full of life and energy, and very useful in their generation. Father says he always enjoys a talkwith an unmarried lady; so many of them keep their freshness and youth, even though they have wrinkles on their faces. I know some of them getsoured and narrow, but perhaps they have had much to try them. "

"Bessie, I do believe you will be an old maid yourself, some day. "

"Your prophecy does not frighten me in the least If I am to be an oldmaid, I mean to be a very happy one. You know, Edna, how often I havetalked to you of my dear Mr. Robertson. Well, he said something on thissubject in one of his sermons that pleased me very much. I remember dearHatty liked it too. I cannot recollect the exact words, but it was tothis effect--that much of our happiness depends on the way we look onlife; that if we regard it as a complete and finished existence, then nodoubt those who fail in their aims are disappointed and discontented. Inthis the unmarried and childless woman, and the widow who has lost hertreasure, will be agreed; but if we regard our present existence as onlya prelude to a better--as an education, a training for a high andhappier sphere--then the disappointed may take heart, for they have onlycome to the beginning of their life, and may surely wait with somedegree of patience until a future life expands their happiness. Grown-uppeople do not want their sugar-plums all at once, as children do--don'tyou see it, Edna?"

"Oh, yes, I know what you good people mean. " But she spoke with adegree of pettishness. "But I have not climbed as high as you, and Ishall be a shriveled, cantankerous old maid. "

"You will be nothing of the kind, " replied Bessie, kissing her. "Butluncheon is ready, and here comes your mother; pray, don't say anythingto her about not going to the Pavilion, or she will be so disappointed;she never enjoys anything without you. " And to her great relief Ednaacquiesced. 

Mrs. Sefton talked a great deal about the bazaar during luncheon. TheTozers and Lady Hampton were going, and she had heard that MinnieCrawford's costume was perfect, and suited her admirably. 

"I suppose I had better go and get ready, " observed Edna, pushing backher chair, "or mamma will never survive the disappointment. The carriagewill be here at half-past three. " And she marched out of the room withrather a bored expression on her face. 

"Nothing pleases her, " complained Mrs. Sefton; "she seems tired ofeverything. I believe she is only going to the bazaar because she thinksit will give me pleasure; and the crowd and hot room will make her ill. Run after her, Bessie, and beg her not to go. You and I will do verywell together, and we can choose something pretty for her off theCrawford's stall. I would rather she did not go, I would indeed. "

"It will do her good, " pleaded Bessie; "the room will not be crowdedjust at first, and it will be such a pretty sight. She would be dull ifwe left her at home and the drive will refresh her. "

"Do you think so?" returned Mrs. Sefton doubtfully. "But I am beginningto lose heart; nothing we can do seems to please her. I believe she isgetting tired of Brighton; last night she said she wished we were athome; but Oatlands is far too quiet for her. I think I shall take roomsin town for the season, and afterward we will go abroad. The Crawford'sare going to the Engadine, and they are lively young people, and theirsociety will be good for Edna. Perhaps, " looking at Bessie wistfully, "your mother might be induced to spare you, and we could take you withus. You have never seen Switzerland, Bessie?"

"No, none of us have ever been abroad. Oh, it would be too delightful!"but as Bessie went off smiling to get ready for the drive, she toldherself that any Swiss journey would be very dubious. "That is one ofthe things one has to long for all one's life, " thought Bessie, "one ofthe denied good things that are to come presently. "

Edna came down to the carriage looking quite bright and pretty; she wasno longer in a misanthropic mood, the mere exertion of dressing toplease her mother had done her a world of good. It was a brilliantafternoon and already groups of well-dressed people were moving in thedirection of the Pavilion. "There are the Tozers, mamma!" she exclaimedbeginning to look interested; "and there is Lady Hampton in thatvictoria; she has her old bonnet on; what a dear old dowdy she is! Itell you what, Bessie, I mean to dress well, even when I am a cranky oldmaid; there is a great support in clothes--and--no, it can't be----"

"Well, finish your sentence, " observed Bessie. "Have you seen a ghost, Edna?" laughing rather nervously, for Edna had changed color in asingular manner. 

"No, only a likeness; but of course I was mistaken;" but, all the same, Bessie knew that Edna had really seen Mr. Sinclair, however much shemight doubt the evidence of her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of him, too--he was on his way to the Pavilion with the other people. 

Edna did not recover herself in a hurry; she looked white and shaken;the likeness must have been a strong one, and brought back the past toovividly. Bessie glanced at her anxiously. Certainly, Edna's looksverified her words. Mr. Sinclair would read the truth for himself. Theyhad arrived at the Pavilion now, and Mrs. Sefton and Edna were alreadyexchanging greetings with their friends. 

"Does it not look like a picture of Vanity Fair?" she whispered, whenthey at last made their way into the bazaar. 

Well, it was a curious sight, certainly; a young man with powdered hair, in a blue velvet coat, offered them programmes of the entertainment; alittle Moorish girl, with a necklace of gold coins, showed them herflower-basket, and a stately Queen Elizabeth smiled at Edna across thecounter. A harlequin and a cavalier mounted guard over the post-office, and a gypsy presided over a fish pond. Mary Stuart and a Greek lady werein charge of the refreshment stall. It was a relief when the band struckup one of Strauss' waltzes, and drowned the din of voices; but as thesad, sweet strains of "Verliebt und Verloren" floated through the room, a pained expression crossed Edna's face. 

A moment later Bessie felt her arm grasped, and Edna whisperedexcitedly:

"Look, Bessie; is it my fancy--that gentleman standing by theflower-stall--is it----"

"Yes, it is Mr. Sinclair, " returned Bessie calmly. "Oh, he sees us now;he is coming to speak to us. Dear Edna, please don't look so pale overit; you surely do not mind seeing him. "

But Edna was beyond answering; there was not an atom of color in herface as Mr. Sinclair came up to them and lifted his hat. 

It was very odd that just at that minute Bessie was seized with anuncontrollable longing to become the possessor of a Japanese fan. It wasexcessively dear and excessively ugly, and the young person in theCatherine de Medicis ruff who was in charge of that part of the stallwas otherwise engaged; nevertheless, Bessie would not give up her point. Mrs. Sefton was on the other side of the room, talking to Lady Hampton;and though it was clearly Bessie's duty to remain with Edna, she wasperfectly blind to the fact; she did not even wait to greet Mr. Sinclair, but turned her back on him in the rudest manner, and kept hereyes on the gaudy specimen of Japanese art. 

It was ten minutes before the coveted article was in her possession, andeven then the stall seemed to fascinate her, and she was just making upher mind that a certain little blue vase would please Christine whenMrs. Sefton touched her arm. 

"My dear child, why have you hidden yourself? and what has become ofEdna?"

"Edna?" looking round; but there was clearly no vestige of her, or ofMr. Sinclair either. It was easy to escape detection in that crowd. "Shewas here just now. Mr. Sinclair was with her, and----"

"Neville here!" in intense surprise. 

"Yes; and Edna seemed rather upset at seeing him, and so I left them. "

"You have taken my breath away, " exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. "Oh, Bessie, doyou think---- Come and let me sit down somewhere; my sight-seeing isover What did he say to her? How did they meet? Did he speak first?"

"Don't ask me; I know nothing, " replied Bessie, with an odd littlelaugh. "She pointed him out to me, and asked if it were her fancy; andthen he saw us, and Edna looked very white, and he held out his hand andsaid something; and then there was that Japanese fan, and of course, Iheard nothing more. "

"You left them. That was right; you were very sensible, my dear. "

"Let me tell you everything, " said Bessie, feeling burdened by hersecret. "I have seen Mr. Sinclair before; I met him on the Parade, andit was I who told him to come here. " And she related the purport of herconversation with him. 

Mrs Sefton seemed much moved. "It will come right;" she said, in anagitated voice. "My poor child will be happy again. Bessie, I cannottell you how grateful I am to you. I love Neville like a son. It is thewish of my heart to see Edna his wife. He has brilliant prospects. He isa rising man, and immensely clever; and Edna will never care for any oneelse. "

Bessie forgave this worldly speech on account of the motherly tone inwhich it was said. 

"He must have taken her away; they are certainly not in this room, " shesaid bye and bye. "Perhaps they are in the gardens; they will be quieterthere. "

"Never mind, we will not look for them. You must amuse yourself, Bessie, until they come of their own accord. Suppose we buy something at theCrawfords' stall. I want you to choose something pretty for each of yoursisters. Throw that hideous fan away! It is not worth sixpence. Wheredid you pick up such an ugly thing?"

"It was the first handy article, " replied Bessie. "Throw it away! Noindeed! I shall keep it forever as a memento of this day. "

But Mrs. Sefton, in high good-humor, vowed that she should have aprettier remembrance of the day than that. A few minutes afterward sheput a lovely little work-case in Bessie's hands. It was fitted up verytastefully, and was really a most useful present; and then she proceededto select work-bags and pretty knick-knacks for the Lambert girls. 

Bessie remonstrated in vain. Mrs. Sefton had come there to spend money, and she lavished one article after another on Bessie. 

"This soft white shawl will just suit your mother, " she said. "And, oh!here is a pocketbook for Dr. Lambert. Your father will find that useful. Does your brother smoke? No? Well, we will buy that letter-case for him;and now I think we have finished. "

But it was quite half an hour afterward before the truants returned. 

"Here they come!" exclaimed Bessie, as Mrs. Sefton began to getrestless. 

"Oh, mamma, dear, I hope we have not kept you, " said Edna penitently;but she blushed very prettily as she spoke, and there was no mistakingthe happy look in her eyes. 

"You must blame me, Mrs. Sefton, " interrupted Mr. Sinclair, who alsolooked radiant. "There was such a crowd that I took Edna into thegardens, and we have been sitting quietly under the trees. I hope wehave not really inconvenienced you and Miss Lambert. "

"Not a bit, " replied Mrs. Sefton cheerfully. "But we may as well go homenow, as Bessie and I have made all our purchases. Will you see if thecarriage be there, Neville?"

"Neville is coming back with us, mamma, " observed Edna, in her oldbright manner; and then Mrs. Sefton looked at her meaningly. Just thenthe band struck up with a military march, and Bessie lost Edna's lowanswer. There was nothing particular said during the drive home. Mr. Sinclair observed he must go to his hotel to dress, and Edna questionedBessie about her purchases. 

When they reached Glenyan Mansions, Edna shut herself up with hermother, and Bessie went off to her own room and inspected her treasures, and then she dressed herself and sat down to read. Bye and bye therewas a knock at the door, and Edna came in; she looked perfectly lovelywith that soft look of happiness on her face. 

"May I come in, Bessie? Mamma is talking to Neville in the drawing-room, and I can spare you a few minutes. Neville has told me everything. Hesays it is you who smoothed the way for our meeting and reconciliation. Bessie, darling, how am I to thank you?" and Edna wrapped her arms roundher and kissed her fondly. 

"It is all right, then?"

"It was all right the moment I saw him; he just looked at me, and said, 'I wonder if you are glad or sorry to see me, Edna?' and I managed togasp out the word 'Glad!' And then he took my hand and asked me to comeout of the crowd, and let him talk to me quietly. It seemed to me weunderstood each other at once. "

"Dear Edna, I congratulate you from my heart. "

"Yes, and it is all owing to you; we shall neither of us forget that. Bessie, you don't half know how good Neville is, how gentle and generoushe has been. He would not let me humble myself, or ask for hisforgiveness. But, oh, he has been so unhappy! His mother has been nearlydying, poor fellow, and I never knew it; and even now her health is in acritical state. It is so sad for him, for he dotes on her, and they areeverything to each other. He says if it had happened, and he had nothad me to comfort him, it would almost have broken his heart. "

"But he will have you now. "

"Yes, and it must be my one thought to make up to him for these wretchedseven months. Do you know, Bessie, he seems more distressed about methan about himself. He says I am quite altered, so thin and pale. Hesaid it so gravely that I asked him if I had grown too plain for histaste; but there--I don't mean to repeat his answer. "

"He will soon find out that you are as vain as ever. "

"I actually told him so, for he was so depressed at my changedappearance that I had to make one or two mischievous speeches just torouse him, and that did him good; he punished me, though, by pointingout some of his gray hairs; but he has really grown handsomer, Bessie. Mamma said so, too, though Neville was never really handsome. Poormamma! she is so happy, she has been crying for joy. "

The dinner-bell rang at that moment, and they were obliged to break offtheir talk. Mr. Sinclair had evidently found Edna's absence irksome, forhe met her with a reproach at her delay; but she answered him so sweetlythat he was mollified in a moment. 

It was the happiest evening Bessie had had since Hatty's death; it wassuch a relief to see Edna's face bright with smiles, and to hear thesatisfied tones of her voice, and to meet the quiet look of content onMr. Sinclair's face. He was not a demonstrative man, and a strangerwould hardly have thought his manner lover-like, but it was evident thathe and Edna understood each other perfectly. After dinner he asked herto sing for him, and she went to the piano at once. 

"This is your favorite song, Neville, " she said, looking at him quietly, and a flush of pleasure crossed his face. If he had ever doubted thereality of her affection for him, he could not have doubted it to-night, when every moment her gentleness and soft, appealing manner seemed toplead for forgetfulness of the past, and to hold out a safer promise forthe future. 

"I must come and see your mother, " Bessie heard her say later on. "Mammathinks of taking rooms for the season, and then I shall see her often;shall you like that, Neville?"

"There is only one thing I should like better, " he replied, and therewas a smile on his face as he got up and wished them good-night; andthen he said something in a low voice to Edna. 

"Very well, " she answered, with a bend of her graceful head, and sherose from her seat and walked to the door. 

Mrs. Sefton looked after them with an indulgent smile. 

"He wants a word with her alone; Edna won't refuse him anythingto-night. How happy they are, Bessie! Dear Neville is so satisfied; hetold me that he was struck with the improvement in Edna; he thinks herso much more womanly and so gentle, but he is troubled about herdelicacy; but she will get better now all this worry is at an end. " AndBessie acquiesced in this. 

When Edna came back, a little while afterward, she went straight to hermother and knelt down by her chair. 

"Mother dear, " she said, tenderly, "Neville has forgiven me, and youmust forgive me, too. "

"I forgive you my darling!" in a startled tone. 

"Yes, for being such a bad daughter; but I will be good; indeed, I willbe good now;" and, worn out with the emotions of the day, Edna laid herhead on her mother's lap and burst into tears. 

Bessie, touched to the heart by this little display of feeling, wentsoftly out of the room, and left the mother and child together. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

MRS. SEFTON HAS ANOTHER VISITOR. 

It was impossible for Neville Sinclair to tear himself away fromBrighton for another twenty-four hours, so he telegraphed to his motherand made arrangements to take another day's holiday. He settled thisbefore he slept that night, and presented himself at Glenyan Mansionslong before the late breakfast was over. He and Bessie exchanged anamused glance as they shook hands, which was instantly detected by Edna, and she at once insisted on an explanation. 

Mr. Sinclair laughed mischievously. 

"The fact is, " he said, "Miss Lambert and I have met before thismorning;" which was the truth, for Bessie had encountered him coming outof his hotel, and they had spent a pleasant hour together talking aboutmany things; and this conversation had raised Mr. Sinclair very much inBessie's estimation, and her interest was warmly reciprocated. 

"You have never had a friend I liked so well as I do Miss Lambert, " hesaid, as he and Edna were walking together. "She is a genuinegirl--absolutely true, and without any pretense or nonsense. "

"Daisy is a dear little thing, and I am as fond of her as possible. I amso glad you like her, Neville, " and Edna looked very pleased. 

Mr. Sinclair left on the following morning, and in the afternoon MissShelton arrived. She was a pleasant-looking woman, with a tranquil faceand silvery-gray hair, and Bessie was prepossessed in her favor at once. She was evidently warmly attached to her old pupil, and the news of herreconciliation with her lover filled her with unbounded satisfaction, and her congratulations were very hearty. 

"I have lived a great many years in the world, " she said, "but I havenever seen two better young men than Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Richard. "

They were sitting round the fire in the twilight as Miss Shelton madethis little speech; they had come in from their drive half an hour ago;the tea things had just been taken away, and Edna was sitting on the rugat Miss Shelton's feet. 

"They are both admirable, " she murmured; and this encomium on the absentRichard gratified Bessie. 

"I don't think they are to be compared, " observed Mrs. Sefton, rathersuperciliously. "My dear Miriam, Neville is infinitely superior. Richardhas not got Neville's brains. "

"Cleverness is not everything, " replied Miss Shelton. "I respect Mr. Sinclair, and have the highest opinion of his abilities; but Mr. Richardhas always been a favorite of mine. Very few people guess how much hehas in him; but I found it out myself a long time ago. "

"You and Ritchie were always good friends, dear Miss Shelton. Hush! Ihear some one in the corridor; it cannot be Neville come back;" and Ednasprung up from her low seat with a heightened color; but as the dooropened her voice fell. "No, it is only Ritchie, " in a disappointed tone. 

"Whom were you expecting, Edna?" asked her brother, advancing toward thefireside circle. "Your tone does not sound very promising for me. Mother, you see I have taken you by surprise. Miss Shelton, I amdelighted to see you again. How do you do, Miss Lambert?" with a swiftglance in her direction. 

Bessie greeted him quietly, and went back to her corner; the surprisewas a very pleasant one for her. Richard looked well, and more animatedthan usual. 

"I thought we arranged that you were not to come until to-morrow week, Richard, " observed Mrs. Sefton, in her usual cold manner: and it wasevident that she was not pleased at her stepson's arrival. "I told youparticularly Miss Shelton was coming this week. "

"Oh, yes, I knew Miss Shelton would be here; but Saturday week would nothave suited me at all. I don't mean to put you out, mother. I have takena room at the Grand Hotel. I can have my meals there, too, if you like. "

"Nonsense, Ritchie!" returned Edna, good-humoredly; "our dining-room isnot so small as that. You may have your breakfast at your hotel, andthen spend the rest of the day with us. Miss Shelton will be delightedto have you; she was singing your praises just now. "

"I saw Neville in town this afternoon, " observed Richard, with asignificant glance at his sister. "'All's well that ends well, ' eh, Edna? So the comedy of errors is played out. "

"Come into the other room and I will tell you all about it, " repliedEdna, taking hold of his arm in a friendly fashion. "Mamma, I supposethere is enough dinner for Richard, but I don't mean to let him goaway. "

"Neither do I mean to go, " added Richard, with a laugh, as he allowedhimself to be led out of the room. 

"How well he looks! older and nicer, I think, " observed Miss Shelton, asthe young people left the room. 

"Do you think so?" replied Mrs. Sefton, indifferently. "Richard isalways terribly boorish in appearance; and as to his manners, nothingwill polish them. But what can you expect, when he affects the companyof farmers? Neville is worth a hundred of him, " she continued, as sherose, with a discontented expression, to give some further orders. 

Miss Shelton shook her head in a disapproving fashion. 

"What a mistake, " she said quietly, "always to undervalue that poor boy!I am glad to see Edna is improved in that respect. He is a greatfavorite of mine, Miss Lambert. I found out he had a kind heart when Iwas in trouble once. As Edna says, we are great friends. "

"He is very nice, " agreed Bessie, and then she went to her room toprepare for dinner. Yes, she was very glad he had come, though the sightof his familiar face had brought back the memory of that last sad day atThe Grange. They had not met for seven months; how much had happenedsince then!

But when the evening was over, she was obliged to confess that it hadsomehow disappointed her. Richard had said very little to her. MissShelton had engrossed his conversation; he hardly looked in Bessie'sdirection. 

When dinner was over, and Edna went to the piano, he placed himselfbeside her; but he did not ask Bessie to sing. She sat at her work, andtried to think that she was enjoying herself, but she felt left out inthe cold; she missed the old friendliness in Richard's manner; shewondered why he did not ask about her home. Could a few months havecooled his friendship? When she bade him good-night he hardly looked ather; he shook hands far more cordially with Miss Shelton. 

Bessie felt chilled and depressed, for she was a faithful little soul, and was true to all her likes and dislikes; fickleness to her friendswas not in her nature; if she liked a person she liked him or heralways. 

"It is very strange, very disappointing. I think I would rather he hadnot come, " she thought; "but perhaps he will be nicer to-morrow;" andwith this vague hope she fell asleep. 

The next morning she was out at her usual time, and, as before, thecrisp morning air seemed to dispel all uneasy thoughts; she feltbrighter, more sanguine and cheerful than she had last night. Natureholds a store of comfort for those who love and seek her--she has allsorts of balmy messages to give them; a thousand mellow influences stealupon the jaded consciousness; hope is written legibly in the blue sky, the clear air, the sunshine; every flower, every leaf is a token oflove; the birds sing, and, in spite of ourselves, our hearts growlighter. 

"It must have been my fancy, " thought Bessie; "I hope I am not growingself-conscious;" and then she gave a little start of surprise, forsurely she knew that brown tweed coat, and there was Richard coming tomeet her; and it was with his old pleasant smile that he greeted her. 

"What a lovely morning, Miss Lambert! I knew you would be out. " He hadexpected her then. "Miss Shelton is an early riser, too, but she neverwalks before breakfast. I wanted to find you alone, and to tell you thatI was at Cliffe the day before yesterday. "

"At Cliffe?" And Bessie raised her clear eyes to his with such intensesurprise that Richard laughed a little nervously. 

"I had some business there, " he began awkwardly, "and I wanted to seeyour father. I saw them all, " hesitating, "except your brother--he hasgone back to Oxford; they were very well, and sent their love. "

"And you saw mother?"

"Yes; what a nice woman she is! I like her so much, and your father too;they were very kind--kinder than I expected. You are a little like yourmother--at least, I saw a sort of likeness. I never felt more at homeanywhere. "

"I am so glad;" and Bessie did look glad. He was quite like himself thismorning; she had got her friend back again. "Did father send me noother message?" she asked presently. 

"No, I believe not; at least, I have no recollection of a message. MissLambert, " and here Richard's manner was decidedly nervous, "don't youwonder what my business was at Cliffe?"

"Why, no, " she said, so frankly and innocently that in spite of hisnervousness Richard could not restrain a smile. "I suppose there wassomething you wanted. "

"Yes, indeed, " he replied promptly, for this remark helped him; "and Iwanted it so much that I was obliged to apply to your father. "

"Could father help you?" much astonished at this. 

"He helped me a great deal. I should not be speaking to you now but forhim. Miss Lambert--Bessie--can't you guess? It is so hard for me tobring it out. Can't you guess what it was I wanted from your father? Ihave never wanted anything so much in my life. "

Richard's manner grew so earnest and imploring, that an idea of hismeaning flashed across her with a suddenness that made her giddy; butshe only said very gravely:

"I cannot understand unless you speak out. "

"May I speak out, then--may I tell you plainly what I want? It isyourself, Bessie;" and, in spite of his nervousness, Richard spoke afew forcible words, very eloquent from their intense earnestness. "Ihave cared for you all this time, but I would not obtrude myself on yourtrouble; I thought it better to wait. "

"It was very kind, very thoughtful of you, " replied Bessie, in a lowvoice. And then she added, shyly: "This is all new to me. I neverexpected this, Mr. Sefton. "

"I was afraid not, from your manner; but, Bessie, for my sake you willthink of it now. We have been friends, and now you have grown necessaryto my happiness. I have been very lonely all these years; I shall belonelier than ever if you cannot bring yourself to love me. " His voicewas so sad that the tears came to Bessie's eyes. She longed to comforthim; but how was she to be sure of her own mind?

"Will you give me a little time, a few hours to think of it?" she saidat last. "It will not be right to answer you now. Do my mother andfather know about this?"

"Yes, " he returned eagerly, for her words filled him with hope; she hadnot repulsed him, and her manner, though confused, was as gentle asever. "They quite approved. You see, I knew you so well that I would nothave ventured to speak to you without their sanction. "

"You were right, " she said softly; and then she looked at him in abeseeching way that made Richard say:

"You would like me to leave you alone for a little, would you not?"

"If you please--that is, if you do not mind. "

"I will go, then. But, Bessie, you will be here to-morrow morning?"

"Yes. "

"I will be content with that promise, then, " and Richard lifted his hatand moved away, and Bessie went home. 

Breakfast was ready when she arrived, and she took her place at once, and made an effort to talk as usual. Once Edna made a remark aboutRichard. 

"I have promised to drive him over the downs, " she said. "Bessie, MissShelton wants to do some shopping; do you mind taking charge of her forthe morning?"

"Certainly not, " replied Bessie, who would have given worlds to bequiet; but she could not refuse Edna. She was afraid, however, that MissShelton found her a stupid companion; every now and then her attentionwandered; she was conscious that a grave decision, one that would affecther whole life, was hanging in the balance; she had promised Richard tothink about it, but no such thought seemed possible. 

"I am tiring you out, my dear, " observed Miss Shelton at last, "and itmust be nearly luncheon time. I dare say Edna has returned from herdrive. "

Yes, Edna was standing in the window when they entered, but Richard wasnot with her. 

"Ritchie said he would lunch at his hotel, " she observed; "and he isgoing over to Lewes this afternoon, and may be late for dinner; and inthat case he will have a chop somewhere, as he does not want us to waitfor him. "

"He will come in afterward, I suppose, " replied Miss Shelton; but Bessiesaid to herself that he would do no such thing. How thoughtful he wasfor her comfort! He was staying away purposely, that his presence mightnot confuse her; and Bessie felt grateful to him for the delicacy thatshielded and spared her. 

The afternoon was not much better than the morning. Edna carried offMiss Shelton to the Aquarium, and left Bessie to drive with her mother;and as Mrs. Sefton was very talkative and in excellent spirits, Bessiehad to maintain her share of the conversation. They found visitors ontheir return, and Bessie had to pour out the tea, and help entertainthem, as Edna was tired from her exertions. 

As she had predicted, Richard never made his appearance at all, althoughMiss Shelton and Edna both expected him, and indulged in wonderingcomments on his prolonged absence. Bessie found her position unbearableat last, and she made an excuse to retire early to her room. She gave asigh of relief when she closed the door. 

"At last I can think, " she said to herself, as she drew her chair to thefire. 

How was she to answer Richard to-morrow? But even as she asked herselfthe question she knew she had her answer ready. True, he had taken herby surprise; she had never suspected that this was his meaning. Bessie'sunconsciousness, her humble estimate of herself, had blinded her to thetruth. She hardly knew herself how much he was to her until his wordshad broken the spell; but now there was no room for doubt. She respectedhim; he had claimed her sympathy long ago, and now he had won her love. 

"Oh, if only my Hatty knew!" were her last thoughts that night, aftershe had finished her thanksgiving for the new blessing that had comeinto her life; and though she was still tremulous and confused withhappiness, she quieted herself with a few childlike prayers, and soonslept soundly. 

Bessie felt a little nervous as she left the house the next morning, butshe tried not to think of herself. Richard was waiting for her on theParade. One glance at him banished her nervousness; he looked pale andanxious, as though he had not slept, but he made an effort to smile ashe held out his hand. 

"Is there any hope for me, Bessie?"

"Yes, " she said simply, as she left her hand in his; and Richard neededno further answer. 

It was a bright, peaceful hour that followed, as they walked side byside, looking at the shining sea and speaking of the dim future that laybefore them. 

"I was afraid you were too good for me, Bessie, " Richard said, bye andbye, when he had exhausted his gratitude a little. "Sometimes I used tolose hope. 'She will never care for such a rough fellow, ' I often saidto myself. "

"You must not speak against yourself now, " returned Bessie shyly. 

"No, dear, for you have promised to take me just as I am, and that wouldmake any fellow think more of himself. Bessie, you must not mind if mymother is not quite pleased at first; she is an ambitious woman, and hernotions are very different from mine. " Bessie did not answer for amoment, and her silence seemed to alarm Richard. 

"She is only my stepmother; I am my own master, Bessie. "

"Yes, I know, " in a low voice. "I was thinking about that last night. Iam afraid she will not like it, and it troubles me a little. We are notrich, and----"

"What does that matter?" with a touch of impatience. "I thought you werefree from that sort of nonsense, Bessie. "

"It does not matter to us, " replied Bessie, with a slight emphasis onthe "us" that was exquisite to Richard's ear. "I am only speaking ofMrs. Sefton; but she is not your own mother, and she has never made youhappy, and she has no right to prevent you pleasing yourself. "

"That is spoken like a sensible girl. I must thank you for that speech. Your father said much the same thing to me. 'You are your own master, 'he remarked, 'and your stepmother has no right to control your choice;but, knowing her as I do, she will not be pleased. '"

"You will tell her as soon as possible, will you not--and Edna, too?"

"I will tell them this morning. You must leave everything to me. Youshall be subjected to no unpleasantness that I can prevent. And, Bessie, I am going to take you down to Cliffe. I have made my mind up to that. "

"Very well, " she said, with a smile. And it was a new thing for Richardto assert himself and meet with no contradiction; and as he looked atthe girl beside him, and met her clear, candid glance, his heartswelled within him for very gratitude. 

"It is getting late; we must go home now, " observed Bessie, wondering alittle at his sudden silence. 

"Yes, we will go home, " he replied, rousing himself. "I was justthinking, dear, what life will mean to me when I have you beside me. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

IN THE COOMBE WOODS. 

Breakfast was a more difficult affair than it had been on the precedingmorning, and Edna, who was very quick-witted, soon saw there wassomething amiss with Bessie; but she was a kind-hearted girl, and shethrew herself with such animation into the conversation that Bessie'ssilence was unnoticed. 

When the meal was finished Bessie withdrew to her room, and Edna wouldhave followed her, but just then Richard came in, and begged her in alow voice to get rid of Miss Shelton for half an hour, as he wanted tospeak to her and her mother; and then in a moment Edna guessed thetruth. 

Bessie remained a long time alone. She had finished her letter to hermother, and had just taken up her work, before Edna came in search ofher. 

Edna looked excited, and there were tears in her eyes as she kissedBessie. 

"You naughty little thing!" she said, trying to laugh. "Who ever wouldhave thought of you and Ritchie falling in love with each other? Idon't think I have ever been more surprised in my life. "

"I was surprised, too, " replied Bessie naïvely. "Dear Edna, are you verymuch shocked?"

"Not at all. On the whole, I am very much pleased at the idea of havingyou as a sister. I fell in love with you myself, Bessie. I told Ritchiethat, so I ought not to be so surprised that he has followed my example. I am not quite sure that he is good enough for you. I suppose you thinkhe is, " doubtfully. 

"Yes, indeed. It is I who am not good enough for him, " replied Bessie, blushing, and looking so pretty that Edna hugged her again. 

"You are very kind to me, Edna, but I am afraid your mother will not bepleased about this;" and then Edna's face grew somewhat grave. 

"No, Bessie, she is not; and she is very hard upon poor Richard, asusual, and I had to take his part. Mamma is very proud, and that is whyshe approved so much of Neville, because he belongs to county people andis his uncle's heir. Neville will be terribly rich one day. "

"And I am poor!" in a troubled voice. 

"Yes, but Richard has plenty of money, and, as I tell mamma, I cannotsee what that matters. You are a lady, Bessie; your mother is a perfectgentlewoman; and as for Dr. Lambert, mamma knows what he is--she cannotsay a word against him. She says she is very fond of you personally, butall the same she does not want Richard to marry you. You see, "hesitating a little, "mamma will have to leave The Grange when Ritchiemarries, and she does not like the idea of that; but, as Richard justlysaid, his father hoped he would marry early, and he had a right, likeany other man, to take a wife when he wishes. Of course, mamma has not agrain of right on her side, but she chooses to be angry with Richardbecause he has been down to Cliffe and settled everything withoutreference to her; she says it is the way he always treats her. "

"I think I will go to your mother, Edna. Is--is your brother with her?"

"Yes, I believe so; but they are not talking now. Ritchie sent me toyou. Must you go, Bessie, dear? mamma will not be a bit nice to you. "

"I cannot help that; but I am as much to blame as your brother is, and Ishall not leave him to bear the brunt of it all. " And though Bessielooked a little pale as she said this, she carried out her resolve muchto Mrs. Sefton's astonishment. 

Richard met her at once, and took her hand. 

"I have told my mother, Bessie, " he said, in a clear, high voice thatwas a little defiant. 

"Yes, I know now, when everything is arranged, " returned Mrs. Sefton, inan injured tone. 

"Dear Mrs. Sefton, " said Bessie gently, "nothing was settled until thismorning. Mr. Sefton took me by surprise yesterday, and I was hardlyprepared. Indeed, I had no answer to give him until this morning, so notan hour has been lost. "

"My mother knows all that, " interrupted Richard, "but I cannot convinceher no offence is intended. Mother, I think you might give Bessie akinder reception; she has promised to marry me, and I think my futurewife should be treated with consideration and respect. "

"No, no; how can you talk so?" interrupted Bessie, for the young manspoke in a fiery manner. "Mrs. Sefton, please don't listen to him. Youshall treat me as you will; but I shall always remember how good youhave been to me. Of course you are not pleased with a poor girl like me;but you will be kind to me all the same--will you not? and I will try tofollow all your wishes. It is not your son's fault either, " very shyly, but trying to speak out bravely, "for he could not help caring for me, Isuppose. Do, do try to forgive us both, and be kind to him. " And hereBessie faltered and broke down. 

Nothing could have been better than Bessie's little impetuous speech. Mrs. Sefton was a proud, ambitious woman, but she was not wholly withoutfeelings, and she had always been fond of Bessie. The girl's sweetnessand humility, her absence of all assumption, the childlike way in whichshe threw herself upon her womanly kindness, touched Mrs. Sefton's coldheart, and she kissed the wet, flushed cheek. 

"Don't cry, Bessie. I suppose as things are settled we must just makethe best of them. Richard put me out, and I said more than I meant. Iwas not pleased. I think I ought to have been consulted at least, notleft so wholly in the dark. "

"I am very sorry, mother, but you have never invited my confidence, "replied Richard; but his lips quivered as he spoke. 

"Yes; but you will be kinder to him now, " and Bessie looked imploringlyat her; "indeed, he has always loved you, but you have repelled him so. Richard, " very softly, "will you not tell your mother that you mean tobe good to her?"

Mrs. Sefton looked up, and her eyes met her stepson's. "It was not myfault, mother, " he said, with suppressed emotion. 

Bessie thought that he was speaking of their engagement, but Richard'swords conveyed a different meaning to his stepmother's ears. He wasgoing back to the past. Again he saw himself a shy, nervous boy, standing before the proud, handsome girl who had just become hisfather's wife. "He can never be anything to me, " he heard her say; andher low, bitter tones lingered long in his ears. "If I had known of hisexistence it might have been different; but now--" and she turned awaywith a gesture of dislike. 

"Ritchie, my boy, you must ask this lady to forgive us both, " his fatherhad observed, rather sadly. 

How well Richard remembered that little scene! the discomfitedexpression of his father's face; his own puzzled, childish feelings. Allthese years he had suffered the consequences of his father's rash act. "He can never be anything to me, " she had said, and her words had cometrue. 

"Mother, it was not my fault, " he said, looking into her eyes. 

And for the first time she quailed before that sad, reproachful gaze; itseemed to compel her to acknowledge the truth. "No, Richard; it was yourfather's; it was he who estranged us, " she returned slowly. "I was notthe woman to forgive deceit. I wish--I wish things could have beendifferent. "

"They shall be different, " he replied gently, "if you will have it so, mother; it is not too late yet;" and though she did not answer, andthere was no response to that burst of generous feeling, there wassomething in her face that gave Richard hope; neither did she repulsehim when he stooped over her and kissed her. 

"Try to make the best of me, " he said; and Mrs. Sefton sighed, and lefther hand in his. 

Richard took Bessie out with him after that. He was agitated anddispirited by the interview with his stepmother, and needed all thecomfort Bessie could give him. 

"It is very hard to bear, " were his first words, when he found himselfalone with her. 

"Yes, it is very hard, " she replied gently; "but you behaved so well itmade me so proud to hear you;" and Richard felt a glow of satisfactionat her words. 

"You were beside me, helping me all the time, " he said simply. "Bessie, if you only knew what it is to me to be sure of your sympathy. My littleblessing, I think you were born to be a peacemaker. It was you whosoftened my mother's heart; before you came in she was so hard, and saidsuch bitter things, and then I lost my temper, and----"

"Do not go back to that, " she said quietly. "Your mother was taken bysurprise. She said herself that she spoke hastily. Let us give her time. She cannot alter her nature all at once. You have been very patient along time, Richard; be patient still for my sake. "

"There is nothing I would not do for your sake, " he replied; and Bessiewas pleased to see him smile. 

After all, it was not difficult to comfort him; the cloud soon passedaway from his face, and in a little while they were talking as happilytogether as though no unkind words had been said. 

They had a quiet, peaceful Sunday together, and then Richard went backto Oatlands, on the understanding that he was to return on Wednesdaynight and take Bessie down to Cliffe the next day. 

Bessie was not sorry to be left alone for two days to realize her ownhappiness; but, all the same, she was glad to welcome him back again onWednesday, though she was secretly amused when Richard declared thosetwo days of absence had been intolerably long; still she liked to hearhim say it. 

It was a happy evening to Bessie when she saw Richard for the first timein her own dear home, making one of the family circle, and looking asthough he had been there for years. How kindly they had all greeted him!She saw by her mother's expression how pleased and excited she was. Shetook the young man under her motherly wing at once, and petted and mademuch of him; and it was easy to see how proud her father was of hisson-in-law elect. Bessie thought she had never seen Richard to suchadvantage before. There was no awkwardness in his manner; he was alert, cheerful, and at his ease, ready to talk to Christine or to the youngergirls, and full of delicate little attentions to his _fiancée_. 

"A fine, manly fellow!" observed Dr. Lambert, as he wished his daughtergood-night. "You have won a prize, my girl; I am perfectly satisfiedwith my future son-in-law, " and Bessie blushed and smiled over herfather's encomium. 

But the most comfortable moment was when she had her mother to herself, for Mrs. Lambert had stolen upstairs after Bessie. 

"Oh, mother, this is what I wanted, " she said, drawing her mother downinto the low chair beside the fire, and kneeling on the rug beside her. "How good of you to come up to me! I was so longing for a talk. "

"I think your father wanted Mr. Sefton to himself, so I left themtogether. "

"You must call him Richard, " corrected Bessie; "he wants you to do so. It was so nice to see him with you to-night; he will never want a mothernow. You like him, do you not?" rather shyly. 

"Yes, indeed; we all like him; there is something so genuine about him. My darling, I have not felt so happy since our poor Hatty's death. "

"I think she would have been pleased about this, mother; it is the onedrop of bitterness in my cup of happiness that her congratulations aremissing. You were all so dear and kind to me, and to Richard, too; but Imissed my Hatty;" and Bessie leaned against her mother's shoulder, andshed a few quiet tears. 

"I think I must tell you something, " returned her mother soothingly. "Dear little Hatty used to talk in the strangest way sometimes. Onenight when she had been very ill, and I was sitting beside her, shetold me that she had had such a funny dream about you--that you and Mr. Sefton were going to be married, and that she had seen you dressed inwhite, and looking so happy, and then she said very wistfully, 'Supposing my dream should come true, mother, and our Bessie reallymarried him, how nice that would be!' and she would speak of it morethan once, until I was obliged to remind her that I never cared to talkof such subjects, and that I did not like my girls to talk of them, either. 'But, all the same, mother, Bessie will not be an old maid, ' shepersisted, with such a funny little smile, and then she left off toplease me. "

"How strange!" replied Bessie thoughtfully. "I must tell Richard that;he was so kind about Hatty. Mother, is it not nice to be able to tellsome one all one's thoughts, and be sure of their interest? That is howI begin to feel about Richard. He is always so kind and patient, andready to hear everything, and he never laughs nor turn things into fun, as Tom does; and he is so clever; he knows things of which I am quiteignorant;" and Bessie rambled on in an innocent, girlish way of herlover's perfections, while her mother listened with a smile, rememberingher own young days. 

"She is very simple, " she said to her husband that night; "she thinksonly of him; she does not seem to remember that he is rich, and thatone day she will be mistress of The Grange. That is so like our Bessie;she always goes to the heart of things. "

"I am very much pleased with him, " replied Dr. Lambert; "he is just asunsophisticated in his way as Bessie is in hers. You would have liked tohave heard him, Dora. He seems to think there is no one like her. 'Sheis worth a dozen of me, ' he said; and he meant it, too. "

Richard spent several days at Cliffe, and they were golden days to himand Bessie. On the last evening they went out together, for in theLamberts' crowded household there was little quiet for the lovers, andRichard had pleaded for one more walk. "I shall not see you for sixwhole weeks, " he said disconsolately; and, as usual, Bessie yielded tohis wishes. 

They climbed up by the quarry into the Coombe Woods, and walked throughthe long, green alleys that seemed to stretch into space. The CoombeWoods were a favorite trysting-place for young couples, and many avillage lad and lass carried on their rustic courtship there. The treeswere leafless now, but the February sky was soft and blue, and the birdswere twittering of the coming spring. 

"And Edna is to be married in June, " observed Bessie, breaking thesilence. "I am glad Mrs. Sefton has given her consent. "

"I suppose they gave her no option, " replied Richard. "I knew whenSinclair went down on Saturday that he would settle something. Ednawould not be likely to refuse him anything just now. You will have to beher bridesmaid, Bessie, so I am sure of some rides with you in June. "

"Dear old Whitefoot! I shall be glad to mount him again. "

"I shall get you a better horse before next winter. Whitefoot is growingold. Bessie, I ought not to be dissatisfied when you have been so goodto me; but do you not think it would be possible to induce your fatherto change his mind?"

Bessie did not pretend to misunderstand his meaning; she only saidgently:

"No, Richard; and I do not think it would be right to ask him;" and thenshe added, "You know dear Hatty will only have been dead a year. "

"Yes, I see what you mean, " he replied slowly, "and I must not beselfish; but next October is a long time to wait, Bessie. "

"It will not seem so, " she answered brightly, "and we must not hurryyour mother; there will be Edna's marriage in June, and my visit to TheGrange, and every now and then you will come here. "

"Yes, and there will be my mother to settle in her new house--you seewhat Edna says in her letter, that they have decided not to separate;that means that my mother will take a house at Kensington. Well, I daresay that will be for the best; but when my mother goes The Grange willwant its mistress. "

"It will not want her long, " she said very gently, "and Richard, dear, you have promised not to be impatient. Mother is not ready to part withme yet. I shall not like to think of you being lonely in that big house;but it will not be for long. "

"And, after all, I shall not be lonely, " he returned, for he was not tobe outdone in unselfishness. "I shall be getting the house ready foryou, and the new mare. Oh, and there will be a hundred things to do, andin the evenings I shall talk to Mac about his new mistress, and he willlook up in my face with his wise, deep-set eyes, as though he understoodevery word, and was as glad as I was that October would soon come. "

"Poor old Mac!" she exclaimed; and there was a soft color in her face asshe interrupted him. "You must give him a pat from me, and to all thedear dogs--Leo, and Gelert, and Brand, and Bill Sykes--we must notforget Bill Sykes--and Tim, and Spot; and tell them--" And then shestopped and looked at him with a smile. 

"What shall I tell them?" he asked coaxingly; "that you will be gladtoo, when October comes?"

"If you like, " she answered quietly, "you may tell them that; but, Richard, when I think of the future, it is all like a dream. I cannotimagine that the dear old Grange is to be my home. "

"You will find it very real, " he replied. "Think what walks we shallhave on Sunday afternoons, with Bill Sykes and his companions; and whenyou go into the drawing-room to make tea, Tim and Spot will not be leftoutside. "

"Wait a moment, Richard look at that sunset;" and Bessie pointed to thewestern heavens, which were bathed in a glow of golden light. They hadreached the end of the wood; a wide stretch of country lay before them. How still and quiet it was! even the birds' twitterings had ceased. Bessie's eyes grew soft and wistful; the sunset glories had reminded herof Hatty in her far-off home. 

Down below them lay the bay, like a sea of glass mingled with fire. "Thank God, all is well with my Hatty!" she thought; and then she turnedto Richard with a gentle smile, and they went slowly back through thewood again, talking quietly of the days that were to be. 

THE END. 

Transcriber's Note:

 Changes to the original publication have been made as follows:

 Table of contents The Oatland Post-mark _changed to_ The Oatlands Post-mark

 Page 7 "I am sure I don't know" returned _changed to_ "I am sure I don't know, " returned

 Page 17 in ice in Artic _changed to_ in ice in Arctic

 Page 56 I dont think Aunt _changed to_ I don't think Aunt

 Page 79 proudly to show her treassure _changed to_ proudly to show her treasure

 Page 80 manners My Bessie is _changed to_ manners. My Bessie is

 Page 92 embarrased manner _changed to_ embarrassed manner

 Page 94 live anywhere else?" _changed to_ live anywhere else!"

 Page 95 inintellect, of art _changed to_ intellect, of art

 Page 103 then her mother dotes on her. _changed to_ then her mother dotes on her. "

 Page 109 "You may come in if you like, old fellow. _changed to_ "You may come in if you like, old fellow. "

 Page 111 Hatty! Oh, you mean the little _changed to_ "Hatty! Oh, you mean the little

 Page 113 but for my part I think him _changed to_ "but for my part I think him

 Page 130 but I I can imagine what a _changed to_ but I can imagine what a

 Page 139 muff, but the man be has _changed to_ muff, but the man he has

 Page 162 he returned hastiiy _changed to_ he returned hastily

 Page 164 step-mother was young, and did not _changed to_ stepmother was young, and did not

 Page 173 I go there very often because _changed to_ 'I go there very often because

 Page 209 and the heorines have _changed to_ and the heroines have

 Page 216 "Hatty is not well, " observed Bessie anxiously _changed to_ "Hatty is not well, " observed Bessie anxiously. 

 Page 222 What a terriffic clap! _changed to_ What a terrific clap!

 Page 267 effort to come, if only for my sake. ' _changed to_ effort to come, if only for my sake. 

 Page 283 is quite well, " he continueed coldly _changed to_ is quite well, " he continued coldly

 Page 297 You father will find that _changed to_ Your father will find that

 Page 309 "I had some business there, he began awkwardly _changed to_ "I had some business there, " he began awkwardly

 Page 310 "Yes, indeed, he replied promptly _changed to_ "Yes, indeed, " he replied promptly