Skip to main content

Full text of "Bessie"

See other formats 


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http : //books . google . com/| 



iiiimiiin 

60007S7S7. 


] 



BESSIE. 



VOL. III. 



BESSIE. 



JUIU KAVANAGH, 

AOTHOB or 

"NATHALIE," "AJDELE," "SILVIA," 



IN THREE VOLUMES. 
VOL. m. 




LONDON: 
HUKST AND BLAOKETT, PUBLISHERS, 

13, GREAT HAHL60&0UQH STBEET. 
1872. 



^^ 



1- f 



3/5~. 



LONDON: 
PRINTED BT MACDONALD AND TUOWELL, 

BLENHEIM HOUSE. 



BESSIE. 



CHAPTER I. 

rpHE curtain often drops on the stagd of life, 
^ and the wearied actors in the drama rest 
awhile before they begin anew. So (t was with 
UB ; the deepest lull followed -that tempest of 
passion. Late Summer ripened into Autumn, 
and Autumn yielded to wintry frosts and 
snows, and still we lived on at the old house in 
Fontainebleau, none of us, not even Mr. de 
Lusignan, I believe, knowing why we stayed 
there. He, to be sure, did not find our solitude 
irksome, for every now and then he was missing 
from the breakfast-table, ** business " having 
suddenly taken him off to Paris, or even to 
London. 

VOL. III. B 



2 BESSIE. 

" Dear, dear 1" Elizabeth would say, mocking- 
ly, when Mademoiselle quietly gave us this 
account of Mr. de Lusignan's doings, ** what a 
very busy man the poor gentleman is !" 

To which remark Mademoiselle never re- 
turned any sort of answer. It was lucky that 
we none of us disliked this quiet and lonely 
life, in a strange place and a strange country. 
Elizabeth and I were friends again — not as we 
had been once, but friends enough to make our 
companionship pleasant. It had been more 
than that in the days that were gone by ; then 
I had told her every thought that passed 
through me ; and now she had taught me to 
keep my own counsel, and I had taken the 
lesson to heart, and not forgotten it. 

I could not. I had lost my lover and my 
friend, James Carr and Mr. Herbert, but I 
never mentioned either to her, often as I thought 
of them. I wondered how James Carr fared in 
his new home, and how Mr. Herbert was get- 
ting on in his battle with the world ; but I had 
voluntarily given up James, and voluntarily 
too Mr. Herbert had bid me an adieu which he 



BE SSIE. 3 

intended as final ; what then had my thoughts 
to do with them? — and would not Elizabeth 
have scoffed, or, at least, wondered at me, if I 
had broached the subject? Besides, I could 
not. I remembered how the jealousy of James 
seemed to have wakened that of Elizabeth; 
and during the long Winter I speculated, sadly 
enough, upon the possibility of my having been 
the cause of that sudden estrangement between 
her and her lover which neither he nor she had 
ever explained to me 1 

All this I kept to myself. Elizabeth did not 
even know a hope which I then cherished, all 
the more fondly that it was the only ray of 
sunshine which pierced the dull cloud of my 
grief. As I recovered slowly from the fever 
which had laid me so low, my guardian had 
spoken of going to Ireland, and taking me with 
him. 

I suppose I have a traditionary sort of mind, 
a mind much out of fashion in these days, I am 
toldr-^a mind that looks back to the past, and 
loves its historical country and unknown kin- 
dred. For Ireland, about which I knew little 

b2 



4 BESSIE. 

or nothing, attracted me wonderfully. I wanted 
to look at it, to see what it was like, and so this 
careless promise of my guardian's became the 
one thing that I thought of. I had relations in 
Ireland; I did not know where they were — 
never mind, I should be sure to find them out, 
through one of those wonderful chances which 
play so large a part in the story of the young. 
I mean that story woven out of their own 
brains, which steps so gaily before them in the 
path of life, walking on tip-toe through the 
thorns and briers, or dancing like a mote in the 
sunshine. 

Now one bleak morning, late in March, I was 
following that pleasant vision with more zeal 
than discretion, when a ruthless hand tore the 
flimsy cobweb to pieces. We were all taking 
our breakfast — ^that is to say. Mademoiselle 
was reading a letter which she had just re- 
ceived ; Elizabeth, looking lovely and dreamy, 
was drinking her coffee ; my guardian was 
breaking the shell of his third egg; and I — 
having first eaten my buttered toast, and drunk 
my one cup of tea — was going through that 



BESSIE. 5 

series of marvellous coincidences, thanks to 
which I was recovering a missing aunt and 
three lost cousins, all good, warm-hearted girls, 
when Mr. de Lusignan said — 

" I hope it will not take you long to pack up, 
Mignonnel" 

'*Ohl are we really going?" I cried, with a 
joyous start. 

" You are going, Bessie," he rather drily an- 
swered. 

"To Ireland?" I suggested dubiously. 

" I did not utter the word Ireland," he replied, 
very disagreeably. 

Consternation must have been written in my 
&ce, but my guardian did not care for such mute 
language. 

" And where are we going ?" I asked faintly. 

" To England." He spoke shortly, and rose 
as he spoke, walked to the fireplace, and took up 
a newspaper. I looked at Mademoiselle. She 
answered the look with one of tranquil gravity. 
She was not taken by surprise, if I was. From 
her I turned to Elizabeth — she stirred her coffee 
with her spoon very quietly; but I fancied I 



6 BESSIE. 

saw the rebellious curl of her dainty lip ; my 
hopes rose at once. 

" Oh 1 dear, what a disappointment 1" I ex- 
claimed, with sudden petulance. 

"What I" said my guardian, looking at me 
over the edge of his newspaper with genuine 
surprise. 

"I am so disappointed I" I persisted, look- 
ing at Elizabeth, who went on stirring her 
coffee and made no sign, at which my heart 
fell somewhat. " I did hope to see Ireland," I 
resumed ; '* but of course you like going to 
England best." 

Mr. de Lusignan lauglied. 

" I am not going there at all," he said, curtly. 
" I am going to Spain." 

Elizabeth just raised her head for a moment, 
and looked straight before her through the 
window. It seemed to me as if a half sigh of 
relief passed through her parted lips, but that 
was all. 

" Then you send us to England ?" I resumed, 
in an aggrieved tone, feeling indeed quite ready 
to cry with vexation and annoyance. ** I sup- 



BESSIE. 7 

pose you like it ?" I added, looking reproachfully 
at Mademoiselle. 

" I am not going, my dear," she answered, 
very quietly. 

I looked at Elizabeth — she was silent, not 
merely silent in speech, but silent and impene- 
trable in aspect as any stone Sphinx of the desert. 
I began to feel rather frightened. Had I done 
wrong ? Had I been naughty, and was I now 
punished and exiled alone to England 1 I was 
not compelled to put the question. 

"Mrs. Henry and you are going together," 
resumed Mr. de Lusignan. 

Surely Elizabeth would never tolerate being 
thus disposed of? I turned to her, for if I was 
a rebel, she was my chief, without whom I could 
not act ; but again my appealing eyes met with 
no response. My captain went on stirring her 
coffee. Either the cause was lost, or — I clung 
fondly to that secret hope — ^the decisive mo- 
ment for action had not come. So I submitted 
with a " Very well, I shall pack up," that meant 
" I cannot help myself, you know." 

I went up to my room, and looked about me 



8 BESSIE. 

rather disconsolately. Now that I was not 
going to Ireland, I clung to this temporary nest 
with sudden regret. It seemed as if something 
of myself must remain in the home I was leav- 
ing. The window which had let in sky and 
sunshine to me, these silent walls that had 
heard and would keep my counsel so faithfully 
when I was gone, that narrow floor, which was 
to me as the deck of a ship is to the captain, 
my little world whereof I was sole and sove- 
reign mistress-all these surely were as a por- 
tion of myself^ and would leave me the poorer for 
our parting. But it must be. Our autocrat 
had spoken, and all I had to do was to pack up 
at once. Before I began, however, I thought I 
might as well see what Elizabeth was doing. I 
went to her room, and found her standing over 
Watkins, who was methodically shaking out, 
and then carefully foldiug up, a beautiful and 
costly lace shawl. The bed, the chairs, were 
covered with articles of wearing apparel ; and a 
large trunk, studded with nails, and looking 
armed cap^-pie for railway encounters, stood 
wide open on the floor. 



BESSIE 9 

That Mademoiselle and I should submit to 
Mr. de Lusignan's will, was a matter of course ; 
but this sudden compliance of his rebellious 
daughter-in-law's surprised me, and also de- 
stroyed all the latent hopes I had placed in her 
ultimate resistance. 

" How do you like it, Elizabeth I" I asked, ra- 
ther crossly. 

"Like what, Bessie?" she composedly replied; 
" the packing up t Oh ! yes, I am so fond of it. 
Packing up, removing to a new house, and buy- 
ing and selling, are my delight. Take care, 
Watkins. You really must get some silk paper. 
I told you so at once." 

She spoke very shortly, and was so much en- 
grossed by the necessity of silk paper that 
she scarcely gave me a look. I left her dis- 
pirited and crestfallen. 

My store of worldly goods was not super- 
abundant in those days, somy packiug-up could 
not take me more than a few hours. I set about 
it at once, for Mr. de Lusignan's wishes were 
so many whirlwinds, which swept everyone 
and everything before them. Since he wanted 



10 BESSIE. 

to go to Spain, he could not hurry us too 
quickly away from Fontainebleau, And yet 
this wish of his amazed me much. Was he so 
sure of Elizabeth now that he thus let her and 
the boy out of his reach, not even keeping the 
safeguard of Mademoiselle's presence over her ? 
Another question perplexed me when I thought 
about it. Had Mr. de Lusignan a home in Eng- 
land, that he sent us to it I — and if he had not, 
whither could we possibly be going? It had 
not occurred to me to put these questions at 
the proper time, and the information which I 
now got from Mademoiselle nearly took my 
breath away, so great was my surprise. She 
came to my room to give me that needfiil know- 
ledge, just as I sat down, rather tired and a little 
out of breath with my packing. 

" Has Mr. de Lusignan told you to Whom he 
sends you, Mignonne ?" she asked, sitting down 
on a little chair by the window. 

"Then we are not going to Portland Place?" 
I said doubtfully. 

" There is no Portland Place now," she an- 
swered with a sigh. " I do not know if Mr. de 



BESSIE. 11 

Lusignan will ever have a home in England, or 
anywhere, again." 

I made no comment, but waited. 

" You are going to Miss RusseU's," she pur- 
sued. 

" Surely not to Mr. Herbert's Miss Russell ?" 
I cried, amazed. 

" Yes, my dear, to her. Did you not know 
she was an old friend of Mr. de Lusignan's ? 
She feels dull, I believe, and has asked Mrs. 
Henry, the child, and you to go and spend a few 
weeks with her. She resides for the present in 
a rather lonely house in shire. The coun- 
try aroimd is beautiful, and your stay will not 
be so long as to allow you to feel very dull, 
Mignonne." 

« My goodness !" I exclaimed, still dismayed, 
** what takes us to that old Miss Russell's ?" 

Mademoiselle laughed. *' Old Miss Russell is 
much younger than I am," she said — " old Miss 
Russell is barely forty." 

" Well, but what takes us to her ?" I said, 
piteously. " She does not know us, and how 
can she care for us ?" 



12 BESSIE. 

" I believe we were all to go ; bat Mr. de Lu- 
signan has other views for himself^ and Miss 
Russell's invitation is very convenient just now. 
But he will not leave you long out of his sight, 
and, as I said before, you will not have time to 
feel dull. But, though I really think you will 
find Miss Russell's house a pleasant house in 
many respects, I wish to utter a few words 
of warning before we part. It is hard to 
say so to so young a thing as you are, Mig- 
nonne," she added, looking at me very kindly, 
"but you must be on your guard in that 
house. Miss Russell Has her peculiarities, and 
you must be careful — not to humour them, an 
angel could not do that — ^but to avoid making 
mischief. Forget, Mignonne — ^forget as much as 
you can." 

"Forget what?" I asked, rather bluntly. 

"Everj'thing that concerns yourself and 
other people, Mignonne. Let there be no past 
for the five or six weeks you are to spend there 
— ^let it be all present or future, but past never." 

She spoke so emphatically that I was a little 
startled. 



BESSIE. 13 

" Oh 1 Elizabeth will manage all that," I said, 
in some alarm. " You know how clever she is ; 
and I — really, Mademoiselle, T am quite stupid 
in those things." 

Mademoiselle looked at me and sighed. 

** My dear," she said quietly, " rely on your- 
self alone in this as in other things. Never 
put your prudence, any more than your con- 
science, in the keeping of another. Mrs. Henry 
is very beautiful, and very amiable ; but is she 
prudent ?" 

I felt the force of the argument. No, Eliza- 
beth was not prudent — that was true enough. 
Men and women of strong wills rarely are ; but 
then she was so clever. Besides, though Made- 
moiselle's warning impressed me whilst it was 
being uttered, another thought far more en- 
grossing rose to my lips, in words which, how- 
ever, were not spoken. How was it that Eliza- 
beth, so long and so jealously guarded, was 
thus suddenly set free ? I longed to put the 
question, but did not know how to frame it ; 
and whilst I thus hesitated. Mademoiselle rose 
and left me, merely saying ; 



14 BESSIE. 

" We go to-morrow morning, yon know." 
And we did go. The next morning we bade 
Fontainebleau adieu. I went early into the 
forest, to look around me once more. A tem- 
pestuous wind was blowing through the leaf- 
less trees, and along the shadowless avenues, 
above which big grey clouds were flying. The 
green world which I had seen so gay, which had 
been so full of the song of happy birds, was now 
both cold and mute. Yet I turned away from 
it with a sort of sorrow. It seemed as if many 
a happy day were staying there for ever behind 
me. I had paid those days their full price, true, 
and bought them rather dear, but what of that ? 
They had been mine, and who knew what the 
future held in store T But youth has many a 
secret hope ever whispering in its ear, and 
where is the use of recording, now that life has 
told its tale, all that Hope said to me, as we 
walked back together to the house of the fair 
Gabrielle 



15 



CHAPTER n. 

'I ITE parted from Mr. de Lusignan in Paris, 
' ' where we spent a week, and from Made- 
moiselle in Boulogne. It was to be a brief sepa- 
ration, and yet the tears rose to my eyes as I 
stood on the deck with my hand in hers ; but 
there was a sort of passion in the way in which 
Elizabeth kissed her, left her, then came back 
and kissed her again. 

" God bless you, my dearl" said Mademoiselle, 
kindly, but with a quiet smile on her pleasant 
face. ^^ I shall not waken Harry, since he has 
chosen to &ll asleep at the awkward moment." 

She glanced towards the child, who, tired 
with the journey, had laid his little sallow face 
on Watkins's shoulder, and was sleeping there. 

" Write to n;ie soon," she added, turning, to- 
wards me. 



16 BESSIE. 

The bell rang. There was the usual con- 
fusion, and Mademoiselle left us. I looked after 
her till I could see her no more, and, when I 
turned back to Elizabeth, I found her standing 
by me, with the sea-breeze blowing back her 
black veil from her face, and a look in her eyes, 
and a smile on her lips, that filled me with sur- 
prise. I touched her arm and said : 

" Elizabeth, how glad you look 1" 

" It's the sea-air," she answered ; and indeed 
her cheeks were as fresh as the brightest roses. 

"Yes; but how very glad you do look!" I 
persisted. 

" Then I am glad, I suppose," she answered, 
so shortly, though not unkindly, that I felt 
silenced. 

Adventure, unless in the awfiil form of col- 
lision, seems to be blotted out of railway tra- 
velling. We escaped that unpleasant variety, 

and our journey to shire was both easy and 

monotonous. We rested for an hour at a hotel 
in London, and during that hour Elizabeth went 
out. 

** I must get some gloves," she said to me, 



BESSIE. 17 

*mth unusual communicativeneBS ; but she did 
not ask me to accompany her. Indeed, her 
hand was on the door as she spoke. 

Harry was cross and tired, and would have 
nothing to do with me. I left him to Watkins, 
and went to the window. It was raining hard, 
and a gusty wind, which April had borrowed 
from March, was blowing shrilly among the 
chimney-tops. London looked very black, grim, 
and dismal, after the clear skies of France. I 
turned away with a sigh, and found Watkins 
and Harry at war. Harry had taken a slip of 
paper from Elizabeth's "Bradshaw" on the 
table, and would make what he called " a 'Ock 
of it." Watkins remonstrated, but Harry carried 
matters with a high hand, and would have pre- 
vailed but for me. I took the paper from him, 
thrust it into my pocket, and, heedless of his 
black looks, took up " Bradshaw," for want of 
better reading. 

Elizabeth came in before the hour was out, 
and threw a pair of gloves on the table. 

" They must do for you, Watkins," she said. 
" They will certainly never do for me. I hate 

VOL. III. C 



I 



18 BESSIE. 

London for that. Shop people will make you 
buy — tiresome things 1" 

** But, Elizabeth, how could you be persuaded 
into buying these gloves ?" I exclaimed, looking 
at them. " They are twice too large 1 How 
could you ^" 

'^ Oh I because I am a simpleton," she inter- 
rupted, carelessly. " Well, we are going, I sup- 
pose. The railway waiting-room is as good as 
this." 

Night was falling when we reached Hanvil 
Statio% a little lonely station as ever was. 
We were the only passengers who alighted, 
and thus ascertained at once that our luggage 
was missing. Only my trunks had escaped the 
calamity, but both Elizabeth's were gone. 

" But the luggage must be found," imperious- 
ly said Elizabeth, turning on the railway at- 
tendant. " I have not got a thing to wear." 

Spite this irresistible argument, the trunks 
were not found. It was plain, though quite 
inexpUcable, that they had remained beUnd. 

"There never was anything bo vexing," said 
Mrs. Henry, addressing the world in general. 



BESSIE. 19 

^^TAj child has literally nothing but what is 
upon him." 

The station-master promised to send an in- 
quiring: telegram directly, and with that pro- 
mise we must needs be satisfied. Miss Russell's 
carriage had been waiting for us all this time ; 
we entered it, and drove away at once. 

'* How vexatious !" I began, fall, of condo- 
lence for Elizabeth's trouble. "I hope your 
luggage is not lost." 

« I hope not." 

^^Only, Elizabeth, how can it have gone 
away? Do you know, I think it must be at 
the hotel." 

"Oh I where is the i^e of worrying about 
that?" she interrupted, leaning back in the 
carriage. " I believe you have a few things of 
Harry's in your bag, have you not, Watkins ?" 

" YeSf ma'am, I have." 

" Oh 1 very well, / can wait." 

I felt silenced. Elizabeth shut her eyes in 
weary indifference to everything around her ; 
but the world, under all its aspects, was still a 
splendid picture-book to me, and I looked out 

c2 



20 BESSIE. 

of the carriage window as eagerly as if the 
darkness, which was fast coming down, were 
never to be raised again from the pastoral-look- 
ing landscape through which we were driving. 
At length we reached a square black mass, that 
lit suddenly as we drew up in front of it ; there 
was a deep baying of dogs, a door flew open, 
figures moved in the hall, and a low voice said, 
in tones that were very sweet and clear : 

" I am so glad you came to-night. I hope 
you had not a rough passage." 

I could not help starting as I recognised Miss 
Dunn's unmistakable voice. 

" Thank you," carelessly answered Elizabeth, 
who alighted first, '* we got on very well. Give 
me Harry, Watkins." 

I tried not to be stiff with Miss Dunn when I 
alighted and confronted her, but cordiality was 
not in my power. She, however, was sweet as 
a May morning. 

*' Miss Russell will be so glad I" she said, with 
her winning smile, ^^ and she has been so anxi- 
ous the whole day. She is rather poorly now, 
asleep on the sofa, and I daresay you will pre- 



BESSIB. 21 

fer going up to your room before dinner* We 
do not dine for half an hour yet." 

This civil dismissal of Miss Dunn's to our 
respective bedrooms took place in the hall, but 
unluckily the polite part of it received the flat- 
test contradiction from a sharp, middle-aged 
voice, which, issuing from the room on our 
right — the door had remained ajar — said em- 
phatically, 

"We do not dine for another hour. Miss 
Dunn." 

" Oh 1 not for another hour/' remarked Miss 
Dunn, by no means disconcerted. " How nice 1 
You will have the right time to rest — half an 
hour is not enough." 

I do not know how Elizabeth, who, if she 
looked very lovely, also looked very stately, 
would have answered Miss Dunn's common- 
places, if Harry had not wakened, and begun 
screaming with startling suddenness. We all 
hurried upstairs. Elizabeth, Watkins, and the 
culprit disappeared through one door, whilst 
another was opened for me by a neat little 
maid in a white cap. This good genius soon 



22 BESSIE. 

vanished, to return with hot water ; after which 
I remained alone in a blue chintz bedroom, with 
two pale wax lights burning on the toilet-table, 
and my trunk standing before me on the floor. 

I went to the window. The moon was up, 
hunting with angry haste black clouds, that 
fled in fear before her. The wind helped her 
on with a hollow blast that passed like a tem- 
pest through the trees below. In the garden 
all was black and white, and everything had 
so weird a look that I dropped the blind which 
I had raised, and went back to my toilet-table. 
I stood there, looking at my room, and feeling 
as if I must needs be its first guest, so little 
token did its blue chintz bed, chairs, and cur- 
tains, and, above all, its irreproachable decorum 
and exact neatness, give one of a predecessor. 

" What a formal old maid Miss Russell must 
be!" I thought, with secret uneasiness and 
awe. 

An old maid Miss Russell undoubtedly was, 
but formal her bitterest enemies could not call 
her, I wafi dressed and ready when Elizabeth 
came in for me. 



BESSIE. 23 

" Oh 1 you have got the young ladies' room," 
she said, glancing round her — *' blue and girl- 
ish. Mine is crimson. Don't look so frightened, 
Bessie,'* she added, kindly, *' Miss Russell is sure 
to behave well, since we are in her house." 

We went down together ; but, spite this en- 
couraging assurance, I kept behind Elizabeth, 
and whilst she entered first, I lingered on the 
threshold of the drawing-room. What subtle 
magic is that which paints both so keenly and so 
charmingly for the eyes of youth 7 The lines 
which later grow so faint are very clear ; the 
colours which become so dull are very vivid to 
these young eyes. As I stood thus behind 
Elizabeth, I caught a glimpse of a picture 
which, though brief, was so bright that years 
have not effaced it. In a yellow damask arm- 
chair sat a dark-haired and dark-eyed woman, 
with her hands folded lightly on her lap, and 
the light of a blazing wood fire shining full on 
her sallow face. Opposite her sat Miss Dunn, 
pale and colourless, spite that burning glow. 
Both were silent; neither moved nor looked 
round at the opening of the door. It was as if 



24 BESSIE. 

they were both under a spell, to sit thus, mute 
and motionless, on either side of that fiery 
hearth. At length, and as Elizabeth stepped 
across the floor, Miss Russell turned towards 
her, and, without rising, smiled, and stretched 
out her hand in welcome. " I am glad to see 
you," she said, in a voice which, though some- 
what harsh, was not unkind. " It is very good 
of you to come to a lonely misanthrope — and 
of Miss Carr, too," she added, giving me a 
gracious bend of her dark head. "You are 
scarcely altered," she resumed, looking hard at 
Elizabeth — "I suppose I can't say anything 
kinder." 

" I suppose not," answered Elizabeth, with a 
Careless laugh ; and I thus learned — to my great 
surprise — that she and Miss Russell were old 
acquaintances. " And so you have lost your 
luggage ?" continued the lady of the house. 

'* So tiresome I" murmured Miss Dunn, in 
ready condolence. 

" Yes," coolly answered Elizabeth. " I shall 
have to dine in my travelling-dress — very tire- 
some, as you say, Miss Dunn." 



BESSIE. 25 

''But how did it get lostf resumed Miss 
Dunn. 

" Oh 1 it is not lost — only astray." 

'^ My dear Mrs. de Lusignan," remarked Miss 
Bussell, " I do not wish to be depressing, but 
everything that is lost begins by being astray." 

" Well, then, I shall buy new things, and 
have a change," answered Elizabeth, with much 
composure ; for if there was a thing she dis- 
liked, it was being pitied. 

Miss Russell turned to me. 

" Did you leave Mr. de Lusignan quite well, 
Miss Carr t" she inquired — " by the way, you 
excuse me, I hope, for receiving you thus sit- 
ting, but you know, of course, that I have no 
legs. 

My confusion at this unexpected piece of in- 
formation equalled my surprise ; and Miss Rus- 
sell evidently enjoyed both. 

"Dear, dear, and did no one tell you?" she 
exclaimed, in pretended amazement. " Well," 
she added, with engaging candour, " I may as 
well open my closet, and show you the skeleton 
at once. I have got a murderer in my family. 



26 BESSIE. 

You would feel awkward if you learned it later. 
And now. Miss Dunn, I think we'll have our 
dinner." 

A servant in black came and wheeled Miss 

* Russell's chair into the dining-room, where we 

sat down to a repast which showed that, like 

my guardian, Miss Russell set her full value on 

the good things of this world. 

" I am a misanthrope," she said to me, " but I 
keep a good cook." 

She was more than a misanthrope, as I soon 
discovered. She was profoundly independent. 
She was shrewd and clever enough, after a cer- 
tain fashion, but very ignorant for a woman of 
her birth and property. Her money had only 
helped to give her the coolest self-confidence in 
the way of assertion which I ever met in any- 
one. There was positive intrepidity in some of 
her statements, and once she had said a thing 
she stuck to it unflinchingly. Books had taught 
her nothing, for she never read ; and she was so 
generous, not to say lavish, that even the most 
disinterested of those who came near her could 
not help letting her have her way. 



BESSIE. 27 

^* She was so kind, poor thing, and so afflict- 
ed. Besides, it really was no use contradicting 
her, yon know." 

And it really was not. I believe the presence 
of strangers acted as a stimulant upon her, and 
drew out her peculiarities, for I was more struck 
with them on this first evening than during the 
rest of our stay. 

" So you liked Fontainbleau," she said, turn- 
ing to me as, dinner being over, we went back 
to the drawing-room. ** Well, I don't fancy I 
should Uke the place. According to Mr. Duke, 
it is full of rats — and I hate white mice." 

"I never saw any white mice in Fontaiae- 
bleau," I replied, feeling rather aggrieved. 

" Well, but there are rats in Fontainebleau," 
argued Miss Russell, ^' I know it, and mice are 
young rats, you know." 

She made this astouuding statement in a tone 
that defied contradiction. I looked at Elizabeth ; 
she was quite grave and unmoved. I looked at 
Miss Dunn ; she gently bowed her pale face over 
her cup of tea, as if in assent. I was confound- 
ed. Were mice, white ones too, only young 



98 BESSIE. 

rats, after all 1 There were many mysteries in 
Nature with which my limited knowledge had 
not made me familiar. Was this one ? If so, 
when and where did mice end, and rats be- 
gin! 

^' It is just like mad dogs I" resumed Miss 
Russell, following out a concatenation of ideas 
that wholly escaped me. " Do you believe in 
mad dogs ? / never knew one in all my life. I 
don't believe there is any such thing out of the 
newspapers. All made up. Why should a dog 
go mad ? Just tell me that ? I love dogs. I 
know they bite now and then, but I don't be- 
lieve in their insanity— that won't go down with 
me. Besides, to lose one's reason is the badge 
of the human being." 

And having thus slipped from rats to dogs, 
from liydrophobia to insanity, and from insanity 
into the loss of reason. Miss Russell dismissed 
the matter as settled. 

And yet it seemed to me, even then, that this 
independent and original lady was strangely 
under the guidance of Miss Dunn, that embodi- 
ment of dull commonplace. 



BESSIE. 29 

" Do you not like this Burgundy ?" Miss Dunn 
had said to me at table. ^^Ohl I beg your 
pardon, I see it is olaret you have." 

^ Now what does he mean 1" had cried Miss 
Russell, without giving me time to answer, *' he 
knows I cannot dine without Bargundy on the 
table I" 

And the sinning ''he" had to produce the 
missing wine ; and as he did so gave a scowl to 
Miss Dunn, who smiled placidly over her glass. 
Miss Dunn, I fancied, liked Burgundy, and per- 
haps did not care for claret! And so it was 
about tea. When Miss Dann thought it was 
time for that pleasant beverage, she pitied us 
for not having had a cup in the railway carriage 
as we came along, '' So refreshing," said Miss 
Dunn* 

** And why do we not have tea all this time V* 
asked Miss Russell, in sudden surprise and in- 
dignation. '' What does she mean T She knows 
I like tea early," 

Tea came, and «A«, though invisible, got a 
vicarious scolding, which made me conjecture 



30 BESSIE. 

that Miss Dunn could not be the beloved of the 
household. Having thus secured her favourite 
wine, and got her tea at the right time, Miss 
Dunn now thought that she would like the re- 
pose of her bed-room. So, looking at me with 
the tenderest compassion, she observed, in her 
sweet tones : 

" How pale you look. Miss Carr 1 I fear the 
fatigue of this journey has been too much for 
you." 

Miss Russell looked at me; then her eyes 
sought the large looking-glass opposite her. I 
could see her scanning her own image there with 
a sort of uneasiness. 

" We all look pale," she said, a little ner- 
vously, " and shall be the better for going to 
bed." 

" I think so too," candidly replied Elizabeth, 
who looked ennuyee^ and required no pressing to 
retire. 

Though I received no invitation to do so, I 
unceremoniously followed her to her room. It 
was very like mine, only crimson — in honour, I 
suppose, of her being a matron. 



BESSIE. 31 

''Oh I Elizabeth," I exclaimed, point-blank, 
" you actually know Miss Russell !" 

" Yes," she negligently answered. " I knew 
her years ago.'* 

" And I, who thought we were coming to a 
strange house I" I said, reproachfully. 

" It is strange to you, Bessie." 

" I should not have felt it so if you had told 
me that you knew Miss Russell." 

" Should you not, really?" 

" Why did you not tell me, Elizabeth ?" 

** I am sure I don't know. Where is the use 
of telling everything, Bessie I " 

She leaned back in her dark crimson chair, 
and clasped her hands above her head, after a 
fashion which she had when her thoughts were 
wandering. I stood before her, feeling reproved 
and chilled. That was her rule. Where is the 
use of telling everything t She felt no need to 
open her heart to human creature. She was 
light and frivolous enough in some things ; but, 
after all, she was strong, for she could keep her 
own counsel, and bear her own burdens. I 
guessed that she was tired of me, but curiosity. 



32 BESSIE. 

stronger than pride, kept me standing there. 

^' And what did Miss Russell mean by telling 
me that she had no legs 1" I asked. ^' I looked 
at her after dinner, and I really think she has 
legs." 

Elizabeth laughed. 

^' Of course she has, though they are useless 
to her, poor thing I She wanted to startle you^ 
that is all." 

*^ And has she got a murderer in her family t" 
I inquired. 

" I never heard that before. I suspect it is a 
new dodge of the old lady's." 

" How odd she must be I" 

^' Is she so odd, Bessie 7 To me she seems 
like most ladies of her time of life, very cross 
with the world I" 

" I am sure she has had a story I" I persisted. 

" Everyone has had a story," answered EUza- 
bethy a little moodily. '* Hers is a common one. 
She was never pretty, and she was poor, but 
she could run about nimbly enough in her young 
days. There was a Mr. Gray, a sort of cousin 
of hers, whom she would have given her ears to 



BESSIE. 33 

marry, but who married some one else. She 
went into hysterics on the morning of his wed- 
ding, I am told, but danced at a ball in the 
evening. Some years ago this fortune came in 
her waters, and she cast her net and fished it 
up. Lovers came to her then — Mr. Gray, who 
was a vndower, among the rest. She played 
with them all for some months; then, just as 
she was going to make up her mind, she was 
stricken with paralysis." 

" And the lovers all fled," I exclaimed, with 
sympathy. 

" Oh, dear, no 1" answered Elizabeth, with a 
short laugh. " There was not one who would 
not have married her all the same ; but she had 
sense or mistrust enough to send them adrift. 
She made up for her infirmity by being the most 
restless creature alive. She is always en route ; 
and as to her misanthropy, she is wretched un- 
less she has a houseful of men especially — and 
she hates men I — around her. We shall have a 
rare gathering soon." 

She spoke languidly and wearily. 

" You are tired, Elizabeth," I remarked. 

VOL. m. D 



34 BESSIE. 

** Yes, rather," she candidly answered. " Good 
night. She held out her hand kindly enough ; 
and, thus dismissed, I left her. 



35 



CHAPTER III. 

THE loss of her luggage was a greater trouble 
to Elizabeth than she had chosen to ac- 
knowledge. Long before I was dressed the 
next morning she was gone to the station, and 
had received the answer to the master's tele- 
gram — "Not found." Another telegram was 
sent, and a similar answer was returned. On 
the second day Elizabeth lost patience, and 
sent off Watkins to London to make inquiries. 
It had suddenly occurred to her that as we left 
the hotel we had met a large family coming into 
the hall where our trunks were, and that the 
luggage might thus have got mixed and 
changed. I did not know of the girPs depart- 
ure till she was gone, and knowing how de- 
pendent Elizabeth was upon her maid for all 

d2 



36 BESSIE. 

that concerned the child, I asked how she meant 
to manage. 

" I must manage," she answered, impatiently. 

Watkins was to return the next morning ; 
but she did not. In her stead came a letter, 
stating that the luggage had gone off to Devon- 
shire, with the people whom we had met at the 
hotel ; that she was waiting for it to be sent 
back to London, and that as soon as she got it 
again she would return to Hanvil. 

"There never was such a donkey!" cried 
Elizabeth, in her rage. " What does she mean 
me to do with Harry all this time I Why did 
she not come back, and let the luggage be sent 
after hert" 

" Why did you send her after the luggage I" 
was on the tip of my tongue, but the words 
were not spoken. Elizabeth had her own ways, 
and did not like them to be censured. Miss 
Dunn's early attempts in that direction had all 
been victoriously routed; she had pitied, she 
had criticised, she had advised — all in vain. 
Elizabeth had beaten her on the whole line, 
and, by a few home-thrusts, carried the war into 



BESSIE. 37 

the enemy's own camp in such stjle that Miss 
Dunn retreated precipitately, held up a flag of 
truce, and asked for an armistice. It was 
sternly granted, but on certain stringent terms, 
which Elizabeth's beaten foe was careful not to 
infringe. All this I had seen and noticed, and 
now changed the topic of our discourse. 

" Elizabeth," I asked, " where is the gather- 
ing of people you promised me I" 

" It is like the Egyptians in the picture of the 
crossing of the Red Sea," she replied, gravely. 
" The canvas was a blank, for the sea waa open, 
you know; the Jews were invisible, for they 
had crossed it ; and as to the Egyptians, why, 
the painter said they were coming ; and so 
say I— the gathering is coming." 

We stood on a low, flagged terrace, at the 
back of Miss Russell's house — or rather mansion, 
since it had two staircases, an ugly, square, 
commonplace brick building ; below us spread 
the flower-garden, and beyond this the grounds ; 
to the left lay the orchard, as white with 
blossom as if it had just received a fall of snow. 
I fired at the sight. 



38 BESSIE. 

** Oh, Elizabeth I" I cried, with sudden ardour, 
" do come and look at the cherry-trees I" 

"Thank you, Bessie; I do not care for 
cherry-trees before the cherries are on them." 

" Well, then, come and look at the house of 
the Grays — ^it is such a rare old place !" 

" So you have told me ; but, again, I do not 
care about houses when there is no one in 
them — ^besides, my head aches." 

" You look so well, Elizabeth — do come I" 

But the stone flags on which we stood were 
not more obdurate than Elizabeth. She re- 
sisted me then, as, since our arrival, she had 
resisted all my attempts to make her join me 
in my voyages of discovery, not even allowing 
Harry to come with me. " This was just the 
time for brain-fever," she said, " and one could 
not be too careful." 

" Well, then, let us stay in the garden," I now 
rejoined. 

" I have letters to write," she promptly re- 
turned. 

The blood rushed up to my face at this re- 
buff. She laid her hand on my shoulder, and 
kissed my cheek with a smile. 



BESSIE. 39 

"Don't be sensitive, my little Bessie," she 
said very kindly — " it will never do in life." 

I knew that well enough, so, without attempt- 
ing to argue, I left her, and went my way, and, 
spite her advice, I wondered — ^a little crossly, I 
confess it — why Elizabeth was so obstinate in 
putting me by. I walked through the flower- 
garden revolving this question, with eyes bent 
on the earth, when Miss Russell's harsh voice 
uttered almost in my ear a "good morning" 
that made me recoil in sudden alarm. I can- 
not say that I liked Miss Russell, though I had 
already discovered that she liked me. I was 
afraid of her dark eyes and darker eyebrows ; 
she knew it, and the knowledge half vexed, 
half amused her. She was now sitting in the 
sun in her yellow satin chair, with an open 
parasol in her hand, and looking like a Chinese 
lady on an old japanned fire-screen which Mrs. 
Dawson used to have in her front parlour. 

" Good morning. Miss Russell," I answered, 
vainly trying to be free and easy. " I hope 
you are quite well this morning" — for Miss 
Russell had breakfasted in her room. 

" No, not at all well. But how far away you 



40 BEiSSIE. 

stand, Miss Carr I — do you keep alool because 
I have had a murderer in my family?" 

I could not help laughing as I drew near. 

"I don't believe in your murderer," I re- 
marked, with sudden audacity. 

She raised her eyebrows. 

" Not believe in him 1 — why, there is nothing 
in the Newgate Calendar half so authentic. Be- 
sides, why should I make believe to have a 
murderer if I had not one ?" 

*' That you know best," 1 replied, still look- 
ing sceptical. 

" Well, my dear," she returned, confidentially, 
" I may as well make a clean breast of it to 
you. My murderer is a scarecrow, which I hold 
up and floiuish to keep the sparrows away from 
my cherries." And considering, I suppose, that 
my weak brain was not equal to the compre- 
hension of this figure of speech, she proceeded 
to explain her meaning. " We all have our 
cherries — even you, though you look such a 
dear little innocent, have yours^-only our cher- 
ries vary considerably with our years. Yours 
and mine, for « instance, are not at all alike. 



B £ S S I E . 41 

Well, my dear Miss Carr, some keep scarecrows, 
and some do not, to keep off the cherries. Mine 
— and a good one it is — ^is that mm'derer — ^a 
real one, please. When I was young, it kept 
lovers away ; and now that I am old, it saves 
me from unpleasant company. The weak- 
minded, the timorous are shy of me — ^let them — 
let them I" 

Miss Russell spoke this in a tone that was 
slightly hysterical ; for, after all, the old wound 
was not healed yet — such wounds never do heal 
thoroughly, but smart in secret, however brave- 
ly we may smile in the face of the world. 

"Well," she resumed, in an altered tone, 
"you were going for a walk, Miss Carr — in 
what direction, may I ask ?" 

I did not like to utter the name of " Gray," 
for the owner of Gray's House was no other 
than her cold lover, so I dubiously replied that 
I was going to walk in the country. 

" Is scenery your hobby I" tartly asked Miss 
Russell. 

"I have no hobby," I answered, rather 
affironted. 



42 BESSIE. 

" Don't say bo ; we all have a hobby," insisted 
Miss Russell, getting slightly excited by my 
opposition, *'and young ladies dearly like a 
canter, I can tell you. When I was a young 
lady," she added, with some bitterness, " it was 
not a canter, but a wild gallop I took ; and 
much good it did me — ^much good it did me 1" 
cried Miss Russell, with something like passion 
in her harsh ringing voice. 

Miss Dunn, who now came up to us with a 
shawl on her arm, and a newspaper in her 
hand, diverted Miss Russell's melting mood. 

"I thought it was too cool for you," said 
Miss Dunn sweetly, '' and so I brought a shawl 
as well as the newspaper." 

'* WeD, it is cool," replied Miss Russell sud- 
denly discovering the fact. "Do you know. 
Miss Dunn, i think I shall go in. Will you 
kindly call Brown ?" 

" I shall wheel you in myself," said Miss Dunn, 
still sweetly ; " your chair gives no trouble." 

And having thus accomplished the object she 
had in bringing out the shawl. Miss Dunn put 
her hand to the yellow satin chair, and wheeled 



.-^ 



BESSIE. 43 

in the lady who would not trust herself to a 
husband, but who submitted so completely to 
her yoke. 

I crossed the flower-garden, and made my 
way straight to a high hedge which limited 
Miss Russell's desmesnes towards the south. 
There was a gap in that hedge, through which 
I crept, not without some damage to my hair 
and garments ; but to my great delight. With 
a new tear in my dress, but with a happy sense 
of independence and liberty, I found myself on 
the other side, and in the open country. 

I crossed a field, I climbed over a stile, then I 
trod down — may my footsteps have been lightl — 
the young com in another field, and so reached 
a hollow lane, which I already dearly liked. A 
keen breeze swept over the two meadows be- 
tween which this path crept up ; but it felt 
warm, pleasant, and sheltered when I was 
below. Reckless of future aches and pains, I 
threw myself down on the grassy bank, and 
half lay, half sat there, feeling that idle happi- 
ness which is one of the temptations wherewith 
Dame Nature is ever besetting her unwary visi- 



44 BESSIE. 

tors. When Adam was sent forth to till the 
earth, and eat bread earned with the sweat of 
his brow, he must have found it hard to realize 
the doom that had been laid upon him ; for 
though cursed through sin, the earth was fair 
to look upon. The green trees did not speak 
of Winter ; the birds sang as if death were not ; 
and the ground teemed with weeds so lovely 
and so gay that it must have seemed as if man 
need never toil. 

I cannot say that I thought of Adam as I lay 
in the sun ; for Adam is that sort of remote 
ancestor whom youth rarely remembers; but 
never had labour seemed to me so useless a 
thing as it did then. Work 1 — why work? The 
lovely bank before me had not laboured, and 
look at it I All the art of man, all the wealth 
of Croesus, could not bring forth a thing that 
should vie with the green wreath on its tawny 
brow. First, and decidedly foremost, was a 
tall sloe-tree, a gay prodigal, all white blos- 
soms, and without a leaf a syet to its back. A 
little bird was perched on one of its brown 
twigs, and, without seeming to care for me. 



BESSIE. 45 

stood there trimmiDg itself in the sun. At the 
foot of the sloe-tree, scattered there in an abun- 
dance of which my town-life had given me no 
conception, grew bunches of primroses, beauti- 
ful, delicate, and yellow. I had attempted to 
count them, and had given it up ; shells on a 
sandy seashore are not more innumerable ; and, 
far as the eye could reach, they spread on as if 
the world were all their own. And they were 
not alone. The celandine was there, starry and 
golden ; and violets, scentless, but very fair to 
look upon, peeped out from the young grass ; 
and there were patches of daisies, looking for 
all the world like charity-school girls in white 
caps, talking and chatting together; and the 
bramble trailed its purple leaves midst the 
tender Spring green of all the young growth 
beneath ; and the furze showed here and there 
a blossom of the purest gold ; and, truly, look- 
ing at all this beauty, one might say of it that 
it was good. 

It was delightful to lie thus ; but motion, too, 
is pleasant — besides, I had the house of the 
Grays to look at, and a big white calf, \Vho 



46 BESSIE. 

stood staring down at me from the brink of the 
opposite meadow, made me feel somewhat un- 
easy. Was he fastened I And if he was not, 
suppose he should want to come down to me? 
Retreat, if not dignified, was prudent, so I rose, 
and, crossing more corn-fields, I entered a sunny 
road, which had been a dark path once on a 
time. Trees that had shed their leaves for a 
century and more, had flung their heavy boughs 
across it, and given it shade and coolness. But 
the purse of the Grays had grown light just as 
their timber became most valuable, and the 
stately old elms had fallen beneath the axe. 
And yet the path was lovely still, with here and 
there a mossy rock, and here and there the 
gnarled root of an old tree that had defied the 
woodman's axe, and still wore a wintry cloak of 
ivy thrown over its old brown limbs. It ended 
in two rows of young trees, tall and slender, 
that swayed to the breeze, and vainly tried to 
seem stately. The blue sky looked in every- 
where through their thin branches, and betrayed 
them. Beyond them lay the green park, which 
enclosed the deserted home of the Orays. A 



BESSIE. 47 

road traversed it. This I followed till I reached 
a little stone bridge which spanned a shining 
stream, and here I paused and looked. The 
little river flowed under an arch of tall trees, 
and far away to the right I could see the dark 
wheel of an old water-miU. To the left, at the 
end of a noble avenue, which the pride of the 
Grays had not allowed them to touch, rose 
Gray'8 House, a stone mansion, standing quiet 
and stately in its green solitude. It was all shut 
up, and looked desolate, but neither ruin nor 
decay had touched, as yet, the abode of the old 
family. They did not like it. When they came 
to it their visits were abrupt and unexpected, and 
when they left their departure resembled a 
flight. Everyone knew why, though they were 
shy of confessing their true reason. For the 
last hundred years the Grays had all died there. 
However they might manage, they seemed un- 
able to avoid that fate. They might live abroad, 
they might not come for years, they might ar- 
rive at night, and depart in the morning, it 
availed them not — they died nowhere else. 
Sudden diseases, accidents, fatalities that spared 



48 BESSIE. 

others, were sure to reach them. They knew it 
— everyone knew it — but they did not like it, 
and so they shunned the place where the de- 
stroyer bided his hour so surely. 

I stood looking at the quaint old house, so 
calm and pleasant of aspect in the April sun ; 
and when, tired of my contemplation, I at length 
turned away, I took, purposely, a path that led 
me to another possession of the Gray's. They 
were a peculiar family, and had their own ways 
about being buried, as well as about dying. It 
had pleased them, in the days gone by, to 
eschew churchyards and churches for their dead, 
and to be laid apart in a place of their own. 
This was merely a little patch of laud, divided 
by a low hedge from the fields around it. Slabs 
of stone, some black and sunken, others still 
white and new, were scattered over it. There 
was but one tree in it, and that had come there 
by chance, an old apple-tree, which was not yet 
in blossom, and coyly spread its green boughs, 
tipped with rosy buds, to the pleasant Spring 
breezes. 

This last resting-place of the Grays was a 



BESSIE. 49 

very tranquil spot. Few people ever came here, 
and children never crept in through the hedge 
to gather the daises and primroses that grew 
midst the graves. It lay alone, sorronnded by 
green fields, that were all yellow with corn in 
Summer ; and Death, the husbandman, reaped 
his harvest here, and laid fretth seed in the dark 
bosom of the earth, to ripen in a better season, 
and yield its fruit on the heavenly shores. 
Whilst I peeped in at the graves over the hedge 
a lark sung in the air above, very sweetly, and 
very fiir away ; and as I was young, and did 
not care in the least for death, all this was 
beautiful and pleasant. And so time passed, 
until it occurred to me that I had been out long 
enough. Spite the tear in my dress, I wished to 
get in back again to Hanvil House through the 
gap in the hedge. My road homewards thus 
brought me back to the lane I had already been in 
that morning. This time it was not lonely. Two 
little boys in grey knickerbockers were drawing 
a wheelbarrow, in which their elder sister, 1 
suppose, a little girl of eight or nine, sat gravely. 
She wore a little rakish straw hat, with blue 

VOL. ra. B 



50 BESSIE. 

ribands, and lolled back in her wheelbarrow 
with the air of a fashionable woman who takes 
her drive in the park. 

" Don't jolt," she said, as I went by. The 
two greys, who already looked warm, and were 
very red in the face — the lane was full of ruts — 
seemed to feel as if this were too much. 

"Til tell you what, EUinor," protested the 
younger one, suddenly standing still— here he 
unluckily perceived me, as stealthily drawing 
out a scrap of paper from my pocket, and feel- 
ing for a pencil, I was going to put the three, 
EUinor and the greys, all down on paper. 
They stared at me. My opportunity was gone. 
I walked on, and looked mechanically at the 
paper which I still held. It was scribbled in a 
rapid, carelesshand, with words and signs which I 
could not at first decipher. I stood still in some 
perplexity. At length I read : 

" May Queen, 3 P.M., Ostende. April 29th, 
Hibemia — Kingstown, May 1st ; up-trains, 4, 7, 
10." The rest was illegible. Here was a puz- 
zle for me. How had this paper, which I had 
certainly never written, come into my pos- 



BESSIE. 51 

session ? Wkat had I to do with steamers and 
railway-trains I All at once the truth came 
home to me with the suddenness of lightning. 
This must be the paper which Harry had ab- 
stracted from the Bradshaw at the hotel, and 
which I had taken from him and put into my 
pocket. It had lain there forgotten, till it now 
came out to tell me a story which filled me with 
such sorrow that in the first sharpness of the 
pang I cried out aloud, " Oh, Elizabeth I" I 
forgot the children. I sat down on the bank, 
and wrung my hands in passionate distress; and 
when I remembered them, and looked round, 
they were gone. They had crept away through 
a bush, behind which I heard their voices far- 
ther and farther away. I was alone — alone 
with the sunshine and my desolation. 



e2 



52 



CHAPTER IV. 

T^LIZABETH meant to leave me. That op- 
•^ portunity for flight and liberty which Mr. 
de Lnsignan had so imprudently given her, she 
meant to seize. I knew now why her luggage 
had been lost, why Watkins was gone, why 
Harry was never confided to me, why his 
mother never lost sight of him. And I remem- 
bered, too, with tardy clear-sightedness. Miss 
Dunn's looks when Mrs. Henry de Lusignan's 
missing trunks were mentioned. She had seen 
through this — of course she had — but then she 
was afraid of Elizabeth ; besides, she did not 
care, in reality, whether she stayed or went 
away. But, though partly alienated and 
estranged, Elizabeth had been the friend of my 
hearti and a friendship that has been leaves 



BESSIE. 53 

something behind it aa penetrating and as sweet 
as the scent of faded roses. The flower may be 
withered, we may feel and know that it shall 
bloom never again, its dead scent is not even 
that which it had in the days of its loveliness, 
but the fragrance is still dear. 

But I was already learning to endure inevit- 
able things. That inexorable Fate to which the 
gods themselves had to submit must have 
taught the men and women of old a dreary 
sort of resignation. What availed revolt, when 
an iron hand was laid upon the patient's neck ? 
To bear, even more than to act, was surely the 
great lesson, then. 

If Elizabeth was bent upon going, I could not 
keep her. If she had decreed, with that strong 
will of hers, that we should never again meet in 
life, I could not alter her resolve. I had but to 
submit, then — forget the paper I had read, look 
on as if I saw nothing, and let her go for ever 
away from me, as, standing upon the shore of a 
running stream, I might see the boat with 
which mine had once sailed drifting down its 
current, and make no effort to stop its course. 



54 BESSIE. 

" I must bear it," I said to myself; and I rose 
and went home, but not by the gap in the 
hedge, after all — I was too much sobered for 
that. I went back by a dull road, which took 
me straight to the grounds that lay round Han- 
vil House. I entered the orchard, to stay there 
awhile and think ; but scarcely had I pushed 
open the wicket-gate when I met Miss Dunn, 
who was coming out. 

" Is Mrs. Henry de Lusignan already come 
back ?" she asked, in sweet surprise. 

My heart gave a great throb — was she already 
gone? 

" I have been out alone," I answered. 

^ I am %o stupid," said Miss Dunn, opening 
her blue eyes at herself; " but I really thought 
you were gone to Hanvil with Mrs. Henry de 
Lusignan,"— she never once missed uttering her 
name in full — " and the child." 

I did not answer. I was wondering whether 
Elizabeth was going to Ostende on the May 
Queen, or to Kingstown on the Hibemia. Bel* 
gium was the safer refuge — but then would Mr. 
de Lusignan ever look for her in Ireland ? 



BESSIE. 55 

** Has she long been gone?" I asked, making 
an effort to speak. 

" Oh I about an hour, I daresay. You know 
we have some gentlemen to dinner— neighbours 
of Miss Russell's. Mrs. Henry de Lusignan de- 
clared she must either dine in her room or get 
something to wear ; and she is gone to Hanvil 
for that purpose, I think. She took the car- 
riage, and will not be long away, I daresay." 

Gentlemen to dinner ; and should I have to 
encounter them alone, with that secret weigh- 
ing me down ? I pictured all the horrors of such 
an evening. The delayed dinner. Miss BusselFs 
vexation and ill-temper, Miss Dunn's provoking 
coolness, and then the gentlemen I With the 
intuition of despair, I felt that they would all 
be on my back. Miss Dunn would decline all 
share of that burden as a matter of course, if it 
were only to make me wretched. And country 
gentlemen, I had always heard, were dread- 
fully heavy and oppressive. They took in 
so much fresh air, and ate so much solid meat, 
and drank so much claret, and rode so hard, 
and prosed so wearily — ^all classical truths. 



56 BESSIE. 

which I had imbibed with the trusting faith 
that failed him of Didymus — ^that they were 
absolutely intolerable. Of course Miss Rus- 
sell's back was the one which circumstances had 
appointed to bear that burden ; but Miss Russell 
professed to hate men, and had evidently relied 
upon Elizabeth and me to entertain these ; and 
I imagined her quite capable of retiring to her 
bedroom, and troubling herself no more with 
her " gentlemen " than if they were mine. I 
wonder these thoughts came to me, but they 
did, spite other thoughts that were sad and 
perplexed enough. 

" I am afraid I must leave you," said Miss 
Dunn, looking at her watch ; " it is actually two 
o'clock I I think we shall have plenty of cherries 
this year. Miss Russell is so fond of cherries — 
are you. Miss Carr f ' 

I replied, despondently, that I was extremely 
fond of cherries ; and I remained alone with the 
lovely white blossoms, which sun and air and 
gentle rains and sweet dews were to convert 
into the fruit that Miss Russell loved. I stayed 
there an hour and more ; then feeling too miser- 



BESSIE. 57 

able to face Miss Russell, or indeed anyone, I 
went Tip to my room and remained there till it 
was time to dress. 

I was very miserable, but I did my best 
to look well. Human Nature will have it 
so. Mary Stuart adorned herself for the scaf- 
fold. She was going to die, but I am sure 
she knew black velvet became what was left of 
the royal loveliness which had sent the world 
mad, and has ruled the hearts of men ever since 
the Syren was laid in her grave. For who will 
venture to say that, if this Royal Mary had been 
shrewish or homely of aspect, the wprld would 
have cared so much or so long about her I So 
I did my best. I was Iphigenia, a victim laid on 
the sacrificial altar of social duty, but to adorn 
myself, and make my little person pleasant to 
look upon, was a part of that duty, a sort of 
moral law, and I accomplished it to my best and 
utmost. 

My utmost was a grey silk dress, a tucker of 
dainty lace, and a scarlet breast-knot. Beyond 
this my wardrobe would not go, but it was 
enough. Only how was I to go down ? Oh I 



58 BESSIE. 

if Elizabeth had only been there I I could have 
slipped into the drawing-roora so nicely behind 
her I No one would have minded me in her 
presence. I could have glided into a chair as un- 
noticed as if I had had the ring on my finger, or 
on my shoulders the rare mantle, both of which 
made their owner invisible to common eyes. 

Miss Russell dined early, and, what was more, 
she had already informed me that rigid punctu- 
ality was part of her code of morals. I had heard 
carriage-wheels below — I could not delay any 
longer. I gave myself a last anxious look, and 
went down. I listened at the drawing-room 
door. Miss Russell's harsh voice was talking 
loud ; before she had done, I opened the door as 
softly as I could. I saw the backs of two gen- 
tlemen and a lady, who did not appear to have 
heard me ; and, sitting back in an armchair in 
the full brilliancy of her delicate beauty, Eliza- 
beth, who was fanning herself slowly. I do not 
know which amazed me most, her unexpected 
presence, or the dress she wore. It was black 
as ever, but I recognized it at once. At a look 
I knew that deep and costly lace garniture, 



BESSIE. 59 

more tasteful even than costly ; but where did 
it come from 1 Was Elizabeth like the princess 
in the fairy-tales, whose three dresses — one like 
the sun, one like the moon, and one like the 
stars — travelled underground with her wher- 
ever she went, and helped her to get back her 
lost lover s heart. She was fanning herself as 
I said ; but she was also listening to a gentle- 
man, who turned round slowly, as Miss Russell 
said in a sharp tone : 

" And what do you think, Mr. Gray f 
" I beg your pardon, I — I did not hear/' an- 
swered Mr. Gray. 

He spoke in a low, hesitating tone, like one 
who is not sure that he says the right thing ; 
and he turned towards me as he spoke, the pale, 
handsome profile of a man of fifty or so ; a man 
essentially elegant, slender, and aristocratic- 
looking, on whQm nature had set the stamp 
which she does not always grant to blue blood. 
: " I was saying," tartly replied Miss Russell, 
whose dark brows nearly met; but here she 
saw me, and in a moment I felt drawn to her 
yellow chair, and was there introduced, without 



60 BESSIE. 

mercy, to Mr. Gray — Mr. and Mrs. Thomas 
Gray, and a young gentleman, whose name, I 
think, was Duke, but I am not sure. I survived 
the operation, during which a saucy, mocking 
smile flitted upon the lips of Elizabeth; and, 
retreating to a chair by a remote table, I there 
buried myself in a book of sketches ; but no one 
minded me, and I soon looked up. 

Mrs. Thomas Gray, a very broad and double* 
chinned matron, was holding forth emphaticaUy 
to the young gentleman, of whose appearance I 
only remember that he had stiff hair, and that 
he looked weak-minded. Her husband, Mr. 
Thomas Gray, the country gentleman, par excel" 
lence^ was listening to Miss Russell, who talked 
with great animation and gaiety, but whose 
sallow features seemed to me contracted with 
care or pain as she watched her early lover's 
contemplation of Elizabeth. 

I do not think Mr. Gray — the owner of Gray's 
House — made many efforts to entertain or charm 
my beautiful friend. He looked far too languid 
to do anything of the kind ; but as there is no 
fatigue in using one's eyes when the print is 



BESSIE. 61 

large and &ir, so he sat and gazed at Elizabeth's 
beauty with the dilettante, critical sort of look 
with which, when he travelled, he may have sat 
and gazed at a Raphael or a tiiorgione. 

I was watching him with involuntary interest, 
when Miss Dmm, who had not been in the room 
all this time, now entered it noiselessly, and 
came and sat by me. 

" How very lovely Mrs. Henry de Lusignau 
looks this evening," she said, softly. 

** Oh I very," I replied ; " there is something 
so brilliant and delicate aboat her beauty." 

But my speech fell imheeded on Miss Dunn's 
ear. She had started, and seemed to be 
listening. 

^ I thought the other guest was coming," she 
remarked slowly; then, with a vivacity and 
eagerness very rare in her, she turned upon 
me. " Who is it I You know, of course." 

" Oh ! dear no," I answered, rather disturbed ; 
" is there another t" For 1 thought the gather- 
ing before me sufficiently formidable, without 
any addition to it, 

^ Yes ; and dinner has been put an hour later 



62 BESSIE. 

for that guest. Come, confess you know who 
it is, Miss Carr." 

Her sleepy blue eyes had suddenly grown as 
sharp and keen as needles ; but ignorance must 
have been very legibly expressed in mine, for 
blank disappointment followed this inquiring 
look. Miss Dunn, being thoroughly convinced 
of my ignorance, became as suddenly dull as 
she had become lively, and made no other 
effort to entertain me, but sat there by me 
without saying a word, only every now and then 
darting furtive looks towards the door. I con- 
fess I took very little interest in this new-comer 
— why should I ? — what were Miss Russell's 
guests to me ? My mind was in a whirl with 
Elizabeth, who looked so cold and handsome, 
and who was plotting flight all the time. What 
should I do when she was gone, and I remained 
alone in this strange house? And then, when 
would she go? — ^very soon, I felt sure. Here 
the sound of the opening door, the voice of 
the servant uttering a name, and a low, 
startled *^AhI" from the chair next me, all 
blended together. I turned round hastily, and 



BESSIE. 63 

saw Miss Dunn staring with open month and 
eyes at Eugene Herbert, who stood at the door 
with the full light of the chandelier falling on 
his handsome face. 

He came in as easy and unembarrassed as ever, 
went up to Miss Russell, who received him 
graciously, and seemed at home with everyone 
present. I was amazed and rather bewildered 
to meet him thus in the house of his enemy. I 
noticed a change — a very slight, transient 
change — ^passing across the lovely face of 
Elizabeth ; also I saw that Miss Dunn's lips 
tightened, and that her cheeks grew slightly 
flushed, but everyone else seemed unconcerned, 
and that was all, till Mr. Herbert saw me and 
bowed courteously. 

Dinner was ready ; Miss Russell was wheeled 
in, and my happy stars confided me to the care 
of the young gentleman who looked weak- 
minded. [I have always felt convinced that he 
thought me weak-minded, but never mind.] He 
was very good-natured, and did his best to 
enlighten and entertain me all dinner-time. I 
was so full of other thoughts that, I am 



64 BESSIE. 

ashamed to say it, only a few traits of his 
remarkable and powerful conversation have sur- 
vived the wear and tear to which memory is 
subject on her road &om youth to middle age. 
Besides, my neighbour was a perfect Tacitus in 
his way; brevity of style was his idol. He 
cultivated it especially through the means of 
ellipsis ; and with the caprice and fancy of 
genius, he sometimes omitted one part of 
speech, sometimes another. He did not utter 
one word till he had taken his soup, after which 
he graciously turned to me, and said — 

** Been Fontainebleau, am told." 

I answered that I had spent some months 
there. 

** Liked it ?" he suggested. 

Was this a statement, or a question ? I fan- 
cied that it was a question, and replied that I 
liked Fontainebleau very much. 

" Nice place. Know Joseph I" 

I was going to ask who was Joseph, but for- 
bore, seeing that my companion was in the 
agonies of swallowing a fish-bone. This took 
some time, during which I kindly looked 



BESSIE. 65 

another way. When the operation was over, 
he resumed — 

" Famous dog Joseph had." 

" Had he t" was all I could find to say. If 
I had been older, and more conventional, I 
should probably have remarked, "How very 
interesting I" or at least have uttered a girlish 
" Dear me 1" 

"Loads of rats Fontainebleau, you know," 
pursued my informant. 

I became lively and attentive. I now saw 
from whom Miss Russell had received her im- 
pression that Fontainebleau was infested with 
rats. Had she also got from my neighbour the 
mysterious fact that mice are young rats? I 
looked at his smooth face and stiff hair, and on 
reflection did not think he had anything to do 
with that fancy. He was, as he would have 
said himself, " in another h'ne." 

"Shambles full," he continued — "rare fan 
Joseph's dog. Ever saw anything the kind ?" 

I replied that I had not ; upon which he be- 
came suddenly lively, and carried away by 

VOL. m. p 



66 BESSIE. 

narrative style, he forgot himself so far as to use 
a few prepositions. 

*' Well, you see, the shambles are foil of rats, 
and the rats have a cap'n, and the cap'n drills 
them, as it were, and the rats will fight it out. 
A great deal of pluck rats have ; some would 
worry Joseph's dog, and fly at his throat. He 
used, to shake 'em off so;" he shook himself with 
great gusto ; ^* but he kept it in mind, and when 
he had done with the quiet ones, those that 
only ran in comers, and didn't fly at him, he 
teased the others before he killed 'em, to punish 
'em, you see. Never punished the quiet ones, 
only killed 'em. A deal of sense Joseph's dog 
had." 

This interesting and edifying conversation 
had not flowed on smoothly. It had undergone 
all the usual dinner interruptions, and had car- 
ried us to the middle of the meal. My com- 
panion was too generous and too zealous to 
give me up when that theme was over ; but 
unluckily my treacherous memory has preserved 
only a few fragments of the discourse with 
which he charmed my ear. When I try to re- 



BESSIE. 67 

member what it was about, I only get back 
fluch words as " Jumping Ben, we used to call 
him," and "was dreadfully knocked to pieces, 
you know " — fragments so suggestive and tan- 
talizing to me that I can only compare myself 
to the savant who unfolds the scorched remains 
of a Pompeian gentleman's library, and deci- 
phering such words as "Rome, Annibal, the 
dying hero," and the like (in Latin, of course), 
asks himself in despair whether the lost books 
of some Roman historian lie there mutilated 
and useless before him. But I must be candid, 
I was young and heedless then, and knew as 
much of the treasures I was casting away as 
Newton's little dog Diamond knew the value 
of the manuscripts he so wantonly destroyed. 
Besides — why deny it ? — Elizabeth sat opposite 
me, between Mr. Gray and Mr. Herbert. Mr. 
Gray was very handsome, languid, and quiet ; 
I did not mind him, but I thought a good deal 
of the other two. They were very pleasant 
and very smiling — as pleasant as if they had 
never met before. There was not a cold look 
in her eyes— not a reproachful frown on his 

f2 



68 BESSIE. 

broad^ clear forehead. As for passion, as for 
jealousy, as for love, it was as if these ghosts 
of the past were laid for ever at rest, and could 
never haunt these two again. I saw their &ces 
sometimes of one side, sometimes of the other, 
of the flowers and ferns of the epergne. I do 
not think they saw me. 

Once or twice I heard the speech that passed 
between them. It was then, I daresay, that 
my neighbour talked of ^^ Jumping Ben." It 
was very insignificant, and I vainly tortured 
my brains to give it a meaning. 

" How did you like it I" she asked. 

♦' Not much," he answered. " I preferred " 

Here ^' Jumping Ben " again came in, and I 
neither knew what Mr. Herbert did not like 
much, nor what he preferred. 

^' Do you like change ?" resumed Elizabeth. 

'* Not for its own sake, but I like it when it 
has a pleasant face." 

Here Elizabeth caught my eye, and nodded 
to me a little mockingly. Mr. Herbert saw it, 
and gave her a peculiar look, attentive and 
shrewd — such a look as one saw rarely with 



BESSIE. 69 

him, but which let in a light both sudden and 
unexpected upon his real nature, and changed 
one's impressions of it as completely as the 
cloud changes the aspect of the sunny land- 
scape. I strained my ears and my eyes to hear 
and see more than this, but, thanks to my in- 
tellectual neighbour, it was impossible. All I 
saw was that, if Mr. Gray was silent, and left 
Elizabeth pretty much to her neighbour, he was 
as attentive as ever in his contemplation of her 
beaatv. 

Miss Russell, who had been very lively all 
dinner-time, made up for her vivacity by a nap 
when we were in the drawing-room. She took 
her ease, like the man in his own inn, without 
scruple. Miss Dunn entertained us after her 
fashion of fluent commonplace, flowing on as 
imperturbably and as sluggishly as the waters 
of a canal. Elizabeth sat and looked, as she 
felt, perfectly indifferent, and Mrs. Thomas Gray, 
leaning back in her chair, took possession, to 
my alarm, of my luckless individual. 

Mrs. Thomas Gray's voice was naturally deep 
and sonorous ; this had suggested to her perhaps 



70 BESSIE. 

the propriety of a solemn, not to say pompous 
style of conversation — just as fair women like 
blue, and brunettes have a weakness for bright 
colours. At the same time, Mrs. Thomas Gray 
kindly tempered this rather oppressive tone by 
a grave jocosity, which was probably meant to 
place her hearer at his or her ease. I say her 
hearer, because she made it a point never to ad- 
dress more than one person at a time. I was 
now thus favoured. 

" You have been in Switzerland, Miss " 

Here she paused. 

" Carr," I suggested. 

" Then do tell me you did not like it," she im- 
plored, in a tone of solemn joking ; " I entreat 
you to tell me that you did not. I think Switz- 
erland the greatest imposition next to Italy. 
That, however, beats everything hollow. 
Switzerland is literally a land of Goshen, Miss 
Cari:, a land of honey and milk, for you can get 
nothing else to feed upon. I &sted like any 
Catholic, Miss Carr, whilst 1 was in the mountains 
of that blessed country, and I was in a state of 
perfect exhaustion when we came down to the 



BESSIE. 71 

valleys again. Mr. Gray's first thought was of 
course to get some meat for me, and when I act- 
ually saw a beefsteak on the table, I nearly shed 
tears of emotion." 

Here, to my great relief. Miss Russell woke up 
with a short and rather snappish " So they are 
still in there, are they f " which alluded, no doubt, 
to the gentlemen over their wine, and suggested 
the propriety of a solemn chuckle to Mrs. Thomas 
Gray, and also that she should devote herself to 
her hostess. I at once escaped to my remote 
table, and had scarcely reached it when the 
gentlemen came in. Miss Dunn immediately 
came and sat by me. 

"How altered Mr. Herbert is I" she said in her 
sweet voice. • 

I raised my eyes to his handsome face — he 
was already by Elizabeth. I saw few tokens of 
change there, and I said so. 

" Mr. Herbert looks very well," I added. 

" Oh 1 1 did not speak of his looks," and she 
laughed softly ; " they are always right, with his 
classical face. Does it not strike you. Miss Carr, 
who are an artist, that there is a kind of face 



72 BESSIE. 

one could draw without seeing it almost. So 
much for the forehead, so much for the nose — a 
straight one of course — so much for the upper 
lip, and so much for the chin." 

This was very ill-natured, but, blind as a beetle, 
I fell into the trap, and, reddening up as I spoke, 
I answered rather hastily : 

*^ Mr. Herbert's nose is not straight ; it is slight- 
ly curved." 

" Is it r replied Miss Dunn, raising her pale 
eyebrows as if she knew nothing about it; " but 
I assure you. Miss Carr, I meant no allusion to 
Mr. Herbert's face, or rather nose ; indeed, I beg 
your pardon for having introduced his name, I 
ought to have remembered what a dear friend of 
yours he used to be, only I am sure you are too 
good-natured not to excuse me." 

I replied, " Oh I don't mention it," and felt 
ready to cry with rage. 

This was Miss Dunn's revenge for the trick 
Miss Russell had played upon her in bringing 
Mr. Herbert to Hanvil House without her know- 
ledge. Satisfied with having exasperated me, 
she soon found a motive for leaving me to my 



BESSIE. 73 

own thoughts. I was sadly vexed with myself 
with everything, and with everyone about me. 
I took up a book of sketches from the table and 
looked at, but did not see, the bay of Naples and 
the island of Capri. Why had I been so foolish I 
Should I never know better! Why especially 
was I in this house to be victimized by Miss 
Dunn ? I had not wanted to meet Mr. Herbert 
again. He had cost me very dear, he had given 
me up, and he cared so little about me that he 
did not use me with common civility I Be- 
sides *^ 

Here, as if to answer this fault-finding mono- 
logue, Mr. Herbert suddenly came to me, and 
looking at me with quiet friendliness, as if we 
parted yesterday, sat down, uninvited by any- 
thing in my looks and manner, in the chair which 
Miss Dunn had vacated. 

" I am told that you have not been well since 
we last met. Miss CaiT," he remarked, but his 
tone was rather that of polite regret than the 
tone of old afifection. 

^^ I have been ill, but that is long ago ; I am 
well again now, thank you." 



74 BESSIE. 

'' You look remarkably well." 

I did not answer. 

*' I little thought I should see you this even- 
ing," he resumed, " but I believe Miss Russell 
likes to take her friends by surprise. She used 
me as a sort of Medusa's head for one person 
here." 

" Did you not know whom you were going 
to see f " 

" Ladies, I was told." 

Another pause. 

'* How is Neptune f " I asked. 

" Neptune is dead," answered Mr. Herbert. 

" Oh I I am so sorry I" I said, quickly. 
"What a trouble it must have been to you, 
Mr. Herbert I " 

" He was only a dog, Miss Carr. He would 
have given his dog's life over and over again 
before living creature should have harmed me. 
What of that? His very fidelity proved that 
he was a brute. Must I not prove my superi- 
ority over him by a calm, grand sort of ingrati- 
tude ? The attribute of the human being, you 
know I" 



BESSIE. 75 

I looked at him in a sort of perplexity. Mr. 
Herbert used not to speak so formerly. I was 
at a loss what to say next, so, after awhile, I 
came out with : 

" How do you like this part of the country I" 

He seemed surprised at the question, but an- 
swered reapidly : 

" Very much. It is both pastoral and wild." 

•* Have you seen Gray's House ?" I continued. 
" I believe Mr. Gray is not in it yet, for it was 
shut up to-day, and I know he objects to it. 
Try to see it whilst it is shut up. It would 
make a subject for a picture for you, Mr. Her- 
bert. It is so beautiful and lonely." 

Mr. Herbert laughed. 

*' I am afraid I am never likely to see Gray's 
House in that enviable state," he replied. 

" But it would be so easy," I persisted. ** Even 
if he goes to it to-morrow, he is sure not to stay 
long, and if you come whilst he is away you 
will see Gray's House in all its beauty." 

Mr. Herbert looked at me. 

"1 see you do not know," he said, after a 
pause. ** Gray's House is mine." 



76 BESSIE. 

I thought I was dreaming. Mr. Herbert saw 
my amazement, and the shrewd look came to 
his eyes. 

"Whatr he said, quietly, "do you see no 
difference in me. Miss Carr f Is the purchaser 
of Gray's House the same man who painted un- 
saleable pictures in Fontainebleauf Impossible 1 
Your penetration deceives you. There must be a 
difference in me. I assure you I feel a great 
one. I have acquired a hundred faculties that 
I wanted when you knew me first. I have read 
Molifere since we parted, and I have learned 
from him that the rich man is like his Marquis, 
* Qui sait tout sans avoir rien appris 1'" 

"Then you are rich?" I exclaimed, with most 
uncivilized amazement. 

" After a fashion, I am, since I have been able 
to purchase a house and estate, on which I mean 
to reside, and that is why I cannot hope to see 
Gray's House in all its beauty." 

I do not know what prompted my next ques- 
tion. " Have you got other houses and estates f 
I asked, very seriously. 

"No; I am not like the master of Puss in 



BESSIE. 77 

Boots. My landed property is not unlimited. 
But I have three per cents. Do you know what 
three per cents, are, Miss CarrI" 

I confessed my ignorance. 

" Well, I have some of them, and shares " 

" I know all about shares," I interrupted. 

" Do you f Well, I have loads of shares in all 
sort of things — ^railways, mines, companies, &c." 

** How fortunate you have been," I remarked, 
not knowing what to say. 

"No, no, not fortunate," he corrected. 
" Clever, Miss Carr — shrewd, &r-6eeing, long- 
headed. For, to tell you the truth, this money 
of mine all comes from one source, the much- 
abused Spanish Galiot Company." 

" But I thought it was such a dreadful " 

Here I hesitated. 

** Swindle I" he suggested. *' Yes, the world 
said so; but the world did what the monu- 
ment in the City — ^as Pope says — does daily. 
And now," he added, very sadly, " now that the 
poor fellow who gave me this fortune is in his 
grave, the world does not so much praise him 
as it admires me for my clearndghtedness." 



78 BESSIE. 

" But you were clear-sighted," I argued. 

'' Not I. I liked him, and I had faith in him ; 
but I beg your pardon. Your remark about 
Gray's House has made me say all this. Do you 
draw still r 

I shook my head and sighed. He did not 
understand that with him all my taste for 
drawing had passed away. 

" Of course you paint ?" I said. 

A sudden cloud came over his face. 

" Oh I no," he answered, rather coldly. 
*'As a poor man, I could have fought my 
way up, though I began so late. As a man of 
some property, I should ever be an amateur, 
and not a soul would care for my pictures. 
When I was a painter, the world would not 
grant me common sense ; now that I am well 
0S9 the world will not grant me any gift save 
that of making more money. Eugene Herbert 
on the list of directors to a new company would 
be the very thing. Miss Carr ; but Eugene Her- 
bert with an A.R. or an Br.A. to it in a cata- 
logue would never do." 

This, then, was the thorn of his new lot, 



BESSIE. 79 

fiince every son of Adam must needs pay the 
cost of good-fortune. 

What more he might have said on this mat- 
ter, if he would really have said more, was put ' 
an end to by Miss Russell. She could never 
bear to be long out of any discourse, and she 
now claimed Mr. Herbert's attention, after her 
imperious fashion ; and, not unwillingly, it 
seemed to me, he turned round from me and 
my questions to her. He was altered, after all 
— I felt it, I saw it, during the whole of that 
evening ; for after this he dropped me as com- 
pletely as if we had been total strangers. 
Oh I what a dull, wearisome evening it was ; 
and how tired and heartsick I felt when it was 
over, and the guests were gone ! Miss Rus- 
sell looked gaunt and more than usually yellow 
with fatigue — she had talked incessantly ; Miss 
Dunn yawned and shut her sleepy eyes ; and, 
though the roses on the cheeks of Elizabeth 
were as brilliant as ever, she said she was tired 
to death. We went up together ; at the door 
of my room Elizabeth wanted to leave me, but 
I followed her into hers. 



80 BESSIE. 

•* Oh ! Elizabeth," I exclaimed, as I closed the 
door, ** were you not amazed to see Mr. Her- 
bert!" 

** Ye — es," replied Elizabeth, yawning ; and 
she sank down on a chair with a look of fatigue. 

But I would not be deterred, and standing 
before her, I pursued : 

" It seems he is quite rich now." 

Elizabeth did not answer. 

" Don't you find him altered 1" I asked. 

" How 80 !" 

"I can scarcely say; but there is a great 
change in him — ^he seems so much older and — 
harder I" 

I could not help sighing as I said this ; but 
Elizabeth smiled and replied, "So much the 
better for him, Bessie." And I could read in 
her look and smile that Mr. Herbert had rather 
gained than lost in her good opinion. My heart 
leaped with a secret hope. 

" Oh ! Elizabeth," I exclaimed eagerly — then 
paused. 

" Oh I Bessie, good night," she said gaily. " I 
am so tired — ^I think I shall sleep well." 



BESSIE. 81 

I do not know how Elizabeth slept. It was 
late when I fell asleep, and late when I woke. 
The siin was shining in my room, and a slip of 
paper lay on my pillow. 

" God bless you 1" Elizabeth had written upon 
it. She was gone, after all. I had feared that 
she would go, but it was none the less hard — 
she was gone, and I cried bitterly. 



VOL. III. 



82 



CHAPTER V. 

llf ISS DUNN alone presided at the breakfast- 
-"-^ table when I went down. 

" Poor dear Miss Russell is so poorly !" she 
said plaintively. 

I expressed my regret, and looked furtively 
at Elizabeth's vacant chair. Did not Miss Dunn 
know that she was gone ? Miss Dunn caught 
my look, and answered it. 

" Poor dear Mrs. Henry de Lusignan I" she 
remarked, helping me to a cup of tea — " so pro- 
voking ! But servants are so tiresome. I told 
her so when the telegram came. They do it on 
purpose to fall ill at the wrong time. So tire- 
some to take a journey with a child, and all be- 
cause Watson or Watkins chooses to be dan- 
gerously ill." 



BESSIE. 83 

I heard Miss Dunn in silence. It was some 
comfort that I had to receive, not to give, or at 
least abet, a false explanation of Elizabeth's 
flight. Miss Dunn did not seem to have the 
lea^t suspicion that it was a flight, but specu- 
lated, with every appearance of simple faith, 
on the day of Elizabeth's return. Did I not 
think that Mrs. Henry de Lusignan would re- 
turn on Monday! No. Then I thought she 
would come back on Tuesday next. Why so t 
She, Miss Dunn, thought that Monday would be 
the day ; only she should like to know why I 
fancied it would be Tuesday ? I protested, in 
some despair, that I had no preference for Tues- 
day ; upon which Miss Dunn immediately dis- 
covered that I had fixed upon Wednesday. And 
so she worried me till breakfast was nearly over, 
when all at once, and I scarcely knew how, Mr. 
Herbert's name came in. 

*• It was such a delightful surprise to me !" 
remarked Miss Dunn ; " especially to find him 
so well off. I daresay you know. Miss Carr, 
that I was very intimate with Mr. Herbert and 
his mother formerly. It was quite a blow to 

g2 



84 BESSIE. 

me when dear Miss Russell got Hanvil. I al- 
ways tell her so. I was, naturally, for my 
friends the Herberts at that time; but dear 
Eugene is so clever I he soon got another for- 
tune ; and when dear Miss Russell, who is the 
most generous creature alive, learned that he 
had bought Gray's House, she hastened to ex- 
tend the hand of reconciliation. It would have 
been so awkward to have been enemies and 
neighbours I" 

" How would Miss Russell have managed if 
Mr. Herbert had come to Gray's House and yet 
been a poor man ?" I asked. 

" Ah I but that would have been so very dif- 
ferent a sort of thing !" candidly replied Miss 
Dunn. 

She left me to return to Miss Russell. I re- 
mained alone, wondering what I should do with 
myself in that strange house. It seemed pre- 
ternaturally silent and lonely. The servants 
were quiet below, for Miss Russell was sleeping. 
A gloomy grey sky hung low over the garden, 
and heavy clouds, laden with rain, moved slow- 
ly along, followed by others as heavy as grey, 



BESSIE. 85 

and as monotonous. Miss Dunn had the paper; 
Miss Russell never read, and had no books — 
besides, what could books have done for me in 
my present mood, when it was Elizabeth, and 
all Elizabeth, and a sorrow that could not be 
spoken, and for which none could offer me com- 
fort. I went up to my room, and as I passed 
by the door of that faithless friend, I could not 
resist the impulse which made me open it and 
look in. Every token of her presence had al- 
ready vanished ; no stray book or handkerchief 
or glove was left to tell me of Elizabeth. She 
had been there a few days, and she was gone 
for ever, and the room was ready for another 
guest. Its blank aspect so plainly told me 
*' forget her," that I shut the door again with- 
out attempting to cross the threshold. " For- 
get me I" — hard lesson, yet one which it seemed 
I must learn. 

I dreaded Miss Russell and her shrewd black 
eyes ; it was, therefore, some comfort, on the 
theory that it is an ill wind which blows nobody 
good, to learn that she had a desperately bad 
headache, which would confine her to her room 



86 BESSIE. 

the whole day. Miss Dnnn, who gave me this 
information at luncheon, was also kind enough 
to abstain from once mentioning the name of 
Elizabeth. Indeed, she seemed bent— r- very 
kindly, no doubt — on seeking for other themes, 
.and whilst sipping her Burgundy with an ab- 
sent air, she remarked across the table to me : 

"Were you not struck with Mr. Gray — so 
handsome, so elegant, so very — ^you know. I 
am afraid I do not express myself very well." 

I replied weariedly that I understood her 
meaning quite well, and that Mr. Gray was all 
she said. Thus encouraged, Miss Dunn con- 
tinued : 

"He is at Hanvil, you know. He really 
would not trust himself to Gray's House. I be- 
lieve it is the token of all superior minds to have 
such weaknesses. I trust," added Miss Dunn, 
looking pensively at her wine, " that the fate 
of the Grays wilU not extend to the Her- 
berts." 

I trusted that it would not, rather drily. 

" Do you not think it a pity Mr. Gray should 
have parted with Gray's House ! It seems it 



BESSIE. 87 

was Mr. Thomas Gray who, by proposing to cut 
'oiF the entail, brought it all about." 

I made an effort to say '* Indeed." 

" Yes, you understand entail, of course. Miss 
Carr, I have noticed how very clever at all 
business matters you are. Entail is very mys- 
terious to me, and I wish you would explain — " 

" Oh 1 dear no," I interrupted, much alarmed* 
" I assure you I know nothing at all of entail ; 
pray don't think I do." 

" Now that is cruel 1 " said Miss Dunn, open- 
ing her innocent blue eyes ; " because 1 know 
nothing of entail, and I should have been so 
glad if you could have explained how Mr. Gray 
and Mr. Thomas Gray got rid of theirs. I al- 
ways thought an entail was a dreadful sort of 
appendage; but they have cut theirs off as 
easily as if — oh ! how clever. Miss. Carr I I should 
never have found that out. I shall certainly tell 
Mr. Gray how cleverly you settled the question. 
Of course, cutting off the entail is just like cut- 
ting off the taill I shall certainly tell Mr. 
Gray." 

•* But I never said anything of the kind," I 



88 BESSIE. 

cried, roused out of my apathy by this astound- 
ing remark, and especially by the threat of tell- 
ing Mr. Gray — "I never said that entail and 
tail had the least analogy." 

My vehement denial filled Miss Dunn with 
vittuous amazement. She began by declaring 
that she could not have imagined anything of 
the kind, she was far too stupid; then she 
assured me that if I would think well over it, I 
should find that I must have uttered that ori- 
ginal and striking remark, &c., &c. ; and having 
worried me nearly to tears, which, in my pre- 
sent mood, was no hard task, having also 
finished her wine, she apologized for leaving 
me, and went back to Miss Russell's room. 

Again I was alone with the weary day before 
me. The clouds had melted into a settled 
grey; I convinced myself that it would not 
rain, and went out. The garden did not attract 
me; still less did I care for a little, formal, 
Chinese-looking pavilion, where Miss Russell 
often went and sat in the morning, whilst Miss 
Dunn read the paper to her. Nothing in Miss 
Russell's grounds attracted me ; but neither 



BESSIE. 89 

did I care to go near Gray's House. Its 
owner might not be in it, yet with that dwelling 
I had nothing to do. Mr. Herbert was cold 
and hard and estranged, and cared no more 
about me ; so I went out into the silence and 
liberty of the open country, and took the direc- 
tion which was exactly opposite to Gray's 
House. The quiet fields did me good ; I met 
some children straggling along and plucking 
flowers, then I met no one, and went on alone 
till 1 reached a little brook. A few trees, still 
bare of leaves, rose straight, cold, and thin 
on either side of the water; the chill, grey 
sky looked back at me from the quiet surface 
of the little stream that flowed straight on be- 
tween its two banks, of a cool, rank green. 
This little river made its way among the tall 
reeds and rushes, as majestic as a flood passing 
through mighty forest trees. I followed it 
curiously, but there was not much variety in its 
aspect. It went on quietly, telling me the same 
story of calm content, till it brought me, by a 
sudden turning to the other side of the water- 
mill, which I had seen when I went to look at 
Gray's House. 



90 BESSIE. 

It was an old mill, and evidently long die- 
used, but so pretty and so picturesque that one 
could not wonder at its having been left 
standing there. As I now looked at it, wonder- 
ing whether I should go on or turn back, heavy 
drops of rain began to fall, and I found that roy 
friend the brook had led me into trouble. 
Some tall thickets close by made a sort of 
green niche, into which I crept; and there I 
stood and waited, trying to believe it was only 
a shower that was falling. As I stood thus, 
making a virtue of necessity, but feeling very 
wet and uncomfortable, a window of the mill, 
which till then had given no token of life, 
opened, a childish head peeped out, and darted 
back on seeing me, like a mouse into its hole ; 
then darted out again, and watched me in my 
niche. I recognized the Ellinor of the wheel- 
barrow. 

" Will you come in I" she asked, after a while. 

It was raining hard, yet I hesitated. 

** I am all alone,'' she resumed, encouraging- 

ly. 

The rain dripping upon me was reducing me * 



BESSIE. 91 

fast to the condition of a water-nymph. I 
could not resist any longer — I nodded ; Ellinor 
vanished, and soon appeared on the threshold 
of the door. I darted across, and was in. 

" The best parlour is locked, but I can get the 
key," said Ellinor, eagerly. 

** Oh 1 please if you have a fire in the kitchen 
let me go to it," I entreated. 

Ellinor looked surprised, not to say dis^ 
enchanted, at the lowness of my tastes; but 
seeing how wet I was, she yielded. 

I have always thought a kitchen one of the 
prettiest rooms in a house ; I confess that I like 
brass candlesticks on a chimney, and blue plates 
on a dresser, as well as clocks of gilt bronze, 
and Indian china. The miller's kitchen was a 
delightful place, and the bright fire on the 
hearth made it more attractive still. I spied 
out a low chair, took it to the fire, and sat there 
drying my wet feet. 

The stormy wind blew gustily through the 
green creepers outside the window. The rain 
fell white and heavy with a rushing sound ; the 
world without looked very wild, and all the 



92 BESSIE. 

pleasanter looked the little homely world 
within. The room was low, large, and gloomy ; 
but the pale ray of light that stole in through 
the window, touched on its way the plates on 
the dresser, a shining brass kettle, a sleepy 
tabby cat dozing on a chair, and little Ellinor's 
plump white shoulder and golden head, as she 
stood leaning against the brown old chimney, 
and looking at me with grave childish eyes, 
and the whole made a charmiqg picture. 

"Are you often alone, Ellinor?" I asked, 
thinking how solitary a place this was for so 
young a child. 

" Well, no, not often— considering," answered 
EUinor, dubitatively ; " but I don't mind ; boys 
are such a nuisance I" 

"Have you no mother?" 

" Oh I dear no," said EUinor, as if surprised at 
the suggestion. 

" But you have your father?" 

" Oh 1 dear, yes," replied EUinor, again sur- 
prised. 

" And is he often out?" 

" Always — ^in the gardens, you know." 



BESSIE. 93 

I did not feel a right to put further questions. 
Time to do so failed me, as well as the inclina- 
tion. 

•• EUinor, Ellinor !" called a man's voice at 
the door, "will you let me into your kitchen? 
Mind you, I am dripping." 

1 looked round rather startled. Mr. Herbert 
did not see me yet, but I saw and knew him as 
he pushed open the door and stood for a mo- 
ment on the threshold. Ellinor^s offers of hos- 
pitality were not proftise. 

" You may come in," she said coolly. 

" Thank you, my dear." 

He entered, and shook himself on the floor as 
he spoke. The spray from his wet garments 
reached me, and at the same moment he be- 
came aware of my presence. He coloured with 
a suddenness that showed his surprise. 

" I beg your pardon," he said. 

I bowed my head, then looked at the fire 
again. I felt that he would not have come in if 
he had known I was there. A profound silence 
followed. Ellinor took the cat, and, nursing it, 
walked up and down the kitchen. The fire 



94 BESSIE. 

blazed, the wind blew above the chimney, the 
rain dashed furiously against the window-panes, 
and I wished myself far away. 

How, why was it that Mr. Herbert and I 
were so much estranged? We had been good 
friends once, and though that friendship had 
cost me a life-long affection, I had not held him 
responsible for the evil he had unconsciously 
done me. But Mr. Herbert had never told me 
the reason for which Elizabeth and he had 
pai-ted. Was it her doing or his t And had I 
unconsciously helped to separate them 1 I re- 
membered her cold and alienated looks, and my 
heart sank. Had he bought his old liking for 
meat the cost of his man's love? — and now 
that we met again did he feel involuntary re- 
sentment against me ? Oh I if it were so, his 
was a hard case indeed. But then was it so 
certain that the evil I had done was irreparable ? 
Elizabeth's flight would give her liberty ; and 
might not also this sudden breaking of her 
bondage restore her to the truest of lovers? 
Besides, would Mr. de Lusignan 

Here the cat uttered a pitiful mew — a protest 



BESSIE.' 95 

against EUinor's nursing — which brought my 
day-dream to an abrupt close. I looked up 
with an involuntary start, and saw Mr. Herbert 
standing almost in the place which EUinor had 
left, and thence looking down at me with a 
grave, attentive air. 

« I am afraid you are very wet,'* he said 
quietly. 

" Yes, rather so," I answered, a little trou- 
bled at having to speak. 

'* EUinor," said he, turning to the child, 
" please to put the kettle on." 

I guessed the kettle was for me, but could not 
protest. 

" Which will you have, grog or tea ?" asked 
Ellinor readily. 

" Tea to-day, my dear. You see, Miss Carr," 
he added, turning to me, " I cannot hide my 
misdeeds from you. Ellinor has let it out— I 
do come here and have grog sometimes." 

His voice was so like the voice of old times 
that I could not help looking at him rather ear- 
nestly. His smiling face was the smiling face 
I knew so well. It was as if a mist had melted 



96 BESSIE. 

away from before me, and I saw things as they 
were, and not as I had fancied them. I got 
back my tongue at once. 

" Then you often come here to see EUinor t" 
I remarked. 

" Oh, yes. EUinor and I are old friends ; are 
we not, EUinor t" 

ElUnor nodded. 

" Perhaps you are not aware, Miss Carr, that 
our acquaintance ripened during a week's visit 
which I paid to Gray's House some time 
back." 

**Have you brought PoUy?" here asked 
ElHnor, putting the kettle on the fire. 

" No, PoUy has remained behind." 

" And pray who is PoUy t" I asked, with sud- 
den curiosity. 

Mr. Herbert looked sUghtly embarrassed. 

"A young friend of EUinor's," he repHed, 
shunning my look. 

" Then why did you not bring her ?" asked 
EUinor, in an aggrieved tone. 

^* I hope you can let us have some eggs and 
ham ?" hastily remarked Mr. Herbert. 



I 
I 
I 
I 
I 

I 



BESSIE. 97 

" But if the hen wont lay I" replied EUinor, 
crossly. 

** What, no eggs, Ellinor !" 

** No — not one." 

" Oh 1 Ellinor, Ellinor, what will Miss Carr 
think of you ?" 

Miss Carr thought, but did not say so, that 
Mr. Herbert wished her to know nothing about 
Polly, and of course this mysterious Polly was 
the very thing she longed to know something 
of; but without giving me time to speculate on 
that subject, he remarked in a gay tone, that 
reminded me of the days long ago : 

" I never saw you sitting by a kitchen fire 
before, Miss Carr, and as I look down at you 
now I cannot help thinking of little Cinderella. 
She was a great friend of mine when I was a 
boy." 

" But I am not at all like Cinderella," I cried, 
rather afironted. " I do not dance with glass 
slippers on my feet, to begin with ; and then I 
have more than two hundred a year of my own. 
Now Cinderella had not a farthing, according 
to the fairy-tales." 

VOL. III. H 



98 BESSIE. 

" True. Still you remind me of her, spite the 
two hundred a year. Do not give me that 
alarmed look, Miss Carr — I have got no sketch- 
book." 

I looked up at him wistfully. 

" Then you have really given up painting?" I 
said, in a tone of reget. 

" What if I have t " he answered, with a 
smile. " What we do is not much, after all. 
What we are is the thing." 

He spoke like one who knew that wherever 
he went his gifts went with him ; but I could 
not let well alone. 

*' I am so sorry," I said. 

" Are you sorry for that poor Eugene Her- 
bert who wanted style!" he asked gaily. 
" Don't be sorry. True, he spent some bitter 
hours after he left you, but you see he has out- 
lived them." 

Then he had been unhappy — of course he had. 
Was he so still T I* did not venture to put the 
question, but without looking at him, I said : 

" Would you have come last night, if you had 
known whom you were to meet t" 



BESSIE. 99 

** Why not !" he promptly answered ; then in 
a lower tone he added, ** He can dare much who 
knows how to suffer, Miss Carr." 

Involuntarily I looked up at him ; but his 
face, once so open, told me nothing. I read in 
it neither past nor present pain— nothing but 
the careless stoicism with which a man meets, 
or should meet, the inevitable troubles of life. 
I did not venture on another word. 

The water was now boiling. Ellinor, who 
seemed to be a thorough little housewife, made 
the tea in an old metal tea-pot, set three blue 
cups and saucers on the table, cut some bread 
and butter, then drew a high chair forward, 
and perching heraelf upon it, took her tea with 
us. 

The rain had almost ceased, the grey sky 
was clearing, and a yellow yet pleasant sun 
was sending in his flickering light through the 
kitchen-window on the floor, when Mr. Herbert, 
who sat facing me, suddenly remarked, 

" I hope Mrs. Henry de Lusignan is quite 
well to-day." 

I had forgotten her — not for long, but for a 

h2 



100 BESSIE. 

few minutes she had left my mind, and the 
question recalled her back so abruptly and so 
painfully, that I nervously set down the tea- 
pot, from which I was pouring myself out some 
tea. 

"She is gone to London," I said, shunning 
his look. " Her luggage was lost, and Watkins 
is very ill, it seems." 

" Did she take Harry ?" he asked eagerly. 

" Oh ! of course." I uttered the reply with 
my face almost in my cup. After awhile I 
looked up. Mr. Herbert was leaning back in 
bis chair, with his untasted tea before him, and 
an expression of the greatest gravity on his face. 
He was looking at the fire, yet he seemed aware 
that my eyes were reading his countenance, for 
all at once his look sought mine. 

'*The bird found the cage open and took 
wing," he said in a low tone. *' I guessed last 
night that it would be so." 

I answered not one word. Little EUinor, 
though conscientiously going through her tea 
and bread and butter, was scanning us very 
attentively, and listening to every word we 
uttered. 



BESSIE. 101 

^' I think it is not raining now," I said, when 
our silent meal was over. 

" No, it is not," he answered, still looking 
very thoughtful. He rose. It was plain he 
meant to see me home. I would rather have 
returned alone; it was agonising to think of 
Miss Dunn seeing me come back under his es- 
cort. Oh ! if I could have told him so I But as 
I could not, I submitted to my fate with that re- 
signed stupidity which is one of the many 
sheepish attributes of youth. 

Mr. Herbert did not suspect or did not care 
for the predicament he was putting me into. 
He stood patient, but evidently waiting, whilst 
I put on my waterproof, shook hands with Elli- 
nor, and lingered as long as I could. Vain de- 
lay 1 When I left the mill he left it too, and as 
we walked out, he scarcely waited for the door 
to close upon us, before he said : 

" So she is gone — gone at lastl Shall we ever 
see her again, Miss Carr f I think not. I think 
she has vanished for ever, like any lost star. 
God bless her, wherever she may go I" 

There was much emotion in his voice. I 
stood still and looked at him. 



102 BESSIE. 

" Why should you not follow and discover 
her I" I asked eagerly. " If she is gone you 
can find her " 

" You know where she is 1" he interrupted, 
with a sudden change in his face. 

" No," I replied, slowly and much grieved to 
damp his ardour. " I do not ; but surely — surely 
you can discover her." 

Mr. Herbert's countenance resumed its tran- 
quil expression at once. 

" Then she did not tell even you where she 
was going," he remarked — " not even you." 

^^ I did not see her. I was asleep, and she did 
not like to waken me, I suppose." 

" And that was your parting 1 She left you 
to Miss Bussell and Miss Dunn I — and left you 
in your sleep, without one last word I" 

I felt ready to cry, and I also felt very angry 
with Mr. Herbert, who made the hard truth still 
harder to bear. 

" And what if she did !" I cried wrathfuUy. 
** Is it her fault if every one will worry her to 
death, and she must fly like a poor hunted 
thing! I know she has been true to me. I 



BESSIE 103 

know that when I lay ill, and almost dying, she 
sat up night after night to mind me. I know 
that, and want to know no more. She is lost 
to me now, but she may not be lost to you ; if 
you want her, follow her ; and if you find her, 
Mr. Herbert, tell her I love her still — tell her 
I shall love her till 1 die." 

I was crying now, and had to turn my head 
away. Mr. Herbert answered me not one word, 
but when I was calm again, gave me his arm, 
and so we walked on, in a silence that was not 
very friendly, till we reached Hanvil House. 
At the gate Mr. Herbert (to my great relief), 
left me. He said something about his splashed 
boots, and not being in a plight to appear before 
Miss Russell ; and so we parted. I looked after 
him ; he walked away from Gray's House, and 
in the direction of the railway. 

" He is going to follow Elizabeth," I thought, 
with a beating heart. I went up to my room, 
at once, and changed my wet garments ; then I 
went down to the drawing-room, ready to con- 
front Miss Dunn. I was determined not to be 
browbeaten again, and felt quite valiant, not to 



104 BESSIE. 

Bay aggressive. But is it not always so in life 
— when we are ready for an emergency, the 
emergency does not occur 1 Miss Dunn, as if 
she knew that I was bent on mischief, prudent- 
ly remained upstairs with Miss Bussell ; and 
when I entered she drawing-room, the only com- 
pany I found there was that of the fire burning 
steadily in the grate. The room looked large, 
lonely, and rather desolate. I felt tired and 
feverish ; I ensconced myself within a deep arm- 
chair by one of the windows, and looked out on 
the garden. It was raining again, and the 
heavy drops dashed against the window panes. 
The wind, too, moaned gustily, with long fits of 
silence. "Will he find her!" I thought. I 
hoped he would. I hoped that Elizabeth would 
prize this faithful heart at last. I saw her re- 
lenting, I imagined them going off together 
somewhere for ever away. I cried a little, and 
I suppose I cried myself to sleep. 

I do not think I slept long. When I woke 
with a start, the room was almost dark — not 
through the lateness of the hour, but because of 
the blackness of the sky. The fire burned red 



BESSIE. 105 

and low, and there were long streaks of gloom 
on the carpet. All of a sudden the hoose was 
full of noise; the drawing-room door flew 
open, the light from the lamp in the hall came 
pouring in, and in that light the two figures 
of Mr. de Lusignan and Elizabeth entered 
abruptly. 

^^Well," she said, shutting the door, and 
keeping her hand upon it, as if to prevent him 
from escaping, " we are alone now, sir, and you 
shall hear me. You set a trap for me, and I 
fell into it, as you imagine. Do not think I did 
so with my eyes shut. I knew the risk I ran, 
and if I ran it, it is because to be free from you 
was worth any risk." 

^^ That, at least, is candid," remarked Mr. de 
Lusignan, drily. 

Elizabeth went up to Miss Bussell's vacant 
chair, threw herself into it, and thence, looking* 
at him defiantly, she asked : 

" Well, now that you have me, what will you 
do with me I " 

"Admire you, my dear, of course," was his 
ironical reply, **and take to heart the lesson 



106 BESSIE. 

you have given me. I wanted to know if I 
could trust you alone with my grandson, and I 
cannot. I shall bear it in mind." 

All this time I had been too much amazed to 
stir, but now I started up and ran to Elizabeth. 

« Oh 1 Elizabeth 1 Elizabeth !" was all I could 
say, throwing my arms around her neck and 
kissing her. It was very flelfieh of me, but I 
could not help being glad at seeing her again. 

** Why, Bessie 1 is that you ?" she exclaimed, 
and her manner changed as if by magic. " Only 
think of the trick Watkins played upon mel — the 
foolish thing fancied she was desperately ill, 
when a bad cold was all that ailed her I 
Chance — or rather, I should say. Providence "— 
the word was uttered with slight bitterness — 
*' made Mr. de Lusignan and me meet at the 
station, so he kindly took all trouble from my 
hands, managed Watkins, managed Harry, 
managed my luggage even — ^and here we are ! 
Is it not lucky ?" 

And she laughed so lightly and so gaily that 
I was both amazed and perplexed. 

^^ And where is Miss Bussell, in whose chair 



BESSIE. 107 

I am sitting I" resumed Elizabeth. " HI in her 
room I — what a blessing 1 And Miss Dunn pre- 
sides, does she f Well, then, I suppose I really 
must go upstairs and dress." 

She rose, passed by me with a nod, and left 
the room. I remained alone with my guardian, 
who seemed to have forgotten me. I reminded 
him of my existence, by inquiring after Made- 
moiselle Aubrey. 

" She is very well, 1 believe," he replied ; 
" and you are well too, Bessie, I see," he added, 
holding out his hand ; then, without giving me 
time to utter a word, " I saw Mr. Herbert, as 
we were driving from the station. What is he 
doing here! — ^painting? Has he long turned 
up in this part of the world f " 

I confess I enjoyed my reply, which I uttered 
with studied indifference. 

" Only since he bought Gray's House, I be- 
lieve." 

" What 1" exclaimed Mr. de Lusignan. 

** Only since he bought Gray's House," I re- 
peated. 

My guardian remained silent a few minutes ; 



108 BESSIE. 

his eyes were bent on the carpet; he raised 
them at last : 

" So he is a rich man now? " he said. " I had 
forgotten all about that concern of his. Does 
he come here t" 

" He dined here yesterday." 

" And the other guests were — oh 1 the Grays. 
That will do ; I know the set. Well, I too must 
go up and dress for Miss Dunn, I suppose.'' 

He left me, to my great relief, and I ran up 
to Elizabeth at once. I was not sure that she 
wanted to see me, but I could not help it — I 
must go to her. I found her sitting alone oppo- 
site the mirror on the toilet-table, as if she 
wanted to read the &ce that looked back at her 
from its cold and careless depths. 

'* May I come in I" I asked, from the door. 

" Yes, darling," she answered, without look- 
ing round — " come in." 

I went up to her, and knelt down on the 
floor by her side. She laid her head on my 
shoulder, and moaned drearily — 

" Oh 1 Bessie, Bessie," she said, " what a good 
thing it would be for me, if I could only be 



BESSIE. 109 

dead 1 — and I am still so young 1 — so young 1 
Not twenty-four 1" 

" And Harry t" I suggested. 

" Oh, never mind Harry," she exclaimed pet- 
tishly. ** Would not Mr. de Lusignan do for 
him I Good gracious 1" she added with a start, 
" there's the dinner-bell. Go away, darling — go 
away. 1 must dress, you know." 

I left her, for she seemed in a great hurry ; 
but she made good speed, and when she came 
down, a quarter of an hour later, charmingly 
dressed and as lovely as ever, it would have 
been hard to detect a wish for death on her 
beautiful face. She came, too, quite prepared 
for Miss Dunn; and when that lady imprudently 
made a stealthy attack upon her outer works, 
Elizabeth repelled it with a vigour which 
showed that her heart was in the warfare, and 
did not retire from the field till her enemy was 

« 

thoroughly routed. As for Mr. de Lusignan 
and me, we looked on, on the wise and humane 
principle of non-intervention. 



110 



CHAPTER VL 

rpHE afternoon was pitilessly hot. A burning 
' July afternoon was this, which had mis- 
taken its time and come in May, with a blue 
sky, no clouds, a parched earth, and grass so 
green and glistening that it made one feel hot- 
ter still to see it. Grass can look very moist 
and cool at evening-time, when flowers shut up 
and go to sleep, and pale mists steal forth and 
float over the earth, like sad spirits weeping 
balmy tears as they pass on ; but at noontime, 
when every blade is straight and stiff like a 
little spear, and the very daisies lift up defiantly 
to the sun their shield of silver and gold, grass 
is hot, and has a hot look. The very waters by 
which I sat were bright and shining, and only 
gave back light and heat. I found it trying to 



BESSIE. Ill 

sit thus looking at them ; but I was too lazy to 
rise and walk to the house through a tract of 
burning sunshine. With moral cowardice, how- 
ever, I shrank from the responsibility of either 
going or staying. Insidiously I appealed to 
my companion, Harry, who sat gravely by my 
side, his little fat legs stretched out rather 
wide apart, and his stumpy little feet in red 
shoes turned up. 

'* Too 'ot," he sententiously repeated, throw- 
ing a white pebble into the water. 

*' Then shall we stay here till dinner f " I con- 
tinued. 

" 'Es, till dinner," echoed Harry, picking out 
another pebble and throwing it in. 

The matter being thus decided, I took up my 
book once more, then let it fall again before five 
minutes were over. 

I find it hard to read when Nature and I are 
alone together. I say alone, though Harry was 
with me, for a child has the happy gift of not 
being company. A mind speaking to me 
through the medium of a printed page is too 
little or too much. Nature — bright, joyous, 



112 BESSIE. 

life-teeming Nature— bids me be all her own, 
and I obey her, no unwilling slave. I know 
there are some whom Nature never calls ; no 
mysterious music comes forth from the forest 
depths, alluring them within-no winding path 
tempts them through shade and sunshine — no 
charm of form or colour bids them pause, as if 
to say " Behold me 1" — no voice seems to speak 
from the depths of the tranquil lake, or in the 
murmurs of the garrulous brook. I believe 
these can read anywhere with perfect comfort 
to themselves. They could read on Mont 
Blanc or in Innisfallen ; but, right or wrong, I 
cannot, and the little lake by which I now sat 
had so long a tale to tell to me, that no other 
story could tempt me away. 

It had wholly escaped my knowledge during 
the first days of our stay at Hanvil House ; a 
remark of my guardian's first revealed its ex- 
istence to me. 

" I hope Harry does not go near that water," 
he said on the morning after his arrival, and 
Miss Dunn immediately rejoined, " Oh 1 I hope 
not — horrid thing 1" 



BESSIE. 113 

'* Water 1 — what water t" I asked ; and I went 
and found it out, and my guardian's prohibition 
like many another before it, led to the acoom- 
plishment of the event he apprehended. I had 
given up going to look at Gray's House for 
good reasons, but I went and found out the 
little lake, and visited it daily ; and Harry was 
now actually by its shores with me. 

It was so pretty 1 A little fairy sheet of 
glancing waters, with broken, uneven shores, 
now half hidden by young trees. Here and 
there rushes and water-lilies reared their heads 
above its surface, then seemed to dip down 
again as if they liked better being within, under 
the cool water, than out and up in the hot sun. 
A brown rock, with a round mossy cap of a bright 
golden green, glittered in the distance like a 
fairy islet. That was all, but it was much to 
me, such as it was ; moreover, the hand of man 
had not set it there. It was a true lake, no 
counterfeit ; it was my first lake too, and had to 
me a charm very different from that of the little 
running stream by EUinor's mill. For the 
brook, as it bounds along, tells us of life, 

VOL. III. I 



114 BESSIE. 

raotion, adveutnre, and infinite variety. Fancy 
follows its glancing current, and wonders 
whither it is going — what pastoral landscapes, 
what villages it passes by, what cities it seeks 
(ah, how unwisely I) in shoi*t, what it means to 
do on its way through the world. The lake 
uses other language. Its mystery lies inward. 
Hence old stories make it the scene of enchant- 
ment which live running waters break. In 
the lake you wiJl find O'Donoghue's palace, 
and many a Prince of Tiema Oge. The lake 
keeps King Arthur's sword, and guards his 
sleep. Its deep waters tell us none of its se- 
crets. We do not trust it quite, yet we cannot 
resist its smile ; and as I looked at this one now, 
I thought of Elizabeth — ^beautiful, charming, and 
unfathomable — of Elizabeth, who, since the day 
that followed her return with Mr. de Lusignan, 
had been lying ill of fever. She would see no 
doctor — she said she was not ill enough for that, 
but she kept her room, and sometimes her bed ; 
and when she attempted to come down of an 
evening, she was as brilliant and lively as ever, 
but invariably was ill again the next morning. 



BESSIE. 115 

But Harry, who took no pleasure in silent medi- 
tations, here rather pettishly put an end to mine 
by imperiously saying : 

"Gi' me de book, gi' me de moder-o'-pearl 1" 
Which, translated into English, meant, " Give 
me your mother-of-pearl card-case." 

** I have not got it here, Harry 1" I replied ; 
then suddenly starting up, I cried : " Oh, 
Harry, Harry, I have lost it 1 I must have lost 

itr 

I was more distressed than I can say. That 
little mother-of-pearl card-case was the last gift 
I had received from James Carr. His hand had 
put it into mine before he had learned to doubt 
me, and I never looked at it but the happy days 
it recalled all came back before me. And now 
it was gone, really gone. I remembered dis- 
tinctly that I had put it into my pocket before 
going out on the day of Elizabeth's flight, and 
that pocket I had emptied of its contents an 
hour ago. I must have lost it, but how or 
where ? Perhaps at the mill. Hope asked no 
better than to revive at the suggestion. I 
started to my feet, and, spite the vehement op- 

l2 



' 116 BESSIE. 



position of Harry, who, if he wanted the mother- 
of-pearl book, wanted it then and there, I in- 
sisted upon going back to the house at once ; 
and having in my hands the last argument of 
kings and nations, force, I had my way, spite some 
vehement protests in the way of kicking and 
scratching, which Harry administered with a 
vigour and zeal worthy of a better fate. We 
had not walked a hundred yards before we met 
Mr. de Lusignan. 

"So you were there — really there, by that 
horrible water with the child !" he exclaimed, 
pale with emotion and wrath at seeing that we 
came from the forbidden lake. " Have I not 
said that he was never to go nigh it, never 1" 

" We did not intend it," I faltered, rather 
frightened at seeing him in such a fury, " but 
I took him from Watkins because Elizabeth is 
so ill that I thought she might want her." 

" And you had a book T' he exclaimed looking 
at the volume in ray hand; "and whilst you were 
reading your trashy novel the boy might have 
fallen in, and — Bessie, Bessie, you do not know 
what that child is to me ! He is all that is 



BESSIE. 117 

left to me now — from the wreck of a wasted 
life." 

He took the boy's hand as be spoke, and 
leaving me there abashed and mute he walked 
away. I took a round in order avoid him as I 
went back to the house, but failed in my object. 
The very path I chose led me straight to a 
shady portion of the flower-garden, where 
Harry and his grandfather were seated on a 
bench discussing the lake. The boy, who was 
quick enough in his way, and who knew that I 
had been scolded about him, took care to say 
in a loud voice as I passed : 

" Bessie 'ad a book, and I got into de water." 

'^Nonsense!" said his grandfather, looking 
vexed ; " you did not, Harry." 

" I did !" screamed Harry, getting very red in 
the face, and clenching his fists as if he were 
ready for battle — *' 'ou know I did ! — 'ou said I 
didl" 

My guardian did not venture, to contradict 
the little tyrant, under whose yoke he had 
placed his stiff neck. I was magnanimous, and 
feigning deafness, walked on. 



118 BESSIE 

All search ia my room for the card-case 
proved vain, as I had expected that it would. 
My only chance now lay at the mill, and to it I 
went at once, regardless of the heat. 

The mill was silent, and seemed deserted ; the 
door stood wide open, but there was not a soul 
about the place. It looked as if corn had never 
been ground there I I remained on the thresh- 
old, and called out " Ellinor." No one answered 
me save the tabby cat, who came downstairs 
humping her back, lifting up her tail, and utter- 
ing a pitiful mew, which might be a mew of 
welcome, for all I could tell. I tried the parlour 
door, but it was locked ; not without some un- 
easiness, I made my way to the kitchen, and 
opening the door cautiously, I peeped in — 
EUinor was not there. There was no one 
there save Mr. Herbert, who stood by the win- 
dow, looking at something in his hand. My 
heart leaped with joy, as I recognised my pro- 
perty. 

" Oh 1 I am so glad you have got it !" I 
eagerly exclaimed, coming forward. " I was so 
much afraid that I had lost it." 



BESSIE. 119 

Mr. Herbert looked round, and handed me my 
card-case, with a smile. 

" I saw it was yours," he said, " and I was 
going to take it to you. I have only just found 
it here." 

^^ And I have only just missed it ; and I am so 
glad to have found it ! James gave it to me, 
and I value it all the more that he and I are no 
longer friends." 

Mr. Herbert was putting the card-case into my 
hand as I said this ; he raised his surprised eyes 
to mine, with a doubtful and perplexed meaning 
on his face — the meaning of one who hears, but 
can scarcely trust his hearing. 

" No," I replied, " we have not met since we 
parted in Fontainebleau — did you think we 
had? Don't you know that James is gone to 
Australia ?" 

Mr. Herbert bowed his head in silent assent ; 
I reddened. I felt as if he were blaming me, 
and yet, if James and I were parted for ever, 
the fault was surely none of mine I 

" We are not friends," I repeated, " and shall 
never be friends again ; but I am all the better 



130 BESSIE. 

pleased to have his gift once more — and thank 
70a cordially, Hr. Heiberi." 

^ Ton owe me little thanks," he said, smiling 
perhaps at my formal tone. **• I have been 
away fix>m home since yon left this here, other- 
wise yon should haTe had it earher." 

I started with sndden recollection : 

^ Perhaps yon do not know that Elizabeth 
has come back ?" I said, eagerly. 

** No, indeed T he exclaimed, taken by sur- 
prise — ** come back I I did not know that." 

^ It was impossible you should find her," I 
continued, heedlessly; ^'she came back with 
Mr. de Lusignan on the very day that you went 
off to look for her." 

** But, excuse me," he said, very gravely ; " I 
have not been looking for her. I have neither 
the right nor the inclination to do so," he 
added, 00 coldly that I remained silent and 
abashed before him. 

How well I remember that moment I Mr. Her- 
bert and I stood on the sunlight kitchen floor, 
looking at each other, calm reproaches in his 
eyes, and assuredly some confusion in mine. 



BESSIE. 121 

I thought only of the vexation of the moment, 
and all the time Grief, like a keen marksman, 
was lying in wait for me, and biding his hour. 
I was going to say something, I do not know 
what, when a series of little steps came patter- 
ing down the stairs, the kitchen door, which I 
had left ajar, was burst open, and a little red- 
haired girl in black rushed in, and running up 
to Mr. Herbert, without heeding me, she cried, 
in a passion of sobs and tears : 

" Oh 1 Georgy I — EUinor won't ; she says she 
won't, Georgy " 

" Won't what, Polly !" he asked, rather 
gravely. 

This, then, was Polly ! I looked at her curi- 
ously, then, uttering a sudden, sharp cry of fear 
and pain, I recognized her. 

" Oh 1 Polly, Polly I" I cried, " what brings 
you here t Where is James ? — where is he ?" 

Polly turned round her little surprised face 
towards me, whilst Mr. Herbert, whose right 
hand rested kindly on the child's head, gave me 
a look of silent pity. James was dead I I read 
it in his face, in Polly's black garments — above 



122 BESSIE. 

all, in her presence here. The blow was ter- 
rible. It fell upon me like a bolt from heaven ; 
my arms dropped, James's little gift slipped 
from my hand upon the floor, and broke as it 
fell. 1 did not fall myself, but I felt turned to 
stone, and looking at Mr. Herbert, all I could 
say was : 

" Dead I — James is dead 1" 

I could not cry then. The tears, which came 
later and relieved me, seemed for ever dried up 
in their source, but a pain so acute that it was 
like the agonized parting of soul and body 
seized me. 

"James — dear James I" I said; and sitting 
down on a chair that stood by me, I laid my 
head upon the table and moaned aloud in my 
anguish. That, too, went by. After awhile I 
could look up again, and question and listen. 
The tale Mr. Herbert had to tell me was both 
sad and brief. 

" When I left Fontainebleau last year," he 
said, " I went to Australia, as you know." 

I shook my head. I had known nothing of 
the kind. 



BESSIE. 123 

** My stay was a short one. Almost on the 
eve of my return home I received a message 
from James Carr, asking to see me. I went, of 
oonrse. I found him dying of a fever, contract- 
ed by the sick-bed of his two eldest sisters, who 
had already died of it a week before. Polly 
alone had escaped — perhaps because she had 
been removed from the house in time. James 
knew that I was in Sydney — he remembered 
that we were related, and had been friends, and 
maybe he felt on his death-bed that he had 
wronged me, and he now asked me to care for 
the child. I promised to do so, and that is how 
I got Polly,'' he added, caressing Polly's little 
red head. 

^ Did James give yon no message for me ?" I 
asked. 

Mr. Herbert hesitated. 

"He mentioned you," he replied, "but he 
sent no message." 

I did not ask what James had said of me. 
He had done tardy justice to Mr. Herbert, but I 
guessed that for me there had been none. To 
the end James had wronged me. 



124 BESSIE. 

^And that was how James died," I 
^ He who was so young still, so strong — ^that 
was how he died P 

^Tes,'' sadly said Mr. Herbert, '^that was 
how, and his hardest tribulation in his last 
hours which I witnessed was the not seeing his 
little Polly again. ** If I conld only see her P 
he moaned — ^ if I conld only see her — ^the last 
of the three — ^the only one left — ^if I conld only 
see her !' " 

The words brought him back so vividly be- 
fore me ; his kind, loving face as he sat in Mrs. 
Dawson's parlour with his three little sisters 
around him, was so present to me, as Mr. Her- 
bert spoke, that the tears rushed to my eyes, 
and flowed down my cheeks. 

" Oh 1 Mr. Herbert," I said, when I could speak, 
*' you must give me Polly, indeed you must. I 
will care for her truly. I will rear her, and 
keep her and provide for her — for though you 
do not say so, I see very well that James had 
nothing to leave to her." 

" No, poor fellow, not a farthing — ^it was all 
gone." 



BESSIE. 125 

" Well, then, let me have her,'' I pleaded. ' " I 
know you are rich and generons, but James was 
my cousin, and surely the task of rearing his 
little sister, the only one left, as he said, belongs 
to me." 

Mr. Herbert hesitated, but did not deny my 
prayer ; he only remarked : 

" You forget that you are not your own mis- 
tress, and that Mr. de Lusignan, who so strange- 
ly left you in ignorance of your cousin's death, 
may object to your assuming such a burden, and 
undertaking such a task." 

^ If he consents, do you ?" I asked, rather im- 
petuously. 

" Yes," he answered, without the least hesitar 
tion. 

*^ Well, then, he is within now — will you 
come with me and ask him at once ?" 

I rose as I spoke. I felt as if a moment's de- 
lay were more than I could bear — as if to have 
Polly, and have her immediately, were the only 
comfort my grief could know. 

" I will do anything you wish," he answered, 
readily. 



126 BESSIE. 

"Well, then, I do wish tha*t," I replied, with 
some passion. " What else have I left to wish 
for t You do not know — ^how should you, 
since he did not? — what James Carr was to 
mel" 

Mr. Herbert did not answer this ; he took 
Polly by the hand, and we left the cottage 
together. Ellinor, who, after her diflference 
with Polly, had remained upstairs, looked out 
after us from a bed-room window, and saw us 
depart with a blank, perplexed face. 

An hour's time had not altered the road be- 
tween the cottage and Hanvil House, but that 
hour, so full of sorrow to me, had so changed its 
aspect in my eyes, that it was as if I had never 
trod these paths, as if I had never seen these 
fields and meadows before. Twice I had to sit 
down and cry, my heart was so full ; and once 
whilst Polly was hunting butterflies, I said to 
Mr. Herbert, who stood silent by my side — 

" You say that James mentioned me. What 
did he say ?" 

" I will tell you, if you wish it," he replied, 
" but I would rather you did not ask me." 



BESSIE. 127 

** And so he was angry with me to the end!" 
I said, disconsolately. " Oh, Mr. Herbert, that 
is very hard 1 I loved him so truly, and if he 
had not been so exacting, I would have married 
him — indeed I would 1" 

*' He could not help being exacting," re- 
marked Mr. Herbert, rather quickly. 

" But you don't know," I argued ; " poor dear 
James really asked too much." 

"No, Miss Carr," very positively said Mr. 
Herbert ; " he only asked for the one thing which 
you could not give — if he had got it, James 
would have been content." 

'* So you too blame me !" I exclaimed, dreari- 
ly — " even you think I wronged him I" 

" No, no ; I never said that I Do I not say 
you could not give him what he wanted ? Do 
not blame yourself, Bessie; the thing James Carr 
wanted was no more in your power to bestow 
than it was in Elizabeth's for me." 

" But you are not angry with Elizabeth," I 
persisted — " I can see you are not ; and James 
was angry with me to the end, and that is 
hard." 



128 BESSIE. 

I was looking up at him as I spoke. I saw 
the tell-tale blood rush up to his face, and dye 
it ; he crimsoned, even to the roots of his fair 
hair; he laughed, with a light, forced laugh, 
and half turned his head away, as if to look at 
Polly, as he replied, in a rather vexed tone : 

*• You judge me too favourably. Miss Carr." 

He was not cured, after all; I had always 
thought so, spite his implied denial, and I was 
not surprised. At another time I might have 
challenged his confidence, but now my own 
sorrow was heavy. James was dead, and I 
could think of no one's loves and hopes, when 
he who had loved me so truly, though so un- 
kindly, lay in his grave across the seas. Mr. 
Herbert did not want me to think of him or his 
concerns. 

" Are you sure that the child will not be too 
much for you T he asked seriously. " To me 
she is no trouble. I shall send her to school 
soon, and I have got a maid for her, in the 
meanwhile ; but if you mean to keep her — — " 

" I mean to keep her, and she will be no 
trouble," I interrupted. " I may have to send 



BESSIE. 129 

her to school till I am of age, but, after that, 
Polly shall remain with me till she is grown-up." 

Mr. Herbert attempted no further argument. 
I rose, and we spoke no more till we reached 
Hanvil House. My guardian stood in the 
shade with his back towards us, superintending 
the building of a mud and pebble edifice which 
Harry was raising, to the infinite detriment of 
his garments. 

" You are all wrong, Harry," Mr. de Lusignan 
was saying, " your castle will fall at the enemy's 
first shot — look I" 

He took a stone, aimed it with a sure hand, 
and down tumbled the fortress which Harry 
had been rearing with some trouble. The boy 
took the experiment very ill, and uttering a 
cry of mingled anger and dismay, he flew at his 
grandfather to put into practice the ever- 
readiest argument of children. Mr. de Lusi- 
gnan laughed, put him away, and turning round 
as he did so, saw Mr. Herbert, Polly, and me. 

Our aspect sobered him at once, and even 
Harry suspended his attack in the first moment 
of surprise. I think also there was something 

VOL. III. K 



130 BESSIE.. 

in my grief too visible to escape my guardian's 
perception. I saw his face change as he ad- 
vanced to greet Mr. Herbert, and his look fell 
with a troubled, perplexed meaning upon Polly. 
Mr. Herbert was quite at his ease. His manner 
was quiet, his speech was courteous, his look 
was free ; but Mr. de Lusignan remained 
strangely constrained, and still kept looking at 
Polly and me. I spoke first : 

"My cousin, James Carr, is dead, sir," I said; 
" did you know it f " 

He did not answer ; I resumed : 

" I think it hard, sir, very hard, that you did 
not let me know the death of my only surviv- 
ing relative." 

" Oh, of course 1" replied Mr. de Lusignan, 
frowning, and with a slight, impatient gesture 
of his hand ; « you think many things hard, 
Bessie. You thought it hard once that I would 
not let you marry Mr. Carr off-hand. However 
good and estimable he may have been, did you 
think me so much mistaken some months later t" 

This was all very true, but I only felt that to 
save himself the sight of my sad face and black 



BESSIE. 131 

garments, Mr. de Lusignan had wilfully kept me 
ignorant of James Carr's death. 

" I had a right to know that my cousin was 
dead," I retorted. " I had a right to know it." 

" You kept none," ooldly answered my guard- 
ian : " you parted from him with reproaches on 
your lips, and there was no reconciliation. He 
left you no legacy, no memorial, that I am aware 
of, and the only information which I, as your 
guardian^ got on this matter was the ' Deaths,' 
in the TimesJ' 

I nearly broke down at this unkind reminder 
of the past, but I controlled myself, and answer- 
ed as calmly as I could : 

" James had nothing to leave, sir, save Polly, 
his only surviving sister. Mr. Herbert got her 
in Australia, and brought her back, but surely I 
have the best right to adopt her and provide 
for her. I cannot do so yet without your con- 
sent. Will you give it f " 

** Is she any relation of yours ?" he asked. 

" None. She was James's half-sister ; but I 
shall love her dearly for his sake." 

I expected a sharp and prompt denial ; I had 

k2 



132 BESSIE. 

all sorts of arguments in readiness ; but to mj 
surprise my guardian said very gently: 

" You shall please yourself, Bessie." 

" Oh, thank you, thank you I" I cried, in sud- 
den joy : and turning round to Polly, I took her 
up in my arms and kissed her, whilst Harry, 
who had been slowly reconnoitering Mr. Her- 
bert, crept up to him and looked up in his face 
with shy recognition. What passed then in 
Polly's mind? Did she imagine that an ex- 
change was going to take place — that I was to 
have a Polly, and Mr. Herbert to get a Harry 
instead? Did she consider my embrace as a 
sort of immediate taking of possession of her 
little person by me, and was she aflfronted at 
being thus disposed of without her consent? 
Heaven knows, certain it is that, when I thus 
kissed her, Polly struggled for liberty, got out 
of my arms, and bursting into a flood of tears, 
rushed back to Mr. Herbert, vehemently push- 
ing Harry away. 

" I won't go with her !" she sobbed ; " I won't 
— oh, Georgy — ^I won't go with her I" 

She clung to his legs, and then turning round 



BESSIE. 133 

scowled at me, and viciously giving poor Harry 
a kick, she screamed indignantly; "You go 
away — will you I" 

I was so confounded at this rebuff that I 
could not utter one word. As for Harry, so 
valiant with his grandfather, he looked perfect- 
ly terrified at this unexpected assault of his little 
red-haired enemy, and fled in evident dread of 
a fresh attack. Mr. de Lusignan laughed rather 
drearily. 

" Is that your luck, Bessie !" he said. " Then 
give up Polly, Mignonne, give her up." 

I did not answer. My disappointment was 
too bitter and too keen. At this moment, 
moreover, two new personages came upon the 
scene — Miss Russell wheeled in her yellow chair 
by Miss Dunn, who, having seen us from afar, 
— ^Miss Russell was short-sighted — had imparted 
her own curiosity to her patroness. 

" What has happened ?" asked IVIiss Russell, 
bending forward eagerly ; " a battle-royal be- 
tween that young lady and Harry 1 Miss Carr 
in tears I Mr. Herbert, have you caused her 
grief?" 



134 BESSIE. 

'^ I hope not/' he answered, smiling at this 
abrupt address. " I hope, too, you are quite well 
to-day, Miss Russell." 

" Oh, very well, thank you — pray excuse my 
rudeness, but you know me, I am the most un- 
civilized person — " (Tiow true, I though tl) — "and 
now do tell me what has happened." 

" Simply that Mignonne wanted to adopt this 
young lady, who prefers Mr. Herbert's guard- 
ianship to hers," sarcastically answered Mr. de 
Lusignan. 

"Come, Polly, let us have your mind once 
more — will you go with Miss Carr, or ^" 

" I'll die first," interrupted Polly, giving me 
a very evil look. 

"Stay with Mr. Herbert,'* continued my 
guardian. 

" Oh, yes, I'll stay with Georgy," very readily 
said Polly. 

Mr. de Lusignan laughed. 

" Why, what a charmer you are, Mr. Her- 
bert 1" he said. 

" But Mr. Herbert is such a charmer," here re- 
marked Miss Dunn. " I remember that all pups 



BESSI£. 135 

and kittens and birds used to like him so much." 
All this time Mr. Herbert's hand was caress- 
ing Polly's head, as it lay resting against him. 
When Miss Dunn spoke thus, he looked up at 
her and smiled, but said not one word. I do 
not know by what intuition I guessed the mean- 
ing in his eyes, nor in what spirit of mischief I 
remarked suddenly : 
" Did they not also like you, Miss Dunn ?" 
" Not much," she answered, coolly. 
" Not much I" screamed Miss Russell ; ** my 
dear, cats, dogs, and children all hate you I 
Look at Harry, he can't bear you, can he t As 
to birds," she added, musingly, ** I don't know 
— perhaps birds like you." 

"Not much," imperturbably replied Miss 
Dunn. " I have no doubt they come and perch 
on Mr. Herbert's head, but they never come to 
me. 

Mr. Herbert smiled again ; if Miss Dunn had 
been a bird herself, pecking at him in her puny 
malice, she could not have moved him less than 
she did. I felt — rather late, it is true — ^that I 
had helped to bring this on ; my heart was full 



136 BESSIE. 

of other things, and turning to him, I said, in a 
low tone : 

"You were right, I see. Polly must stay 
with you, Mr. Herbert, thank you all the same." 
And having said this, I walked away with my 
sorrow and left them so. 

I went up to my room ; I laid my head on 
my pillow and stayed thus till dusk; then I 
stole in to Elizabeth. She was up, sitting by 
her open window, gazing drearily at the sullen 
sky, — for the hot day looked as if it would end 
in stormy rain. I took a cushion, put it at her 
feet, and sitting down upon it, I laid my head 
upon her lap and said : - 

" I am very miserable, Elizabeth." 

" Are you, Mignonne f " she replied, stooping 
over me ; " what has happened ?" 

" James is dead." I burst into a passion of 
sobs and tears as I said it. 

" Dead 1 Oh, Bessie, is that possible I How 
do you know it f " 

I told her. I told her also how I wanted to 
take and keep Polly, who had chosen to abide 
with Mr. Herbert, and I said again : 



BESSIE. 137 

" I am very miserable, Elizabeth." 

" Poor little thing I — I dare say you are," she 
rejoined, kindly. 

" I am the most miserable creature alive," I 
added with a sob. 

" No, Bessie," she replied, drearily. " I know 
one who is more wretched than you are." 

I gazed up in her pale face. Oh, how sad, 
how very sad it looked in that grey light ! 
What depths of despair there were in her blue 
eyes 1 What lines of unspeakable sorrow in her 
compressed lips ! I asked if she would go down 
to dinner ; Elizabeth shook her head in denial. 

" Then let me stay with you," I entreated. 
" I cannot go down and talk ; besides, where is 
the use ? I could not eat a morsel — I feel I 
could not." 

Elizabeth raised no objection. So I stayed 
thus with her, my head lying on her lap, and 
her hand resting upon it as she leaned back in 
her chair, looking with her sad eyes at the 
evening sky. It soon began to rain. Oh, how 
soothing I felt this weeping and wailing of Na- 
ture ! I liked that low moaning wind, and those 



138 BESSIE. 

heavy drops pattering upon the young leaves of 
the trees I Was it raining upon James's grave ? 
Where was it ? I wondered ; in what sort of a 
spot ? Were there roses near it I Did roses 
grow in Australia f — such roses as he had set 
for m^ in the home that was to have been 
mine ? And so my thoughts wandered, and my 
tears flowed at every picture memory calledback, 
till, worn out and weary, I unconsciously fell 
asleep. When I woke it was quite dark ; the 
window was still open, but the rain had ceased 
and the evening was as sultry as ever. 

"Elizabeth," I said softly, "are you awake I" 
" Yes, darling," she answered, quietly. 
Did you not sleep ?" 
Oh, no." 

"And you stayed quiet all this time I" 
" Why not? You were sleeping, and I know 
it would do you so much good." 

I rose and kissed her. I felt as if, in our mu- 
tual sorrow, all the old affection had come back. 
I felt as if we both, Elizabeth and I, could now 
grieve apart from other happy ones, and make 
our moan above the two graves of our dead. 



u 



b( 



139 



CHAPTER VII. 

npHE next day was Sunday. I woke early, 
-■■ and dressed at once to go to the little 
Catholic church which stood some three miles 
away at the end of the village. I took a rose 
out of my hat. I put on the only black dress I 
had, and having thus sobered my aspect, I went 
downstairs and left the house alone, and with- 
out meeting anyone save a housemaid. My road 
took me through meadows, where cows who 
stood knee-deep in the grass, grazed on steadily, 
as if life had no other object to them than the 
production of butter and milk, flow beautiful 
were those meadows I How gorgeous look- 
ed the crimson fields of sainfoin I flow ten- 
der and lovely was the aspect of that early sky. 
How low and dim and dreary lay the far hori- 



140 BESSIE. 

son ! And alas, alas ! how heavy felt my sor- 
rowful heart! For I remembered another 
Sunday morning, when James and I had gone 
through Kensington Gardens together, arm in 
arm, on our way to Spanish Place. I remember- 
ed the deep shadow of the old trees, the bright 
sunshine on the grass, his handsome young face 
turned to mine, the very stillness of the church, 
the aspect of the altar, the look of the white- 
headed priest who preached, and the text of his 
sermon — all returned to me like things of yester- 
day, and with them the burden of my grief: 
Dead, dead I # 

James was dead for ever. There was no 
cancelling that doom. Separation, estrange- 
ment are bitter, but the gates are not closed, or, 
if they are, there is always a gleam of light steal- 
ing through the chinks. We know that these 
doors, fast as they may seem, can be unlocked 
again, but what ray of this world has ever 
pierced the utter darkness of the grave? The 
other life indeed . is eloquent with tender pro- 
mises, but this life, with its hopes and dreams 
and passions and vicissitudes, is silent, so far as 



BESSIE. 141 

the dead are concerned. I tried to take my 
mind away from these thoughts in the chapel, 
but I could not ; do what I would, they came 
back to me. Griefis the great master whom we 
must all obey. My eyes read, but my mind was 
not with words on the printed page ; my ears 
heard the voice of the priest, but it sounded far 
away, as if it came to me through a dream ; I 
knelt, but my body alone obeyed that form of 
worship ; only one thing I could do, and that I 
did-— oh I how passionately, how eagerly, as my 
tears flowed behind my veil ! — and that was, to 
pray for James Carr. 

As I left the chapel and crossed the porch, I 
found myself face to fa<^ with Mr. Herbert and 
Polly. On seeing me the child shrank behind 
him. 

** You need not, Polly,'' I said, in a subdued 
voice. ^' I will never again attempt to take you 
away. Tou were not given to me, and no doubt 

m 

James knew best." 

My voice shook a little as I uttered his name, 
but otherwise I think I bore up pretty well. 
Save that he asked me kindly enough how I 



142 BESSIE. 

was, Mr. Herbert made no allusion to what had 
passed between us the day before. He walked 
by me for a little while, Polly keeping safely on 
the other side of him ; and we spoke of anything 
save that one thing which was ever before me ; 
then, when our roads parted, he left me. 

I did not bid Polly good-bye, for by her bear- 
ing Polly plainly showed me that she could not 
BO readily forget the unlucky attempt I had 
made to adopt her ; but with a heavy heart I 
looked after her as she danced by Mr. Herbert's 
side. She had been the darling of James Can*, 
and how hard he must have found it to leave her 
behind him 1 If I only could have had her, if I 
only could have petted and cherished her for his 
sake 1 —but he had been angry with me to the 
last, and that too was hard. 

Sorrow is a heavy burden to carry. I soon 
felt weary, and sat down on a bank to rest. 
Sunday stillness was on the spot. The fields 
were all very quiet, not a soul was within view; 
the air was still, save when wild bees, reckless of 
Sabbath observance, hovered over the meadow, 
gathering honey with a low hum. I looked 



BESSIE. 143 

around me, and tried to feel the beauty of God's 
world, but could not, for the dead one, estrang- 
ed, reproachful, and dying far away, was ever 
by me, upbraiding me with the days that were 
gone. 

" Oh ! if he had only forgiven me I" I thought, 
" if he only had I" And because he had not, 
and I knew it, I buried my face in my hands, 
and cried bitterly. The sound of a step roused 
me suddenly. I looked round quickly. Mr. 
Herbert was coming towards me, but Polly was 
not with him. 

" I beg your pardon," he said, " but I have 
something to say which could not be said in 
Polly's presence. Her maid came for her, so I 
turned back to speak to you. May I do so ?" 

" Yes, surely," I replied hesitatingly. 

** I mean to send Polly to school," he said ; 
** tell me where you are to be, and Polly shall 
go to school as near you as can be managed." 

**And will you do thisl" I cried joyfully. 
" Oh, how good you are I Oh, Mr. Herbert, how 
can I thank you sufficiently ?" 

" Then you like this plan f " he said kindly. 



144 BESSIE. 

" Like it I Oh, Mr. Herbert, can I wish for 
more? And I will do my best for Polly. Oh, 
you may rely upon that. I shall go and see her 
every Sunday, and take her out walking, and 
try to improve her. I shall make her presents, 
give her books, good books ; then pretty things 
to please her — dolls whilst she is little, and 
when she grows up, a handsome desk or a work- 
box, or a dressing-case, or anything of the 
kind; and then, perhaps, when I am of age, 
Polly will like me enough to come and stay 
with me for ever." 

" For ever !" he repeated, rather gravely. 

" Oh 1 1 beg your pardon," I cried, " I am so 
selfish. I must not rob you of Polly — I must 
not !" 

Mr. Herbert smiled, and begged that I would 
have no scruple on that head. He was fond of 
Polly, to be sure, but he was also afraid of 
spoiling her, which would be a pity. I was 
alarmed at the prospect, and begged that he 
would not spoil Polly — dear James did so ob- 
ject to spoiled children. 

" But what am I to do ?" he asked. « Polly 



BESSIE. 145 

will not learn, and Polly will get on my back 
and pull my hair." 

" Punish her," I said, inexorably. 

" But how so f I cannot whip Polly," — I was 
horrified at the suggestion — "or put her on 
bread and water;" — this was as bad as the 
whipping — "and for scolding Polly does not 
care." 

" Put her in a corner," I suggested. 

Mr. Herbert's eyes were so full of fun at this 
educational view that, with the prompt response 
of youth, I burst out laughing ; but the laughter 
died on my lips, and turning my head aside, I 
cried anew. 

" Oh, what a wretch I am 1" I exclaimed. " I 
have not learned his death twenty-four hours, 
and I can laugh I — I can laugh I He would not 
have laughed if anyone had told him, * Tour 
little cousin Bessie is dead.' It would have 
broken his heart — I know it would, for he always 
loved me ten times more thain I loved him." 

Mr. Herbert let me sob my grief away ; then, 
when I was calm again, he said, 

VOL. III. L 



146 BESSIE. 

"It seems to me that you loved him very 
much." 

" Of what use was my love, since he did not 
believe in it?" I asked. " Oh 1 Mr. Herbert, my 
very heart is pierced with regret and remorse. 
I now see what a blank life is without James 
Carr. Oh I do not do as I did. K she has 
offended you, forgive her, and, since you have 
found her again, try to win her back, or your 
heart will ache some day, as mine aches now." 

Mr. Herbert looked at me, then bit his lip, 
and turned his head away. If I had not been 
absorbed in my sorrow, I must have seen how 
displeased he was ; but I did not. It was only 
later that the meaning of his cold, averted looks 
came back to me ; yet I had a vague feeling 
that he was not very well content, for I pursued, 

" I speak so, Mr. Herbert, because we were 
such good friends once, and because you are so 
generous to me about Polly. I cannot help 
hoping that she will like me in the end. I shall 
never marry, never — and if Polly will only stay 
vrith me " 

" Of course — of course," almost interrupted 



BESSIE. 147 

Mr. Herbert, with an abruptness very strange 
in him ; '^ but what school am I to send her to 
in the meanwhile? Where does Mr. de Lusi- 
gnan mean to reside ?" 

The question brought me back from dream- 
land to reality. I knew nothing of my guardian's 
intentions, and as he probably had none, it was 
useless to question him. All my hopes of Polly, 
and rearing her my own way, and keeping her 
for ever, vanished in a moment. I looked at 
Mr. Herbert with a blank face as I said : 

" I had forgotten ; it cannot be. Mr. de Lu- 
signan himself never knows one day where he 
will be the next. How can you put Polly to 
school near me, since I do not know where I 
shall be t Pray don't say any more about it. 
Ton mean it so kindly ; but the disappointment 
is almost more than I can bear." 

I rose as I spoke. Mr. Herbert seemed to 
feel the force of my argument, for he uttered 
not one word against it ; indeed, he walked in 
perfect silence by my side till I reached the 
road that took me straight to Hanvil House, 
€uid there we parted. 

l2 



148 BESSIE. 

"Think of what I said, Mr. Herbert," I 
urged, as my hand lay in his. 

" Thank yon, I will," he replied, dropping my 
hand as ifit burned him. 

I felt it was rash in me to probe his wound 
BO soon, and I added, rather timidly — 

" I speak so, because I cannot bear that you 
should some day go through the bitter grief I 
have gone through since yesterday— a grief 
which I must bear with me to my grave." 

" Thank you," he said again ; and so, as I 
said, we parted, he to go back to Polly — ^happy 
man I — ^and I to return to a house where no 
one, save Elizabeth, cared for my sorrow. 

My way lay through the orchard, and as, 
leaving it, I raised the latch of the little gate 
that divided it from the garden, I nearly start- 
ed back at finding myself face to face with my 
guardian and his daughter-in-law. To see Mr. 
de Lusignan was nothing, but to see Elizabeth 
out dressed to perfection, and, though a little 
pale, in good health and, to all appearance, in 
excellent spirits, was a surprise. 

"Why, where have you been?" she asked 



BESSIE. 149 

gaily ; then, perceiving my book — " Ah I I see," 
she added, nodding. 

" Bessie is always very good," remarked my 
gnardian. 

I ignored this speech, and looking at Eliza- 
beth, " I suppose yon are going to church f " I 
said. 

** No," she answered, rather shortly. 

"My dear," observed Mr. de Lusignan, 
gravely, " why don't you take pattern on Bes- 
sie ? Why don't you go to church t 1 could 
not accompany you, we two not being of the 
same faith; besides, I never go myself, not 
being able to keep quiet ; but still I should like 
you to go." 

" I only go when I like it," answered Eliza- 
beth drily. 

** My love, that is not often. Take pattern 
on Bessie, I say." 

This was ill-natured, but it was also into- 
lerant, and sprang from intolerance ; for I sup- 
pose the godly are not the only ones who can- 
not endure any way of thinking but their own. 
I have found that the spirit of persecution is 



150 BESSIE. 

strong in the ungodly too, and that they can 
be sharp and bitter with such as do not happen 
to think like themselves. My guardian was so, 
at least. The restraint of sitting quietly in a 
church for half an hour being too much for him, 
he resented that it should not be so for every- 
one else. I believe, however, that my sad face 
soon made him repent his ill-nature, for he 
added, with sudden kindness, 

" Never mind me, Bessie ; go your way, it is 
a good one." And taking out a cigar, he went 
into the orchard to smoke it alone. 

" I wonder if he ever prays V* said Elizabeth, 
looking after him. "I suppose he does — we 
all do. Don't think me quite a heathen, Bessie. 
I cannot help it. I cannot pray at set hours 
and on set days." 

There was no answering this. If Elizabeth 
did not know that prayer is an act of filial obe- 
dience as well as of filial love, no telling of 
mine would convince her of that truth. 

" You seem well again, Elizabeth," I said to 
her, not knowing what to say. 

** Oh ! yes," she carelessly answered, " I am 



BESSIE. 151 

well enough. Have you had any breakfast? 
No I Ah 1 no wonder, then, that you look so 
pale. Go in and get something to eat, child." 

She spoke kindly, and laid her hand on my 
shoulder as she spoke ; but I felt that Elizabeth 
did not want my presence. She on whose lap 
ray weary head had rested the evening before, 
had already vanished, and this was the Eliza- 
beth who, as she kept her own sorrow locked 
in her own heart, asking none to help her in 
bearing it, would not be made partaker in 
strange grief. All that I had raised upon the 
sand foundation of her fellow-feeling for me 
died away as she told me to go and take my 
breakfast. The shears of the fatal sister never 
cut a thread of life more surely than this bit of 
advice snapped my frail web of hope asunder. 

Elizabeth liked me, but she would have none 
of me, and she had left her room and come 
down for the very purpose of shunning me and 
my sorrow. I submitted — what else could I 
do ? — and walked alone towards the house. As 
I passed by the Chinese pavilion, I found Miss 
Russell sitting there in her yellow chair, and 
for once she was alone. 



152 BESSIE. 

** Good morning, Miss Carr," she said airily, 
holding out a friendly hand as she spoke. 

I answered her greeting soberly enough ; and 
looking in my face with her black eyes, in which 
beamed sudden softness, she said kindly — 

" Ah ! to be sure, you have got your trouble. 
Well, it is sad. Only you never thought to see 
him again, and he was not the one with whom 
you wished to spend your days, was he!" 

" I loved him dearly," I answered, rather un- 
easy at the turn her consolatory remarks were 
taking. 

" Of course ; but if he had put you by for 
some one else, that would have been hard. Miss 
Carr. You don't know how hard ; for anyone 
can see you have not got that danger to fear 
from some one whom you and I know." 

" Oh ! pray. Miss Russell," I exclaimed, much 
alarmed, " don't run away with that idea — pray 
don't !" 

"My dear Miss Carr," she interrupted, "I 
can't run away, not even with an idea ; but I 
have eyes, and can see." 

" But I assure you," 1 exclaimed, in despair. 



BESSIE. 153 

^* that no one cares about me, and that I want 
no one to care about me/' 

" Then is Mrs. Henry the person cared for t" 
she asked, with sudden eagerness. '^ If so, why 
don't they marry at once I" she added, fastening 
her eyes full upon my face. 

" I don't know," I faltered, rather bewildered 
at her point-blank and rapid questions. "I 
suppose they don't like." 

" Perhaps she went to London the other day 
to get registered," she said, without heeding 
me. " I should not wonder." 

I was very ignorant in those days, and regis- 
tering, as a social institution, was an utter 
mystery to me. 

" Registered r I repeated. 

"Yes, registered!" impatiently replied Miss 
Russell. " Formerly a girl was clothed in white, 
and wreathed and veiled, and led to the altar, 
and it was generally understood that she was 
doing a very awful thing, and was no better 
than a young lamb adorned for a life-long sacri- 
fice. The whole world was called upon to see 
it, just as the Greeks gathered to see that girl 



154 BESSIE. 

whose name I have forgotten. Now people get 
registered in an office, and as they do not at all 
know how long the journey for which they are 
booking themselves will last, why, they keep 
quiet about it ; because, you see, we have regis- 
tered marriages and Divorce Courts — very con- 
venient, very useful, both of them. The old 
thing was barbarism, but to register couples as 
one registers luggage is civilization. I wonder 
they don't number and label them. They ought 
to, for fear of mistakes. Well, I suppose they 
do — I suppose they do." 

I listened to her amazed; but all Miss Russell 
saw in my perplexity was the proof of my ignor- 
ance. Her face fell a little. 

" Perhaps they are not registered, after all," 
she said. "I don't see why they should be. 
He need not be afraid of anyone, and what need 
she care for her father-in-law? Of course they 
are not registered," she added, positively; "and 
of course he's not the man. Mrs. Henry likes 
handsome horses, and Mr. Gray's chestnuts are 
unrivalled. My dear, you need not stare so," 
she added, with a forced laugh. "There is 



BESSIE. 155 

never any knowing whom, or rather what, a 
woman marries I I know quite a sweet girl 
who married a pair of chestnnt-coloured horses. 
Well, they were lovely horses, and she married 
their owner. He was a very presentable young 
fellow, bnt if these chestnuts had not turned 
the scale in his favour, I scarcely think he would 
have secured the heart of ChristabeL The 
temptation of dashing up to the doors of her 
friends with t^ese pawing, snorting, and foam- 
ing chestnuts was irresistible." 

I thought all this talk very wild, and got 
rather frightened of it, and of D^iss Russell. I 
felt that Mr. Herbert and I were only a pretence 
for remarks of which the chief interest centred 
on Mr. Gray and Elizabeth. I wondered how 
I could get away from this excitable lady, and 
for once Miss Dunn, who now appeared, was 
welcome. Miss Dunn was all amiable condo- 
lence. 

" I am so sorry. Miss Carr," she said, feel- 
ingly. " Of course it is a great trouble to you. 
Such a fine young man, and so angry with 
you, I remember. So unjust, too. And the 



156 BESSIE. 

little girl that will not stay with yon. It is 
such a pity 1 But how she did go on yesterday 
after yon were gone 1 So jealous of Harry — 
like a little cat, really. I thought she would 
have flown at him when he went nigh Mr. Her- 
bert. Do you know. Miss Carr, I think it's a 
pity you did not try her with sweets. Miss 
Russell has got such delicious apricot jam. I 
daresay a little of it would go a great way with 
Polly. Or a doll. Shall I get you one! I 
really think a doll with a little girl would be 
the very thing." 

Miss Dunn had delivered me from Miss Bus- 
sell, I now wondered who would deliver me 
from Miss Dunn: Miss Russell kindly did so, 
by the utterance of one word — 

'* Don't," she said. 

" Don't t" repeated Miss Dunn, raising her 
feir eyebrows — " don't what, my dear Miss 
Russell I" 

"Don't," repeated Miss Russell, raising her 
hand, and speaking tartly. 

"Don't what?" persisted Miss Dunn, more 
tartly still. 



BESSIE. 157 

Bat Miss Bossell had got into an obstinate fit, 
and was not to be moved ont of it. 

** Don't," she said, for a third time, and with 
a shake of her head and a solemn nod whidi 
Borleigh would have envied. 

^ I am in the waj. Miss Dunn,'' I said quick- 
ly; and, without waiting for a replj, I left 
them both. 

As I walked awaj, I overheard iCss Dunn 
remarking, in a reproachful tone : ^ I told you 
so, you know." To whidi Miss Bussell's only 
reply was a fourth and triumphant ^ Don't,'' 
as enigmatic to me, and probably to Miss Bus- 
sell herself as the three that had preceded it. 



158 



CHAPTER Vra. 

GBIEF is a hard one to deal with. He gives 
short credit and takes high interest. He 
was sharp and exacting with me. I did my 
best not to bring too sad a face to Miss Russell's 
table or drawing-room. I complained to none ; 
I avoided giving rise to condolence ; I did not 
attempt to see Elizabeth alone, but grief was 
not to be cheated. I had to give him his dues, 
and my poor little exchequer of endurance and 
fortitude emptied so fast that at the end of two 
days I broke down. I was not very ill ; but I 
could not sleep, and I scarcely ate. I got 
feverish, too ; and it was agreed that I had a 
violent cold, and must keep my room. The 
doctor said so, and I fancied that the little 
world below was not sorry for it. My guardian 



BESSIE. 159 

liked no one's trouble ; and Miss Russell, who 
had had bitter troubles of her own, had not 
invited us to have moping visitors. She liked 
young people, because they are light-hearted ; 
and though she was sorry for me after a fashion, 
I could not help thinking that she was vexed 
with me too for being so dull. As to Elizabeth, 
she was very kind, and came and sat with me 
for an hour daily; but she never spoke of James 
Carr. Comfort came at length, but my com- 
forter, to say the truth, was the one from whom 
I least expected consolation. I sat one after- 
noon—the fifth of my confinement— by my 
open window, and looked down on the garden 
below. The afternoon was warm and genial, 
but neither the serenity of the air, nor the beauty 
of all things, brought any solace to my deso- 
late mood. A darkness spread between me and 
the face of nature, and discoloured its fairest 
hues. Life, for a time at least, had lost its love- 
liness, and looked wan and death-like. Oh I to 
be at rest — away somewhere — away from this 
dull pain, and feel no more this worthlessness 
of God's fairest gift. ^ No one cares about me," 



160 BESSIE. 

I thought drearily, " Oh ! if I only could be 
dead with poor James ! — ^if I only could !" A 
little tap at the door broke on this gloomy con- 
clusion. When people want to be dead, they 
want, as a necessary preliminary, to be quiet, 
so I am afraid that my " come in " was rather 
a cross one. The door opened slowly, how- 
ever, and a little red curly head peeped in at me. 

** Oh I Polly," I cried, in my joy, " is that 
youf 

" Yes," answered Polly, looking rather sur- 
prised at so strange a question, *^ of course it 
is." 

" Oh, do come in," I said eagerly. 

But Polly's head vanished immediately on 
this invitation, the door even seemed inclined 
to close, but for a moment only, and Polly ap- 
peared again, propelled, or at least encouraged, 
I could not help thinking, by some invisible 
good genius behind. 

" Oh, do come in," I entreated, in my most 
coaxing tones, but not daring to rise from my 
chair lest I should frighten her away; and then, 
mindful of Miss Dunn's advice, I exclaimed with 



BESSIE. 161 

sudden cleverness, *' I have got such delicious 
jam !" 

Polly, however, on hearing of jam, became 
mistrustful, and looked behind her, as if inclined 
for flight. But the same good genius again 
came to the rescue, for after a brief parley Polly 
came in, and the door closed behind her. Her 
greeting was not encouraging. 

" Jane is to fetch me at four o'clock," said 
Polly, looking me fiiU in the face. 

" Very well," I replied, taking out my watch. 
" It is only three, so sit down here by me, Polly, 
and leit us be friends." 

" I don't like jam," declared Polly, without 
sitting down. 

I was delighted to hear it ; for suppose that 
Miss Russell had objected to my disposing of 
her jam, what should I have done ? 

" Never mind the jam," I said encouragingly ; 
" but come here by me, and let us talk — ^let me 
see — let us talk of a doll." 

Polly, nothing loth now, came forward and 
took a chair by mine. Was there ever such a 
doll as that which Polly and I now discussed? 

VOL. III. M 



162 BESSIE. 

For she was to have black eyes and yellow 
hair, and a green robe looped up with brown 
velvet (Polly's choice), and the tallest of tall 
grey boots with tassels to them, and the tiniest 
of hats with the most drooping of feathers, and, 
to crown all, a parasol. 

" And now," said I, thinking the subject ex- 
hausted, *Met us talk of something else." 

** Don't you think it is four o'clock 1" said 
Polly, by way of a subject. 

" Not yet, Polly. Talk to me about James, 
Polly dear." 

Polly stared at me and was mute ; but her 
brown eyes seemed to grow larger, and her 
little lips began to quiver. I hastened to ex- 
claim : 

" What colour must the parasol be I" 

** Blue," answered Polly, with a promptness 
that did credit to the decision of her character. 

Blue, with a green dress I Oh ! Polly, 
Polly ! 

" Blue," I said aloud — *• very well. And now, 
tell me something." 



BESSIE. 163 

^'Georgy has got loads of books/' said 
Polly. 

" You mean Mr. Herbert, Polly." 

**Yes, but his name m Georgy," persisted 
Polly. 

'^ Then tell him I shall be glad of some books, 
Polly, Not yet," I added, as Polly jumped up 
to deliver the message forthwith. " First tell 
me something else." 

Polly pondered awhile, then came out 
with : 

" He's so very angry with you, you know." 

I confess I was amazed. 

« Oh ! Polly," I exclaimed, " that cannot be 1 
Angry with me I — about what 1" 

" I don't know," answered Polly, with cool 
indifference. " He was angry on Sunday, you 
know — so I" and Polly frowned and bit her lip, 
and looked very cross ; then she added in a 
breath : " Don't you think it is four o'clock 1" 

*' But what could he be angry for ?" I cried 
warmly, without heeding her. " Do you know, 
Polly?" 

M 2 



164 B E S S I E . 

P0II7 raised her eyes to the ceiling, looked at 
a fly, then came out with : 

** S'pose you ask him. Don't you think it is 
four o'clock ?" she added. 

Polly was so evidently tired of my company, 
that all wish to keep her left me. The informa- 
tion she had given me concerning Mr. Herbert's 
inexplicable anger had also wholly banished 
that longing for the grave which I had felt an 
hour before. I was too much vexed to wish to 
be dead, and indeed had only one thought — to 
find out the motive of Mr. Herbert's wrath. 
Remembering how he had looked when I spoke 
of Elizabeth, I began to fear that I had been 
more zealous than discreet, and I longed to 
apologize for and explain my interference. I 
went downstairs at once, on the chance of find- 
ing him below, but the drawing-room was 
tenanted by no one save Elizabeth, who put 
down her book in much surprise as she saw 
Polly and me entering hand-in-hand. 

*< What, alive again I " she exclaimed, gaily ; 
" truly Polly works wonders I " 

But Polly, indifferent to praise, was all 



BESSIE. 165 

anxiety to be gone; and as she had seen Jane in 
the hall, lost no time in bidding me adieu. 

" When am I to get her I" were her parting 
words. 

" * Her ' means the doll, I suppose, Polly. I 
really don't know when she will come — suppose 
you come and see after to-morrow I" 

" I shall bring Ellinor," said Polly, promptly. 
I acquiesced, and thus we parted. 

Elizabeth looked after her, and shook her 
head. 

" And so that little monkey has so restored 
you that you do not seem the same," she Said. 
*^ Mysterious I She is red-haired, a little selfish 
pig, who only cares for her doll, and does not 
care a pin for you. How did she do it, 
Bessie?" 

"I don't know, Elizabeth. When did you 
see Mr. Herbert I" 

" He called yesterday — to ask how you were, 
I believe." 

I shook my head. 

" No, Elizabeth, he did not call for that ; for 



166 BESSIE. 

it seems that Mr. Herbert is quite angrj with 
me — Polly says so." 

*' Does she ?" exclaimed Elizabeth, raising her 
eyebrows. 

" She does, indeed." 

I had sat down on a chair by the door, and 
looked very disconsolate, I suppose, for Eliza- 
beth laughed at me outright. 

"Poor little simple dove!" she said, tossing 
up her book and catching it again, " what need 
you care if he is angry or not? I never care 
when people are angry with me." 

A dove is a lovely bird, but it is not always 
pleasant to be called one; I was very much 
nettled at the appellation, as. thus bestowed 
upon me by Elizabeth. 

" But 1 eare," I replied, with some asperity. 
" What right has Mr. Herbert to be angry with 
mer 

" None, I fancy." 

** I know why he is angry," I resumed ; " it 
can only be about you. Oh, Elizabeth, do tell 
me this : has Mr. Herbert any chancel" 

" You want to make a peace-offering of me," 



BESSIE. 167 

she answered, merrily ; " thank you, Bessie, but 
I cannot enlighten you. I really do not know 
what Mr. Herbert's chance is." 

She spoke so good-humouredly that I could 
not help thinking Mr. Herbert was getting back 
into favour. 

"Don't let your eyes sparkle, Bessie," she 
said, quickly, '* I mean nothing of the kind." 

" Yes, you do," I replied, eagerly, " only " 

I had no time to proceed ; the folding-window 
opened, and Miss Russell was wheeled in from 
the garden, where she had been taking the air, 
attended by Miss Dunn, and followed by Mr. 
Herbert and Mr. Gray. 

" We have found the very spot," cried Miss 
Russell, who looked in high glee — " but, good- 
ness gracious I is that Miss Garr ? * My dear 
Miss Carr, I am so glad to see you well again I 
Not that you look very well yet," she added, 
frankly, " maia cela viendra, as the French say." 

Mr. Gray, who, in a quiet way, was the most 
courteous of men, added his congratulations to 
Miss Russell's, and at the same time examined 
me critically, as if to ascertain how far my brief 



168 BESSIE. 

illness had detracted from my value as a 
picture. Miss Dunn lamented kindly to see me 
still so pale, and Mr. Herbert looked at me with 
such gravity, merely acknowledging my pre- 
sence with a silent bow, that I remembered his 
anger as reported by Polly, and felt much dis- 
pleasure rising within me at the thought. 

^ I am so much obliged to you for sending 
me Polly," I said, addressing him in my coldest 
tones. 

He brightened suddenly, and answered, with 
a smile — 

"1 hope Polly behaved well?" 

" Oh, so well 1" I replied, avoiding to cast a 
glance in his direction, and looking steadily be- 
fore me, 

My eyes then fell on a tall mirror, and I had 
the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Herbert in it, 
standing like one amazed. I had not accus- 
tomed him to these grand ways, and they took 
him by surprise, I daresay. 

" Yes, we have found the very spot," resumed 
Miss Russell, still in high glee ; '^ for you must 
know. Miss Garr," she added, addressing me. 



BESSIE. 169 

" that I am going to have a fern-show. Will 
yon compete? Mr. Gray has already dnbbed 
Mrs. Henry de Lnsignan ' Qneen of the Feins,' 
so she is snre to carry off all the prizes." 

These last words were uttered with consider- 
able asperity. The presence of the man whom 
she had loved always acted strangely on Miss 
Russell. She could not forget that this hand- 
some, tranquil gentleman of fifty had been the 
loadstar of her youth. She was irritable if he 
looked at another woman ; and sarcastic when 
he paid the slightest attention to herself. No 
present kindness could atone for past neglect ; 
love was dead, but jealousy was keen and living 
still. " Queen of the* Ferns," repeated Eliza- 
beth, in her most careless tone — " very pretty ; 
but if I send in anything. Miss Russell, it shall 
be parsley. I think it quite as pretty as any 
fern, and a great deal more useful." 

On hearing this matter-of-fact remark, ut- 
tered by the rosiest and most poetic of lips, Mr. 
Gray did a rare thing for him — ^he laughed out- 
right; and Miss Russell giggled hysterically, 
and looked exasperated. I was standing near 



170 BESSIE. 

one of the folding windows, and caught a glimpse 
of Harry and Watkins playing on the terrace 
without, and availed myself of the excuse to 
slip out and join them. 1 thus exchanged one 
storm for another, for scarcely had I reached 
Harry when he burst out into a fit of crying 
about his ball, which he had just lost. Whilst 
Watkins went to seek for it, I stooped on the 
terrace, and, putting my arms round the boy, 
did my best to coax him into a better humour. 

" She did it o' purpose!" gasped Harry, be- 
tween two sobs — " she did I" 

"Did what?" asked Mr. Herbert, who had 
come out after me. " Your ball, is it ? Why, 
look, here it is," and, picking it up from a cor- 
ner where it had rolled unseen, he threw it 
deliberately on the very centre of a large grass 
plot in front of the house. "There, go and 
look for it now," he added, in a quick, impera- 
tive way, which was always successful with 
children. 

Harry obeyed, without thinking of demur ; 
and whilst through the folding window which 
had remained ajar I heard Miss RusseH's voice 



BESSIE. 171 

high and sharp within, and Elizabeth's light 
and pleasant, Mr. Herbert, turning to me, said 
in a grave, low tone — 

"You are displeased with me, Miss Carr — 
may I ask what I have done T" 

I felt the blood rushing up to my face ; but I 
scorned to deny. 

** Polly tells me that you are angry with me, 
Mr. Herbert," I said at once ; " and angry since 
last Sunday. I do not ask if it be true, but I 
simply say this : Tou know that what I said 
was well meant — ^you may disregard it, but I 
deny your right to any such feeling as anger 
with regard to me." 

Mr. Herbert looked petrified, but he did not 
attempt to contradict Polly's declaration. He 
stood before me silent, and utterly confused; 
his fsu)e was scarlet, and for once his blue eyes 
had not a frank look. He seemed so thoroughly 
disconcerted that I wondered if my vexation at 
being called a dove by Elizabeth had not car- 
ried me too far, and rushing into the opposite 
extreme, with my usual want of discretion, I 
exclaimed, in a fit of tardy penitence : 



172 BESSIE. 

" I wish I had held my tongue ; but I could 
not help it. Indeed I have not deserved that 
you should be angry with me. I have always 
done my best to serve you, and I will do so 
still," I added warmly — "indeed I will. And, 
Mr. Herbert," I continued, lowering my voice 
confidentially, " do not mind Mr. Gray — I do 
not think he has a bit of a chance." 

I looked at him triumphantly as I said this, 
but, instead of the joy and gratitude which I 
expected, Mr. Herbert heard me out with down- 
cast eyes and bent brow, and a slight gnawing 
of his nether lip, which boded no good. At 
length he looked up, and said with a forced 
laugh : 

"Polly is a little chatter-box. Miss Carr — 
pray never mind a word she says." 

" Then you were not angry on Sunday I" I 
exclaimed. 

In a moment his face was fin a flame again. 
He could not deny, and he would not confess ; 
but he was spared the trouble of doing either 
by the sudden appearance of Miss Dunn on the 
threshold of the folding window. 



BESSIE. 173 

" I am 80 Borry to interrupt you," she said 
Bweetly; "but you are both wanted within — 
the fem-show, you know." 

Thus summoned, we both obeyed ; but never 
had ferns less interest for me than then. What 
could ail Mr. Herbert that he was so strange 
and altered ? Whilst I was racking my brain 
to find this out, the fern^show was going 
through the process of all shows, and was being 
discussed after the most approved fashion. At 
first I did not deign to pay the least attention 
to what was going on around me. I was get- 
ting angry with Mr. Herbert again, and to get 
angry with any one is a very engrossing sort 
of occupation; but when Miss Russell said: 
"We must have a tent, you know ;" when 
Elizabeth remarked, " We cannot do without a 
band ;" and when Miss Dunn added, in her 
dulcet tones, " Don't you think, dear Miss Rus- 
sell, that we shall also require a tent for the 
refireshments f " I pricked up my ears, and en- 
tered into the fern debate with all the zeal and 
vigour of a young M.P. on his first sitting. I 
do not remember what I said, nor was it worth 



174 BESSIE. 

remembering, I daresay, but I know that Eliza- 
beth looked amused, and Miss Russell a little 
impatient — that Miss Dunn nodded her appro- 
bation of every suggestion I made, that Mr. 
Gray watched me curiously, and that Mr. Her- 
bert said not one word, good or bad, unless 
when spoken to, but sat. with so unusual an 
expression of gravity on his handsome fece, 
that, when both he and Mr. Gray were gone. 
Miss Bussell exclaimed — 

" I really think Mr. Herbert is getting dis- 
agreeable." 

" Do you I" echoed Miss Dunn ; and, turning 
to me, *' What do you think. Miss CarrI" 

"I think that the Fern-show will be a de- 
lightful affair," I replied. 

We all enjoyed the Fern-show save Mr. de 
Lusignan, who, when he came home to dinner, 
heard of it with the most freezing indifference ; 
indeed, he sat in his chair the whole evening, 
with a face of such settled gloom that it struck 
me, especially as Elizabeth was gay as a lark, 
and made herself merry in a way that was not 
habitual to her. Every evening Harry was 



BESSIE. 175 

brought in by Watkine to bid his grandfather 
good night. This evening the girl brought 
him in as usual. The boy ran up to Mr. de 
Lusignan's chair, and looked up in his face, 
asking, rather imperatirely, what he had brought 
him from " Lunnon.'* 

"What I have brought you from London, 
Harry !" said Mr. de Lusignan, slowly — " why, 
nothing, for the excellent reason that I was not 
in London to-day." 

"Go to-morrow," suggested Harry, with a 
wistful frown. 

Mr. de Lusignan did not answer. He looked 
down moodily in the child's face, and pushed 
back the hair from his forehead, as if to see him 
better still. 

" Go to-morrow," persisted Harry. 

" God bless you, my boy 1" said Mr. de Lusi- 
gnan, in a low, gentle voice, which struck us 
all. 

"Go to-morrow," said Harry again; but 
Watkins, obeying a sign of my guardian's, took 
him away. 

The child, indeed, looked back as he was 



176 BESSIE. 

being led to the door ; but Mr. de Lusignan'e 
eyes remained fixed on the carpet, and his arms 
folded across his breast. 



177 



CHAPTER IX. 

rpHIS Fem-showy as I learned later, was Eliza- 
^ beth's doing. She liked excitement under 
any aspect, and a crowd of people, of whom 
she knew nothing, and about whom she cared 

nought, was the very thing for her. For ferns 

» 

in themselves she felt supreme indifference, and 
on the morning of the show again informed me 
that she could not see the superiority of Tncho- 
mama Speeiosum over parsley. 

I know that, being still very unhappy, I 
ought to have derived no sort of pleasure from 
a show of any kind; but we are never young, 
in vain, and, I cannot deny it, the show, Polly, 
who came to see me with Ellinor, and Polly's 
doll, the getting of which proved as great an 
undertaking in its way as the Golden Fleece iu 

VOL. III. N 



178 BESSIE. 

the days of the Argonauts — all these, I say, 
distracted me most effectually, but the show 
most of all. Saturday was the day appointed, 
and Friday was dull and gloomy. Great was 
my joy, therefore, when I woke and saw the 
sun shining in through my window-blind. I 
dressed hastily, and ran down to the end of the 
garden where the tent was to be erected. It 
was already pitched, and stood there before 
me, the loveliest tent for which ferns ever ex- 
changed forest shade or open sky. It was 
dazzling white, striped with red; it had red 
poles and red flags, that fluttered defiantly in 
the morning sun ; and when I saw Miss Rus- 
sell's yellow chair wheeled towards the spot, 
with Miss Dunn in attendance, and Elizabeth 
following slowly, T ran to meet them in great 
glee. 

" Oh 1 Miss Russell," I cried, in my delight, 
" how pretty ! I do not think there ever was 
so pretty a tent, do you 1" 

*' I remember one ten times prettier than this 
twenty years ago," said Miss Russell, with a 
sigh. 



BESSIE. 179 

"Prettier I Was it striped with red, Miss 
Russell f 

'* Hope had striped it with every colour of the 
rainbow." answered Miss Russell, sadly. "Please 
not to go in," she added, with a little scream, 
as Elizabeth walked up to the tent, and at- 
tempted to enter. "No one is to enter that 
tent until the show begins." 

Elizabeth looked round from the threshold of 
the tent with the uplifted drapery in her hand, 
and smiled haughtily at Miss Russell's imperative 
tone. 

" Why, I can see nothing within your tent 
save a few weeds in flowerpots," she said, rather 
disdainfully, but she dropped the cloth which 
she had raised. 

" They are my ferns, I suppose," sharply re- 
plied Miss Russell. "I know Mr. Gray has 
sent for his ferns to London, so no wonder if be 
gets a prize. My ferns are all genuine, and so 
I expect nothing of the kind." 

" Are Mr. Gray's ferns sham ones, then t" in- 
quired Elizabeth, innocently. 

" Please not to ask me about ferns," answered 

n2 



180 BESSIE. 

Miss Russell, with great asperity. ** Mr. Gray 
has proclaimed you Queen of the Ferns, so surely 
you know all about them." 

Elizabeth laughed gaily, but did not take up 
the glove. Miss Dunn kindly put in : 

"So like Mr. (irayl He always does say 
these nice things. Queen of the Ferns 1 How 
very pretty 1" And she laughed, and seemed 
much amused. 

Elizabeth's blue eyes had a flash in which 
there was as much surprise as anger at Miss 
Dunn's audacity. 1 saw that the three ladies 
were fast drifting into a quarrel, and as I caught 
in the distance a glimpse of the refreshment 
tent — striped white and blue — ^I quietly slipped 
away, and walked towards it, slowly at first, 
more quickly as I got out of sight. But there 
was nothing to see in this blue tent. It stood 
in a green nook, within the shadow of tall trees, 
and had not even the flower-pots with weeds, 
as Elizabeth disdainfully called them, of which 
Miss Russell was so jealous. I looked in unfor- 
bidden, and after allowing my imagination to 
revel o^ the delicacies which were to be spread 



BESSIE. 181 

there a few hours later, I walked back to that 
prohibited sanctuary, the fern-tent. Ohl joy 
of joys, it was unguarded — the ladies were gone. 
Quick as thought I darted in, and found myself 
face to face with Mr. Herbert. 

I had not exchanged ten words with him 
since the day on which I had taxed him with 
being angry with me, and he had not attempted 
to deny the accusation. He had been remark- 
ably cool with me since then, and he now looked 
so little pleased at my intrusion that tears of 
mortification rushed to my eyes. 

"Mr. Herbert," I exclaimed, impetuously, 
" you do not know your friends. Indeed you 
do not. I do, and have always done my best to 
serve you, and yet you will be angry with me. 
I know why," I added, with more frankness than 
discretion. " It is all on account of Mr. Gray." 

"For heaven's sake do not say that," he 
cried, with something like passion — " do not !" 

" But I do not think he has a chance," I ex- 
claimed, eager to comfort him; " indeed I do not, 
Mr. Herbert." 

He looked at me very earnestly ; then, in a 



182 BESSIE. 

most sober tone, he said — " Will you give Mrs. 
Henry de Lnsignan a message from me, Miss 
Carrl" 

«< Oh I gladly/' I said, with an eagerness to 
s^rve him which he acknowledged with a rather 
cold "Thank you." "What am I to do!" I 
pursued. 

" Simply to tell her this, that I have some- 
thing to say to her which I cannot write, and 
that I entreat her to give me the opportunity of 
exchanging a few words with her in private 
tO'day — not to-morrow — to-day." 

His look was so grave, his tone so serious, 
that I looked at him in mingled doubt and 
surprise. 

" Will you do that f he as^ed. 

" Certainly," I answered. " But is that all ?" 

" All on that subject. And now," he added, 
with a complete change of look and manner, 
"do advise me about these ferns. I am no 
exhibitor, and therefore have been appointed by 
Miss Russell to assign them their respective 
places. You are no exhibitor, and can surely 
assist me in this important matter." 



BESSIE. 183 

*'I am afraid Migs Russell would object to 
me," I replied, not liking to yield at once to 
temptation. 

** Let her object," he answered, with a smile. 
" Besides, why need she know it T" 

Sin enhanced by mystery is irresistible. Be- 
sides, Mr. Herbert and I were standing in the 
centre of a circle of the loveliest ferns — oh 1 
profane Elizabeth, how could you call them 
weeds f — and I forgot that, if I did not appear 
at the breakfast-table, discovery was all but 
certain. With deplorable facility I yielded to 
this delightful temptation, and was soon deep 
in my subject. How we revelled in it, Mr. 
Herbert and II — and how we both agreed in 
preferring common ferns— ferns which we had 
seen together in the cool shades of Fontaine- 
bleau — to the rarest specimen of modern fernery. 
Especially did we exalt our old friend. Lady 
Fern — ay, even above Trichomanea Speciosum 
itself, though reared in the gap of Dunloe, and 
found only in Southern Africa, or the most 
secret recesses of the lakes of Eillamey. 

" Lady Fern I" said Mr. Herbert — ** the name 



184 BESSIE. 

alone is charming. And Lady Fern shall be 
queen whenever I sit on the jury." 

The word " queen " recalled " Queen of the 
Ferns " and Elizabeth, and a matchless oppor- 
tunity slipping out of my hands unawares, 
with a start I cried : 

*^ Oh I what a pity 1 This was the very time 
for you to speak to Elizabeth. Oh 1 why did I 
stay here instead of fetching herf 

" She would not have come," he said quickly. 
** Do not go — it is useless — she will not come." 

" But I can try," I persisted, turning away. 
"How vexatious not to have thought of it 
before I" 

"And how vexatious that you will not be- 
lieve me 1" he exclaimed, looking annoyed. " I 
assure yoii that Elizabeth will not come." 

He seemed so hurt that I paused on the 
threshold of the tent, and looked round at him 
in doubt and surprise. His brow was flushed, 
and though he tried to smile, he was biting his 
lip in evident vexation. Had Mr. Herbert got 
a temper after all! I was more surprised than 
I can tell. I was also a little hurt. 



BESSIE. 185 

"But, Mr. Herbert," I argued, "I only want 
to serve you." 

" I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. 

I bowed, and went away, leaving him to his 
evident displeasure. '^How disagreeable love 
makes some people!" I thought, as I walked 
towards the house — "there am I depriving 
myself of the pleasure of looking at these 
lovely ferns, in order to oblige Mr. Herbert, 
and see how he thanks me I He is getting very 
ill-tempered, that I can tell him." 

But if Mr. Herbert was disagreeable, his lady- 
love, on hearing his message, which I delivered 
at once, to my great joy, having overtaken her 
just as she was going in to breakfast, frowned, 
and looked so distant and haughty that I drew 
back in some alarm. 

"Really, Bessie," she said, "what can you 
mean by being so absurd ? — that I should go 
and look for Mr. Herbert in the tent " 

" That was my suggestion, not his," I inter- 
rupted, much abashed — ^^all he wants is to 
speak to you to-day, Elizabeth." 

" Then let him if he can," she replied disdain- 



- Ji 



186 BESSIE. 

fully. " I have got nothing to say to Mr. Her- 
bert, and do not care if the whole world heard 
what he may have to say to me." 

With this she entered the house, leaving me 
dumbfounded, and so much mortified that I was 
not tempted to go back and give Mr. Herbert 
an account of my embassy. 

TheFern-show would not have been areal Fern- 
show, if there had not been a jury and prizes. 
Miss Russell's eagerness on this subject the 
whole morning amazed me. It was — " I ought 
to get a prize, you know;" or, "I must get a 
prize ;" or, " Of course I shall not get a prize. 
I am quite prepared for it, as mistress of the 
house. But it is not fair." 

Although Miss Russell was prepared for 
defeat, her ardour for victory was none the less 
keen. She had herself wheeled about the tent 
until the hour of the opening, as if she could 
hope to pierce the canvas and get at her fate, 
hidden within ; and when Mr. Herbert and the 
other members of the jury left the tent, there 
was no coaxing Miss Russell did not employ to 
get at the truth from them. Mr. Herbert was 



BESSIE. 187 

impenetrable ; and whilst he was gaily parrying 
her attacks, the other members of the jury 
quietly stole away, 

'* I see what it is," exclaimed Miss Bnssell, 
with considerable asperity, '^I have got no 
prize I" And in her vexation she added sharply, 
" Wheel me out of the sun, Brown, will you 1" 

*^ How much Miss Russell wishes for a prize I" 
I said to Mr. de Lusignan, by whom I was 
standing. 

He laughed at my simpKcity. 

^* It is all gambling," he said, <* all gambling, 
Mignonne; for if ever there was a gambler, 
Miss Russell is one.*' 

I opened my eyes wide. 

" Oh I but with whom can she gamble!" I ex- 
claimed. 

" With the world at large, Bessie. She 
has partners in London, in Paris, in St. 
Petersburg, &c., and they are called consols, 
or three per cents., or five per ce;its., &C., 
or shares, or debenture stocks, or all sorts 
of barbarous things, about which you know 
nothing. Have you been so long in Miss Rus- 



188 BESSIE. 

sell's house, and have you not noticed that she 
is elated or depressed in the morning after 
post-time, and only gets to be herself in the 
afternoon ? Just now a fern prize does as well 
as colonial or foreign mines, or telegraph com- 
panies, for excitement." 

I do not know what more my guardian would 
have added, if Miss Russell had not now been 
wheeled back to the tent, spite of the sun. 

" I am sure it is two o'clock," she said, " and 
as the show begins at two, I really will go in 
before the crowd comes." 

" It wants a quarter to two," said Mr. de Lu- 
signan, taking out his watch. 

" Your watch is slow," impatiently retorted 
Miss Russell. " Wheel me in. Brown." 

The yellow chair was wheeled into the tent. 
We followed it, and a scream of delight an- 
nounced Miss Russell's victory. 

*'You know. Miss Carr, that I have got a 
prize I" she exclaimed, looking round at me. 
" My lady fern has won the day !" And with- 
out waiting for my reply, or giving a look to 
any ferns save her own, she added eagerly, 



BESSIE. 189 

^ Wheel me out, Brown ; I see Mrs. Thomas 
Gray coming." 

She was wheeled ont at once, and 1 heard 
her exulting exclamation o^ ^^I have got a 
prize, Mrs. Thomas Gray. My lady fern has 
been proclaimed queen." 

" In— deed !" was the slow reply, and Mrs. 
Thomas Gray entered the tent, escorted by her 
handsome brother-in-law. 

" Very lovely — so delicate," murmured Mr. 
Gray, as he sauntered round the tent with his 
critical look; and before he could see me I 
slipped out. 

Polly was to be brought to me at two exactly, 
and I wanted Polly. I found her in the house, 
just coming in, and Polly's first words were : 

" Where's the doll t" 

"Not come yet, Polly. And where's El- 
linor!" 

"Ellinor's ill. But why didn't the doll 
comet" 

" I suppose her parasol was not ready. But 
what is the matter with Ellinor?" 

I wanted to talk of Ellinor, as a most con- 



190 BESSIE. 

venient diversion ; but friendship was weak in 
Polly's tender breast, and she wanted to talk 
of the dollJ I took her to the fern tent; then to 
the refreshment tent, where I stuffed her ; then 
to listen to the band, but all in vain. 

Life has told me many a time since those days 
that the better half of our joys lies in their an- 
ticipation. This Fem-show proved no excep- 
tion to the rule, so far as I was concerned. The 
ferns looked lovely in their tent, the refresh- 
ments were both choice and abundant, and the 
band, rare good fortune, as I learned later, was 
a first-rate band. But somehow or other I did 
not enjoy myself very much ; all through Polly, 
who worried me so incessantly about her doll 
that I once caught myself wishing Polly had re- 
mained in Australia. I have always been shy 
of crowds, and this crowd seemed to me a very 
motley one. I scarcely knew a face in it, and I 
am bound to say that the faces I did see did 
not tempt me into a wish for close acquaintance- 
ship. 

There was a Miss Raymond, whom I had never 
seen before, and whom I have never seen since. 



T 



BESSIE. 191 

but whom Fmet incessantly during the Fern- 
show. I know that she was called Miss Ray- 
mond, because I was introduced to her by Miss 
Dunn, and honoured by her with a most super- 
cilious stare during the ceremony. I have no 
doubt that she took me for Polly's governess, 
and was amazed at Miss Dunn's impertinence. 
I met her first in the fern-tent, and she there 
made an indelible impression upon me. This 
young lady, who was even more than usually 
girlish in appearance — that is to say, who had 
very light curly hair, very light eyes and eye- 
brows, very slight features, scarcely any shoul- 
ders, and no waist to speak o^ and who, to en- 
hance the effect of those youthful attributes, 
was attired in the most ethereal of garments, 
duly puffed out and looped up, with the dainti- 
est of little straw hats perched on the top of 
her little empty, curly head— this young lady, 
I say, made up for the stinginess with which 
Dame Nature had dealt out to her the gifts of 
strength, bodily or mental, by the exercise of 
unlimited authority over her maternal parent. 
She called her ^' darling," indeed, which was 



192 BESSIE. 

very kind of her, but I can aver that poor " dar- 
ling," a strong, raw-boned, red-haired woman, 
was ruled with a rod of iron. 

"Now, darling," playfully remarked Miss 
Raymond, " are you coming ?" 

" But, my dear, I should like to look at these 
ferns," remonstrated Darling. 

*' Now where's the use of looking at ferns ?" 
severely retorted her daughter. 

" But, my dear, we came to look at ferns," 
argued the mother. 

" Now, darling, I wish you would not go on 
so," sharply said Miss Raymond, evidently losing 
patience at this persistent rebellion ; " besides, 
you know, you have seen them." 

This last remark sounded, no doubt, like a 
relaxation of authority, for " darling," brighten- 
iiig iip» exclaimed with great alacrity — 

" Indeed, my dear, I have not seen half of 
them yet." 

" Plenty ! — plenty 1" impatiently said her 
daughter; "besides, you know, I can't bear 
being called *my dear' — so school-girl — and 
you voill do it 1" 



BESSIE. 1^>3 

Darling bowed her red head under the re- 
proof. 

^* I can't help it, my dear," she said meekly. 
^ I used to call you so when yon were a little 
thing, and " 

" Oh ! if you willj why, you will I", exclaimed 
Miss Raymond, with a little sniff of indigna- 
tion. " I know of old that when you are bent 
upon a thing, you tvill do it." 

Having uttered this speech, Miss Raymond 
walked out of the tent, and poor '^ darling," 
looking rather frightened, followed her. 

I am bound to say that Miss Raymond was 
not always so cross as she showed herself then, 
and that this display of temper proceeded part- 
ly from the natural exasperation produced on 
her powerful mind by seeing another young 
lady with garments more puffed out and skirts 
more looped up, and a much smaller hat than 
her own, engaged in a close and apparently 
most interesting conversation with the intellec- 
tual young man who had once given me the 
story of Joseph's dog. 

When, half an hour later, I saw Miss Ray- 

VOTi. 111. O 



194 BESSIE. 

tiiond again in the blue and white tent, par- 
taking of refreshments, she was doing so in 
company with that identical young gentleman, 
and looked in the highest of spirits and the 
most charming of tempers ; and " darling," un- 
watched and unreproved, was drinking endless 
cups of tea in a remote corner. 

My head ached with the sun and with Polly, 
80 to get shade, at least, I wandered away to 
the little lake. No one had found it out yet, 
and the spot was as green and cool as if it had 
been buried in a wilderness miles away from 
the world. 

*'Now, is not this delightful, Polly?" I said, 
sitting down on the grass in the shade. 

" No," replied Polly, who was very sulky. 

But I was getting hard-hearted, and I let 
Polly sulk away. I looked at the tall reeds 
which rose from the glassy surface of the lake, 
at a little islet in one of its bays, that seemed 
to rest there as if it had come a long journey 
and was tired ; at the water-lilies, so large, so 
white, so calm on those still waters, and every- 
thing spoke to me of freshness and rest in 



BESSIE. 195 

the soothiug language of inanimate things. 

We had not been long there before I heard 
Elizabeth's clear voice across the lake, through 
the trees. Presently I saw her coming out of 
the green gloom, attended by Mr. Gray on one 
side, and Mr. Herbert on the other. She was 
radiantly beautiful, she was also warm, and 
fanned herself slowly. She saw me at once, 
and gave me a pleasant nod ; then, in the tone 
of a queen to her subjects, she said — 

" I am tired." 

In a moment Mr. Gray spied out a rustic seat 
in the shade, and Elizabeth sat down upon it 
with a languid air. Mr. Gray sat down by her, 
but Mr. Herbert remained standing. He leaned 
his back against the trunk of a tree. I fancied 
it was to have a better look of her lovely face. 

" Do you still paint, Mr. Herbert t" she asked, 
suddenly ; and without waiting for his reply, 
" I put the question because you look as if you 
were studying a subject for a picture." 

*' You are quite right," he answered, bowing 
his head with a smile — " a beautiful subject." 

Elizabeth looked as unconscious as if the lake 

O 2 



19f> BESSIE. 

were the only beautiful thing within his ken^ 
but Mr. Gray smiled. I do not think he was 
of a jealous temper at all. I do not think 
that, if Elizabeth had been his wife, he would 
have objected to the whole world falling in love 
with her. 

" I thought Mr. Herbert's forte was land- 
scape-painting," he remarked. 

<' My forte was nothing," rather drily ob- 
served Mr. Herbert ; " but when I did draw, I 
could draw heads, of course." 

" What a charming little sketch that was you 
made of Miss Carr I" said Elizabeth — " so poeti- 
cal, and yet so life-like I" 

The air was very still, and the lake was 
narrow. I could hear every word they said, I 
could also see how Mr. Gray's calm eyes fell 
upon me, as if he wondered that my image 
could be made poetic, and yet life-like. Mr. 
Herbert said nothing. Elizabeth continued : 

" That was a pleasant time in Fontainebleau, 
Mr. Herbert." 

I saw, or fancied that I saw, the colour 
deepen on his cheek. I could imagine the light 



BESSIE. 197 

which came to his eyes as she thus recalled 
the past. His voice sank as he said — 

" It was more than pleasant." 

Mr. Gray was not a jealous man, but he was 
nervous and irritable. 

" I detest Fontainebleau," he said, with his 
most fastidious look. ^^ An endless palace, an 
endless forest, endless rocks, endless every- 
thing !" 

"I adored Fontainebleaul" perversely retorted 
Elizabeth. "I thought it the most delicious 
place I was ever in. I liked the palace, the 
forest, the rocksr— everything I" 

She looked saucily at Mr. Gray, who took 
this rebuff in submissive silence. I suppose 
that to see his rival thus slighted gave Mr. 
Herbert heart, for he said, with a sudden and 
happy laugh — 

"Do you remember Barbison and Ganne's, 
and his room full of painting V 

" Hideous daubs !" ejaculated Mr. Gray, evi- 
dently getting ill-tempered. 

I suppose Elizabeth thought she had been 
long enough gracious to her early lover, and 



198 BESSIE. 

that she must hold the balance more even be- 
tween hira and the second, for she said, care- 
lessly — 

" I don't remember these paintings enough to 
speak of them." 

" Not remember them I" exclaimed Mr. Her- 
bert, in genuine sui'prise. 

'* No. Don't you know that I forget places 
and things when they are out of my sight?" 
she replied, rising. " I can't help it," she added, 
addressing Mr. Gray, and looking full in his 
face, "my interest in those I like best goes 
when I don't see them." 

He laughed, and seemed much amused at her 
frankness. 

" I thought you said you adored Fontaine- 
bleau ?" 

" Of course I did," she replied, opening her 
blue eyes, " and so I did adore it then, but you 
don't suppose I adore it now. Why, I should 
not care if I never saw it again." 

"Then I suppose that to keep your regard 
one must never be out of your sight ?" he said, 
with some gravity. 



BESSIE. 199 

"Ohl but that would be so tireeome/' she 
objected gaily. 

" For you, granted ; but think of the tempta- 
tion you hold out." 

I heard no more, for they had re-entered the 
little grove. Mr. Herbert came round to me. 

" They say that women are fickle, Bessie," he 
said. " Strange error I Such as Elizabeth was 
the first day I knew her, such she is still !" 

I had risen and stood by him, holding little 
Polly by the hand. I thought he was going to 
stay with us. But if woman be unchangeable, 
man is not more mutable. The spell which 
abided in her flowing garments was no more to 
be resisted at Hanvil House than at Fontaine- 
bleau. He stood still awhile looking after her ; 
then, saying something which I did not hear, 
he left me abruptly, and followed in the track 
of his divinity. The lake had lost its charm, 
and I left it, dragged back by Polly to the 
bewitching precincts of the refreshment tent- 
Mr. Herbert's star had risen once more when 
I saw the three again an hour later. Mr. Gray 
bore his eclipse very calmly. If he was no 



200 BESSIE. 

longer favoured with Elizabeth's smiles, he 
could still look at her. 

At five the Fern-show closed, the band ceased 
to play, the refreshment tent was fairly cleared 
out, and the guests trooped off, all looking as 
if they had had quite enough of it. Miss Russell, 
who sat in her yellow chair, attended by Brown 
only, on the threshold of the Chinese pavilion, 
looked after her visitors as they departed with 
a critical eye. Ladies in amazing costumes pre- 
dominated, but black coats were scarce, and there 
was only a sprinkling of brown gardeners, with 
their wives and daughters. 

" The Fern-show would not have been a 
genuine sort of thing without them, my dear," 
confidentially said Miss Russell aside to me. 
"They were very pleased to be asked, poor 
souls I And, evitre nousy Miss Carr, they did not 
eat. half as much of the cakes and other things 
as the young ladies. How thej/ did tuck in, to be 
sure !" 

Miss RusselFs asides had this in common with 
stage ones, that they could be heard afar. I 
was ready to sink with shame at being thus 



BESSIE. 201 

addressed in a loud and clear tone, especially as 
Miss Raymond was just then passing by, escort- 
ed by the narrator of the never-to-be-forgotten 
story of Joseph's dog. The broadest of stares 
was Miss Raymond's only answer to Miss Rus- 
sell's kind remark upon the appetite of young 
ladies ; and having ignored the lady of the 
house as much as one mortal creature can ignore 
another, she passed on. 

Luckily for me, " Darling " thought proper to 
come up to Miss Russell and express her delight 
at all she had seen and admired ; and as th^ 
good lady was of an eloquent temper, and did 
not always know how to finish a sentence, but 
was apt to flounder inextricably in the very 
midst of it, I could slip away, and quit the 
dangerous vicinity of Miss Russell. I had not 
walked ten steps before I met my guardian. 
He had been very moody all day, and now 
looked so gloomy that I could not help feeling 
uneasy as I watched him. He saw me very well, 
bat walked on without opening his lips. I stood 
still, in order to avoid meeting him again ; and 
whilst I stood thus Mr. Herbert came up to me. 



2i)i BESSIE. 

I was stxnck at once with the gravity of ins 
aspect. 

** Polly is gone,^ I aaiiL ** Jane came firr ha^ 
half an hoar ago. Polly is very croas with me^ 
all abont hrar dolL, hat I really cannot help it.'' 

Mr. Herfa^: did not answer one word I said^ 
bnt still looked at me with the same settled 
gravity. 

** Yon gave her my measagef he sauL 

'^Yon mean Elizabeth? Yesy I told her at 
once^"* 

. ^ That is why ^e has avoided being alone 
with me Ae whole dav. It ra hard to see so 
noble and beantifdl a creature beat on her own 
nndoing.'' 

My heart sank at his wordsL 

•^Ofa,di> not goT Icried; ** I wiH speak to 
her again — do not go T" 

I was taming away — his npraued hand 
arrested me. 

•* Do not," he said ; ** tell her nothing —it » 
too late. I will be honest — it was t(X> late even 
th^ morning. I suspected it ; I am sare of it 
now that I have seen her with Mr. Grrav. Yes^ 



BESSIE. 203 

it IS too late for ever. What I can do I will do, 
but who can undo what she has been doing all 
day? I repeat it — ^it is too late for ever. 
Good-bye — God bless you !" 

He took my hand and pressed it, and left me, 
rooted to the spot in mingled amazement and 
dismay. A smart tap on my shoulder soon 
roused me. I looked round, and saw Elizabeth 
blooming and gay, 

" I am afraid my fan is a hard one,'* she 
said ; " but you looked as motionless as Lot's 
wife. Pray let me hear all the particulars." 

** Particulars of what, Elizabeth ?" I asked, 
slowly. 

'* Of Mr, Herbert's invitation to luncheon, of 
course. What, do you mean to say that you 
know nothing about it ? Impossible." 

" Indeed, Elizabeth, Mr, Herbert never open- 
ed his lips about it to me." 

She looked at me in evident doubt. 

" It must be true, since you say it," she re- 
marked at length. " And so I give you news 
instead of receiving any. We are all to go and 
take luncheon at Mr. Herbert's after to-morrow, 



204 BESSIE. 

and Mrs. Thomas Gray is to do the honours ; 
and it will be odd, will it not, to see Mr. Gray a 
guest in his own house I" 

I answered that it would be odd, but nothing 
seemed so odd to me as to see Elizabeth so light 
and gay, and to feel a weight so heavy at 
my heart for her sake. But little by little that 
weight passed away. Mr. Herbert was jealous, 
that was plain, and a jealous man can commit 
strange mistakes. 



205 



CHAPTER X. 

rpHERE are times when our days drop off one 
^ by one, slowly and leisurely, eventless and 
colourless, and of these a woman's life chiefly 
consists. But there are times, too, when days 
are so full, so strange, and so dramatic that they 
comprise the story of years ; and of a few such 
days my life was made up about this time. 
When I look back upon it now I am amazed to 
see that so much of moment to myself and to 
others occurred in so brief a space. 

I had greatly wished to see Gray's House, 
and yet on the morning of our intended visit to 
it I woke with the heaviest feeling of sorrow I 
had felt for many a day. It seemed to me as if 
all the grief I had curbed down since I had 
learned the death of James Carr were coming 



206 BESSIE. 

back in its early force. T felt too restless to 
sleep again, and after awhile I thought I would 
go down to the garden. 1 dressed hastily, 
stole downstairs through the silent house, and 
let myself out with a sense of relief. The morn- 
ing was beautiful and calm, the flowers were still 
bathed in dew, the birds were only beginning 
to chirrup — everything was fresh and lovely 
as I passed through the solitary gravel paths. 
I went on without stopping till I had reached 
the little lake. I had a fancy for seeing it at 
that early hour. It was fully gi*atified. The red 
sun was climbing above the glassy pool, half 
veiled by thick mists which floated softly on its 
surface. A forest of reeds rose straight and tall 
in the morning stillness. Lilies lay floating on 
the water, above which the wild fowl screamed 
loud and shrill in their wheeling flight. They 
had just wakened from their night slumbers, I 
believe, and looked like so many winged ghosts 
as I saw them through the white mist. I stood 
and looked at them, wondering what I should 
say about them if I were a poet, but always 
coming back with a sort of despair to the mat- 



BESSIE. 207 

ter-of-fact conclusion that I should have nothing 
to say except that they were birds. The truth 
is, poets can indulge in few flights of fancy now. 
They were more favoured by their surroundings 
in the olden time. If Shakespeare had not been 
a contemporary of the fairies, and caught many 
a glimpse of them in their green haunts, he could 
never have told us all sorts of things about 
them ; and as for the Greeks and the Romans, 
who can doubt that when they went out in the 
early morning, as the full moon sank behind the 
hill, and grey dawn was breaking in the sky, 
they actually met their heathen gods and god- 
desses trooping home to Olympus. If I had been 
one of these I dare say I should have met my 
favourite Diana just then. It would have been 
worth while seeing the divine huntress, fleet and 
fair, brushing the morning dew from the grass 
with her sandalled feet, and passing through the 
cool landscape with her greyhound by her side, 
her quiver full of arrows across her back, her 
unerring bow in her hand, her silver crescent on 
her brow, and a dead fawn on her shoulder. 
Very different from the divine lady was the 



2U8 BESSIE. 

vision which now greeted my eyes, as, turning 
round rather suddenly, I saw Miss Dunn stealing 
behind the trees. I took fire at the thought 
of her impertinent watchfulness, and walked 
straight up to her. 

" I am 80 glad it is you," said Miss Dunn, very 
coolly ; " do you, know. Miss Carr, I got quite 
frightened when I heard a footstep on the stairs. 
I really thought I must see who it was. Dear 
Miss Russell is so nervous about thieves and 
burglars." 

To this pljiusible explanation I could oppose 
nothing — Miss Dunn was too much for me, as 
usual. 

"I could not sleep," I answered, a little 
sulkily. 

" Of course not," promptly responded Miss 
Dunn, as if not to sleep were the natural thing. 
" How can one sleep t Everything is so excit- 
ing ! That Fern-show was too much for poor 
dear Miss Russell, and I feel sure the luncheon at 
Gray's House this morning will upset her — only 
what can I do. Miss Carr ?" 

I longed to tell Miss Dunn that she could go 



BESSIE. 209 

away and leave me ; but civility is full of trou- 
blesome hedges and ditches, which it requires a 
well-trained horse to leap over. My little trot- 
ting pony was not equal to the achievement, and 
all I could do was to let Miss Dunn take the 
tame creature's bridle, and lead it unresistingly 
along her own tiresome, wearisome road. It is 
no figure of a speech to say that she took me 
straight home. She was so evidently determin- 
ed not to let me go, that I had no alternative but 
to walk to the house forthwith, and all the way 
Miss Dunn purred her common-places into my 
ear, and wondered at this, or condoled about 
that, till the beauty fled from the morning, and 
the very music went away from the song of the 
birds ; and the worst of it all was that I saw 
Miss Dunn had watched me because she really 
thought there was something to discover in this 
early walk of mine. 

I was delighted when the house was at length 
within sight "Now," I thought, "I shall be 
rid of Miss Dunn." I was wholly mistaken. 

**' Dear me I" she exclaimed, in a tone of gen- 
uine surprise ; '* there's a trunk on the terrace I 

VOL. in. p 



210 BESSIE. 

Who can have arrived ? Do you see it, Miss 
Carr ? You are long-sighted, I know. Do tell 
me what colour it is of I*' 

" It is a grey trunk," I replied crossly. 

"A grey trunk I Who can have a grey 
trunk ? And is not that a carpet bag standing 
by it ? Do tell me what sort of a bag it is. Miss 
Carr. I think there is a great deal in bags — 
don't you ?" 

**No," I answered, exasperated. "I do 
not." 

" Ah, a question of opinion ; and what sort of 
bag is it, pray ?" 

" Black leather, I believe." 

" A black leather bag and a grey trunk ! 
Who can that be I Why, of course, it is your 
friend Mademoiselle ! I remember her leather 
bag quite well 1 How delightful 1 And you 
see, Miss Carr, there is a great deal in bags, after 
all 1" 

I heard the last words from a distance, for on 
hearing the name Mademoiselle I flew, sprang 
up the three steps of the terrace, and rushed 
breathless into the drawing-room, where my 



BESSIE. 211 

guardian had come down to receive his sister- 
in-law. 

" Oh, dear Mademoiselle I" I cried, heedless 
of his presence. " God bless you for coming 1 
I have been so wretched I I have missed you 
so I Oh, I am so glad I so glad I" 

And clasping my arms more tightly than can 
have been pleasant about her neck, I sobbed up- 
on her kind shoulder. 

" Yes, Mignonne, I know, I know," she said 
soothingly ; " why, you are quite thin and pale I" 
she added, putting me by to see me better. 

" And yet no one can accuse Bessie of not put- 

■ 

ting the precept of early to rise in practice," drily 
said Mr. de Lusignan. 

His voice sobered me at once. I felt that for 
some reason or other my presence was an in- 
trusion. I turned from Mademoiselle, with my 
hand still clasped in hers, and looked at my 
guardian. His dark face was all severity and 
gloom, and he sat back in his chair, in an attitude 
so moody that my heart sank within me. Had 
I done wrong ? Was I guilty of some strange 
offence ? His gaze fastened on the window, and 

p2 



212 BESSIE. 

lookiDg throagb it at the garden and its flowers 
and trees, gave mine no answer. I turned back 
to Mademoiselle. And now for the first time I 
noticed how worn was her aspect, how heavy 
and sorrowful was the look of her blue eyes. 

" Oh 1 how delightful I" said Miss Dunn, op- 
portunely coming to the rescue; " but how tired 
you must be, dear Mademoiselle, and how hungry! 
You must have your breakfast at once. Had 
you a rough passage I How charming that you 
came to-day 1 We are all going to Gray*s House 
to luncheon. So charming that you did not 
come to-morrow." 

" You are very kind," quietly replied Made- 
moiselle, " but I feel rather tired ; I shall not be 
able to accompany you anywhere to-day. I hope 
Miss Russell is quite well." 

" Oh I 80 well, and in such good spirits 1 It is 
quite refreshing to think how she does keep her 
spirits. She will be so delighted. Mademoiselle, 
at your arrival, and so grieved at your not 
being able to accompany us to Gray's House 1" 

Raisinghis moody head, my guardian now said 
sarcastically : 



BESSIE. 213 

" How will she manage the two, Miss Dunn I 
How will she be both grieved and delighted?" 

" Oh ! Fm aprh Vautre^ of course," very coolly 
answered Miss Dunn, whose blue eyes had a 
gleam of defiance ; " and now I shall give orders 
for Mademoiselle's breakfast." 

She left us, and the door had scarcely closed 
upon her when my guardian, stamping his foot, 
exclaimed vehemently : 

" What does she mean by calling you Made- 
moiselle t Have vou no name I What does she 
meant" 

He looked so furious that I stepped back. I 
felt frightened, and especially amazed, at so 
much wrath for so slight an offence. Foolish 
amazement! I might have known that when 
anger cannot be spoken, it will catch at any- 
thing and turn it into a mortal injury. But, as 
I said, I was almost afraid, and stammering 
something about not intruding any longer upon 
them, I left the drawing-room. 

I was dressing to go to Gray's House when I 
saw Mademoiselle again. I thought it was 
Elizabeth coming in to give me a critical look. 



214 BESSIE. 

as she often did before dinner, and I said, " Come 
in,'* without turning round from the glass before 
which 1 was standing. I was trying a rose 
which she had given me after breakfast, and I 
said gravely : 

" I am not going to wear it, Elizabeth ; but I 
like to see how it looks, you know." 

" It looks well, Mignonne," answered the voice 
of Mademoiselle ; " why not wear it t" 

I dropped the rose as if pricked to the quick 
by its thorns, and turned round in some con- 
fusion. 

" T am in black," I said gravely, " and — and I 
have no mind for roses." 

"Yes, Mignonne, you have had a great trouble, 
I know. Tell me all about it," 

My heart opened at the kind tones of her 
voice. She had sat down in the one armchair in 
my room. I drew a- little low seat to her knees, 
and I poured forth all my sorrow to her patient 
hearing. 

'^ It is so hard," I said to her again and again, 
" it is so very hard. James Carr was my only 
relation, and my only friend ; and now he is dead, 



BESSIE. 215 

and he never knew how much I loved him I And 
now I feel so lonely — oh 1 so lonely, without 
Ynmr 

" Yes, Mignonne, he was the friend of your 
youth, and you loved him dearly ; but, after all, 
you had not the power to make him happy I" 

" But I ought to have had that power I" I ex- 
claimed, in a burst of remorse. '' I ought not to 
have cared about myself. 1 ought not to have 
been so selfish, and that is why I feel so 
wretched." 

Mademoiselle looked down at me very 
thoughtfully. 

^^ Mignonne," she said, putting her hand under 
my chin, and thus making my face look up to 
hers, " do you really regret not having married 
himr 

** Oh I" I cried, rather startled, " how can I 
regret that ? When you know how jealous poor 
dear James was, and how he worried me I" 

She smiled down at me very kindly. 

" Poor little Mignonne," she said, " you have 
a kind heart and a sensitive conscience ; but, 
after all, you are true to yourself and you do 



216 BESSIE. 

well — ^you do well, Mignonne. There ifl nothing 
like it." 

It was a wonderful relief to hear Mademoiselle 
tell me this. With her clear reason and firm 
judgment, she was as a second conscience to me. 
But I wanted to be miserable, after the fashion 
of the young, for I began a fresh moan. 

" If even I had Polly," I lamented ; " but she 
would not stay with me, and she only cares for 
what I can give her. She was as cross as could 
be on the day of the Fern-show, because her 
doll had not come." 

Mademoiselle asked, in some surprise, who was 
Polly; and I told her, lamenting the hard-heart- 
ednessofthat young maiden, and also rather 
jealously commenting upon her preference for 
Mr. Herbert. 

** Why does she like him so much, and me not 
at all V I argued. " I do not think he cares 
greatly about her, and I should be so fond of 
her — ^if she wonld only let me I" 

" So he went to Australia 1" said Mademoi- 
selle, very gravely. " What took him there ? 
He can scarcely have reached the country when 



BESSIE. 217 

he left it, and came back here to be a great man, 
and buy Gray's House. . That is a change from 
the poor struggling painter whom we knew at 
Fontainebleau, Mignonne." 

"He is not much altered, Mademoiselle — I 
mean, he is just the same, or, rather, he scarcely 
says a word now. He is very grave and silent." 

*' Then he is not happy V 

" He does not seem unhappy, Mademoiselle 
— only silent. He was only cheerful once, and 
that was at the mill." 

Mademoiselle was in the questioning mood, 
for I had to tell her minutely the story of that 
day. Purposely I avoided dwelling on the flight 
of Elizabeth, but I daresay she knew %ibout it 
already. 

'' And so you think he does not care any more 
about Mrs. Henry de LusignanI" she said, 
thoughtfully, as I ended. " The more's the pity 
— the more's the pity I" And she sighed. 

" Not care about her ?" I exclaimed, opening 
my eyes wide ; " why, of course he loves her 
more than ever." 

" Then I suppose he comes here often f 



218 BESSIE. 

" Not very often. But, of course, he cannot 
come as often as he would wish to come.'* 

"But he is very attentive to Mrs. Henry de 
Lusignan t" 

" He would be, if it were not for Mr. Gray, 
and Miss Russell, and Miss Dunn, you know." 

" Mr. Gray ? Ah, I daresay Mr. Herbert is 
jealous and sulky." 

" But he ought not to be jealous," I argued, a 
little impatiently. "It is not his way to be sulky." 

" Not jealous, Mignonne. And yet, as you 
say, he loves her more than ever." 

" Of course he does I" I exclaimed, amazed at 
Mademoiselle's seeming doubt. 

" Then he has told you so, Mignonne." 

" How could he, Mademoiselle ? But though 
he will not confess it, of course 1 know it." 

«Ahl very true," she said, smiling kindly. 
" And now, Mignonne, why not put the rose in 
your hair? I think it would look well." 

" So Elizabeth says," I answered, with a sigh, 
"but that is only because she likes me." 

Mademoiselle was silent a while ; then she 
said, slowly and leisurely : 



BESSIE. 219 

" Mignonne, what I have to say is not plea- 
sant to tell, not pleasant to hear ; but there is 
no shunning it. I wish I could be silent, but I 
cannot. Do not trust Mrs. Henry de Lusignan 
too much. I do not say that she would either 
deceive or betray you, but she does not trust 
you, and the &iend who does not trust is no 
friend." 

I could not bear this, perhaps because I felt 
it was so true ; I started nervously to my feet, 
and whilst tears rushed to my eyes, I cried — 

" I know that Elizabeth loves me — I know 
she does I" 

" She does not trust you," said Mademoiselle, 
rising ; " she trusts no one — she cannot," she 
added, with a firm, clear look. "And now, 
Mignonne, I daresay it is time to go. Do not 
be vexed with me— time will show." 

I hung my head abashed, but I could not 
deny that Mademoiselle's plain speaking had 
rather displeased me. I am a bad dissembler, 
and it was well for me that Elizabeth and I 
did not meet till we entered Miss Russell's 
carriage, and drove off to Gray's House. Mr. 



220 BESSIE. 

de Lusignan preferred walking, he said, and he 
looked so gloomy that he might have added 
that he preferred not being in our company. 
Elizabeth was in the lightest of spirits, and 
neither seemed to miss him nor to perceive that 
I was silent and depressed ; she chatted gaily 
with Miss Russell, who was very airy, and they 
both ignored Miss Dunn and her common-places 
till she took the hint and looked out at the land- 
scape, smiling to herself in rather a peculiar 
fashion. I have always fancied that Miss Dunn 
had private intelligence of the doings of the 
people around her, though neither then nor 
later could I fathom the means through which 
she procured it; and I am sure that when Eliza- 
beth and Miss Russell thus put her by, she 
already knew of the disappointment which 
awaited them at the end of their journey. 

The last time I had seen Gray's House, I had 
seen it shut up and lonely, a deserted dwelling 
seeming to sleep its useless life away in a green 
wilderness. But now its windows were all 
glancing in the morning sun ; some were half- 
open, and the muslin curtains within waved to 



BESSIE. 221 

and fro in the pleasant westerly wind. The 
noble elms of the avenue that led to the house 
spread their mighty boughs in quiet majesty, 
and the lawn beyond them was bathed in golden 
sunshine, and ended in beds of blushing roses. 
I remembered James saying to me, '^ You like 
roses/' and I hung my head to hide the tears 
that started to my eyes. 

Mr. Herbert and Mrs. Thomas Gray came out 
to receive Miss Aussell as she was carried up the 
steps of Gray^s House ; and in her pompous 
style Mrs. Thomas Gray poured forth her 
welcome and made her lament. 

" I am so glad you see Gray's House in per- 
fection, dear Miss Russell," she said ; ^' for the 
style of Gray's House requires sunshine, and 
nothing can be more brilliant than this morn- 
ing," she added, in a tone that seemed to appro- 
priate Gray's House, the sun, and the very 
breezes. " But, as nothing mortal can be per- 
fect," she continued, in her solemn jesting 
manner, " Mr. Gray and Mr. Thomas Gray 
received this morning a telegram which, to 
their inexpressible despair, called them to town. 



222 BESSIE. 

without a moment's delay on pressing business. 
For, of course, you know, my dear madam, that 
Pressing Business makes it a rule to intrude 
upon poor Pleasure as much as he can." 

Not a whit softened by all this solemn 
graciousness, not mollified even by the playful 
allegory with which Mrs. Thomas Gray con- 
cluded her speech, Miss Russell looked hard at 
her, and said, shortly — 

"I know that Mr. Gray and Mr. Thomas 
Gray are both preciously afraid of dying at 
Gray's House. Wheel me in. Brown." And be- 
fore Mrs. Thomas Gray had recovered from her 
amazement, Miss Bussell was wheeled past her 
into the hall, and thence into the dining-room. 

Mr. Herbert bit his lip in order not to smile, 
and Miss Dunn half shut her sleepy eyes, and 
looked at Elizabeth, who coloured deeply. She 
felt to the quick the slight to her beauty. How 
dare Mr. Gray, how dare even Mr. Thomas 
Gray, voluntarily avoid her presence, and allow 
any fear to prevail over its charm ? Was she not 
Queen of Hearts by the divinest of all rights? 
The luncheon had everything to make it 



BESSIE. 223 

perfect. It was very good to begin with, and 
Gray's House was in my eyes at least a delight- 
ftd place. But the defection of the two brothers 
spoiled everything, luncheon and all, so far as 
Miss Russell and Elizabeth were concerned. 
Miss Russell was abominably cross, and did not 
care to hide either her ill-humour or its cause. 
The displeasure of Elizabeth was shown in a 
languid indifference to everything and to every- 
one, but especially to Mr. Herbert. 

I felt very sorry for him, yet if he had been 
deaf and blind, he could not have seemed more 
unconscious than he did of her annoyance 
or its motive. His manner was very perplex- 
ing. It seemed to me as if his eyes could not 
leave Elizabeth, and yet £ could neither speak 
nor stir but I found him aware of what I said, 
or watchful of what I did. My guardian too 
was all vigilance, but had eyes for nothing, and 
no one save his beautiful daughter-in-law. His 
watchfulness was so marked that I could not 
help thinking of a great big tom-cat keeping his 
eye on a reckless young mouse, and ever ready 
to stretch out his paw upon her. Spite all these 



I 



224 BESSIE 

drawbacks, I enjoyed myself. I did not miss 
either Mr. Gray or his brother, and the pompos- 
ity of Mrs. Thomas Gray, the ill-temper of Miss 
Russell, the coldness of Elizabeth, and the insi- 
pidity of Miss Dunn, could not take away from 
the charm of Gray's House. It seemed to me 
as if all the tumult of the great world of cities, 
as if all the cares of life and all its troubles, must 
die away ere they reached this favoured dwell- 
ing. It was so old, so tranquil, so brown, so 
harmonious I Surely grief could never wander 
beneath these majestic trees, or sit down in 
those rooms, to which passing generations had 
bequeathed every charm that once adorned them, 
but had not left one token or one trace of their 
sorrows I Mrs. Thomas Gray pleaded a little 
gentle fatigue and remained below, but Miss 
Bussell would be carried up every stair and 
wheeled through every room, and Mr. Herbert 
showed her and us about with quiet courtesy and 
good-humour. 

" I daresay you do not know your own bouse 
yet, Mr. Herbert I" very impertinently remarked 
Mr. de Lusignan, 



BESSIE. 225 

Mr. Herbert smiled, and as usual did not take 
up the glove ; but Miss Russell, delighted to put 
down ray guardian, turned round and said with 
a stare : 

"My goodness, Mr. de Lusignan, don't you 
know that Mr. Herbert's grandmother was a 
Gray, and that he was reared in this very house 
till he was ten years old." 

'* I was not aware of it," said Mr. de Lusignan 
drily. 

" But how odd that you should not be aware 
of it !" persisted the pitiless lady ; " I thought you 
were just the man to know everything about 
everyone." And without giving him time to 

retort, " Wheel me on, Brown ; open that door. 

I" 

What I nothing to see there, do you say, Mr. 
Herbert t I shall see something, depend upon 
it." 

And there was something to be seen, afber all, 
for this was a painting room, and it was full of 
paintings. And there was actually one, a half- 
finished picture, on the easel. 

I looked at Mr. Herbert, who reddened and 
laughed uneasily. 

VOL. III. Q 



226 BESSIE. 

'* Oh 1 how sweet I" exclaimed Miss Dunn, 
clasping her bands. " Oh I Mr. Herbert, how 
clever you are 1" 

" Well, I declare, Mr. Herbert is a genius 1" said 
Miss Russell, as she looked around her in amaze- 
ment ; '^ and so many of them too I" 

"There's a feather in your cap, Mr. Her- 
bert 1" said Elizabeth ironically ; " so many of 
them 1" 

I do not know if Mr. Herbert heard her. He 
was still looking at me, with a vexed yet amused 
look. 

« How could you tell me that you had given 
it up ?" I asked, as he came nigh me. 

" So I had," he replied deprecatingly ; " and 
indeed I do not intend " 

" All very fine," here remarked Miss Russell, 
" but I am no judge of paintings. Wheel me 
out, Brown." 

" And I don't care about them," said Elizabeth, 
laughing, and looking mischievous. 

I longed to linger and look at some of my old 
friends whom I recognized there — the Charle- 
magne, the Pharamond, the Fountain of the 



BESSIE. 227 

Sanguinede, but Mr. Herbert seemed no more 
iuclined to display his paintings than his guests 
to see them, and we were out of the room and 
the door was closed upon us before I could utter 
one word of remonstrance. 

" You shall see them another time, if you like," 
said Mr. Herbert to me, as he read the disap- 
pointment in my face. 

"Whatr sharply exclaimed my guardian, 
turning round ; but Mr. Herbert, nothing daunt- 
ed, quietly repeated : 

^^ Miss Carr shall see them another time, if she 
likes it." 

Mr. de Lusignan walked on without adding 
another word. I could read in his dark face 
that nothing pleased him which he saw, whilst 
I was charmed with everything and every room, 
from that with wainscot of brown oak, in which 
we took our luncheon, to the distant library with 
Gothic windows, one of which opened almost 
above the little river, and showed me, at the end 
of a green arch of trees, the black wheel of the 
old mill, and a sheet of water rolling under in 
white foam. 

Q-2 



228 BESSIE. 

" Very pretty/' said Miss Russell, " but damp." 

" Yes, but so sweet 1" murmured Miss Dunn. 

" Damp 1" persisted Miss Russell. " Wheel 
me out, Brown." 

Elizabeth was standing in one of the win- 
dows, and thence looking down at the tranquil 
water below, 

*' This is the room I like best," I whispered, 
stealing behind her ; " how do you like it t" 

^^ Oh, so much I One could take such a good 
dip in that river when one was tired," she an- 
swered coolly, and walked away. 

" Tired of what!" I asked, following her. 

" Of life," promptly said Mr. de Lusignan,with- 
out giving her time to answer. "Don't you know, 
Bessie, that life is a constant cheat, and that one 
cannot help getting tired of it now and then." 

Elizabeth had reached the threshold of the 
open door. She paused and looked round at 
her father-in-law, giving him a look of supreme 
amazement and disdain ; then walked on. Mr. 
de Lusignan gnawed his lip and followed her. 
I stood petrified, and remained alone with Mr. 
Herbert. 



BESSIE. 229 

" Oh, Mr. Herbert 1" I exclaimed, " is it not 
dreadful f 

" Where is the help for it now t" he asked 
composedly. " And so this is the room you 
like best. Why sot" 

I had no time to answer. My guardian was 
calling me rather sharply, and I obeyed at once. 
We had seen everything, and now went out to 
look at the roses that grew in rare luxuriance 
and beauty around the house. Even as she 
went down the steps, Elizabeth, with sudden 
and irresistible despotinm, took possession of 
Mr. Herbert. Never had she been more gra- 
cious, more amiable, and especially more lovely ; 
and at once, and spite his cool declaration, ut- 
tered to me a few minutes back, he was in her 
toils. In vain Mr. de Lusignan looked black — 
neither heeded him. I gazed at them both 
amazed ; then quietly stole away, and, turning 
round the house, went on to the mill. 

I walked by the little river in the shade ot 
the tall old trees that grew on either of its banks, 
and whose boughs, meeting high above it, kept 
it in perpetual gloom and freshness. On the other 



230 BESSIE. 

side of the stream spread a wide and lovely pas- 
ture, in which a milk-white cow, and a black 
one, glossy as ebony, stood knee-deep, looking 
at me with their full dark eyes. The little river 
flowed with a gentle murmur at ray feet, with 
here and there a gleam of sunshine piercing 
the green gloom of its cool waters. I stood 
looking and listening and wondering at Eliza- 
beth's gloomy fancy. " Oh, I was not tired of 
life yet — oh, no I" 

This thought led me on to another, and in- 
stead of going on to the mill, I stood and mus- 
ed till a sound of steps roused me. I turned 
round and was filled with dismay as I saw Polly 
standing behind me with her maid. I had inquir- 
ed after Polly, and been much pleased to learn 
that she had gone to spend the day with EUinor, 
who was now a resident of Hanvil. By what 
unfortunate chance had Polly returned ? Before 
I could recover from the guilty confusion into 
which her sudden appearance had thrown me, 
Polly accosted me with an inquiring *' Well ?" 
more imperative than polite. 

" Well, Polly," I replied, as cheerfully and as 



BESSIE. 231 

airily as I could, " that tiresome doll has not 
come yet. *Very provoking — ^is it not! How 
is EUinor?" I asked, policy suggesting the 
theme as one likely to soothe Polly. 

" Ellinor is at school," answered Polly, very 
crossly. " Will she come to-morrow ?" she con- 
tinued without transition. 

" You don't mean Ellinor, Polly, do you V* 

" Of course I don't." 

" Oh I the doll then 1 Well, Polly, I wish I 
could say that I shall have her to-morrow, but 
I fear not — on my word, Polly, I have done my 
best." 

Polly looked straight before her and walked 
on a few steps ; I walked humbly enough by her 
side ; then Polly, standing suddenly still in front 
of me, said very deliberately : 

" I don't believe she is coming — I don't believe 
she will ever come at all !" added Polly, rising 
in her indignation at my duplicity to the strong- 
est negative she could express in speech. 

I was the more confounded at this attack that 
it was overheard by the whole party, now coming 
towards us after visiting the mill. Miss Russell 



232 BESSIE. 

and Miss Dunn foremost; Elizabeth and Mr. 
Herbert lingering behind ; and my guardian 
keeping aloof, but watching all like an evil 
spirit. 

"What is it you don't believe, darling!" 
sweetly asked Miss Dunn, hastening to come 
forward. 

" She is always telling me such stories about 
my doll," exclaimed Polly, with an indignant 
sob, " and I know she has not got it — I know she 
has not 1" cried Polly, getting red in the face. 

Miss Dunn burst into a peal of musical 

« 

laughter, and I was childish enough to feel tears 
of mortification rising to my eyes. Mr. Herbert, 
though he only now joined us, seemed to know 
by intuition all that had been said. 

" Nonsense, Polly," he remarked, with careless 
good-humour ; " why, your doll is waiting for 
you in a box at home. Run off and look at 
her ; be quick, I say 1" 

If Polly was amazed at this conclusion, so 
was I. I looked at Mr. Herbert, and thanked 
him with that silent look, and no more was said 
about Polly or her doll. 



BESSIE. 233 

" And now that we have eaten Mr. Herbert's 
luncheon, and seen his house and his mill, I sup- 
pose we may be off with ourselves," remarked 
Miss Russell. 

" Is not there a farm somewhere or other ?" 
asked Elizabeth, opening her eyes and looking 
round her, as if she expected to find the said 
farm starting into existence at her bidding. 

" Oh I Mr. Herbert does not want to show us 
his farm to-day," coolly responded Miss Russell ; 
" wheel me on. Brown." 

" But I must see the farm," cried Elizabeth, 
with pretty despotism ; " which way is it, Mr. 
Herbert?" 

" Mr. Herbert need not take so much trouble," 
very coolly said my guardian ; " we are all going 
home with Miss Russell." ' 

The blue eyes of Elizabeth had a flash, but it 
died away into gentle languor. 

" Well, I think I am tired," she said with a 
little sigh, *' so the farm must wait." 

She turned to Mr. Herbert with her kindest 
look, as much a^s to say : 

"Igo, because I cannot help myself, you knowl" 



234 BESSIE. 

And her whole aspect was so frankly kind that my 
guardian looked, as he no doubt felt, very sour, 
and he gave me proof of his feelings before the 
day was ended. 

" What a house that Gray's House is !" sud- 
denly said Miss Russell at dinner that evening. 

" Oh I perfect, is it not ?" I cried with sudden 
ardour, and speaking so vehemently that every 
eye was turned to my end of the table. 

** Perfect I" she echoed ; *' damp, damp, fever- 
ish I No wonder all the Grays died there." 

I do not know whether Elizabeth spoke her 
real feelings, or only wished to contradict Miss 
Russell, when she said with a smile : 

'' It is a house to live and die in. Miss Rus- 
sell ! " 

" And yet I am afraid you will never see it 
again, Elizabeth," drily said Mr. de Lusignan. 

There was a dead silence. His daughter-iu- 
law paused in the act of raising her glass to 
her lips, and looked at him fixedly, and that was 
all. 

When dinner was over I went out into the 
garden. Elizabeth soon followed me. 



BESSIE. 235 

" You heard him," she said in a low tone, as 
she took my arm and pressed it. " You heard 
him ! Well, then, I will do anything — ^I will 
marry Mr. Herbert before I bear any longer with 
this yoke." 

Her eyes sparkled through her tears, her lips 
quivered, her cheeks were flushed with emotion. 
I was going to speak, but she left me without 
giving me time to answer, as she saw Made- 
moiselle coming towards us. Mademoiselle too 
had something to say. 

**Mignonne," she said, with a ^dstfiil look, 
*' I have often told you so — you are too open. 
You must be more careftd ; your guardian bids 
me tell you so. You mean no harm, but you 
must be more careful." 

The utter confusion with which I heard this 
speech evidently confirmed Mademoiselle in any 
conviction of my guilt she had already enter- 
tained, for she smiled and sighed as she added : 

" And are you comforted so soon, Mignonne 1" 

" What I" I cried, amazed. 

" Are you comforted so soon 1" she repeated. 
" You see, Mignonne, I don't think so, but your 



236 BESSIE. 

guardian is convinced it is all Gray's House, 
and you know that he will not hear of anything 
of the kind whilst you are under his care." 

My grief, my indignation, as her meaning thus 
dawned upon me, were inexpressible. At first 
I could not speak. 

" Oh 1 is it possible 1" I cried, at length—" is it 
possible, and do you think that of me, Made- 
moiselle I" 

My et tu Brute did not seem to produce much 
effect upon her. 

" Mignonne," she said, calmly, " I think no- 
thing. Only your guardian thinks that Mr. 
Herbert is very attentive to you; and you know, 
Mignonne, he always was." 

"Attentive to mer I began; and then I 
checked myself, feeling how imprudent was 
such vehement and emphatic denial. 

" Is he not, then ?" she asked. 

"Oh ! yes, yes, very attentive," I said, with 
suspicious eagerness ; " but, you know, he does 
not care about me." 

" Not at all, Mignonne V 

" No," I answered, unhesitatingly, "not at all." 



BESSIE. 237 

She gave me a perplexed look, but my eyes 
could meet hers quite firmly, and it was quite 
triumphantly that I repeated — 

** He does not care for me at all. He never 
cared for me less than he does now." 



238 



I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 

I 
I 



CHAPTER XL 

TTTHEN I went up to my room that night, the 
' * first thing I did was, like the girl in the 
Scotch ballad, to sit me down and cry. I 
do not think that even then I was unusually 
given to tears, but some of the things that had 
taken place that day were too much for my 
fortitude. To be taxed with liking Gray's 
House — ^to be told that Mr. Herbert was attentive 
to me, when no one knew better than I did that 
all his thoughts were centred on Elizabeth, was 
hard; but the hardest of all, as I felt in my 
inmost heart and conscience, was the loneliness 
which, swift as night after a long bright day, 
was stealing over me. Elizabeth would marry 
Mr. Herbert ; she had said so, and what she had 
said would come to pass. Could I doubt after 



BESSIE. 239 

what I had seen, and spite of what I had heard, 
that if she wished it he would be once more at 
her feet, her servant and her slave, and — and 
where should I be then? Not with them — 
never with them. Elizabeth was not altered. 
She liked me, she had watched faithfully by my 
sick-bed, but though I could not think her 
liking for Mr, Herbert very strong or deep, I 
knew she would tolerate nothing and no one 
between herself and her husband. I was not 
old and not wise enough to feel that she was 
right, and that in love and in marriage it must 
be so. I only felt the hardship of my lot, the 
bitterness of losing my two friends at one blow. 
No fond worship on my part would give me the 
confidence of Elizabeth, or allow me a share, 
though small, in the liking of the man she 
married. Already their love had cost me the 
love of James Carr, and after having caused 
between him and me a parting which Death had 
sealed and now made eternal, it would leave 
me for ever desolate. I was too proud to forget 
the past, and Elizabeth's jealous mistrust of me; 
and remembering this, 1 knew my &te. I 



240 BESSIE. 

found it hard. I bad done all I could, little 
though that was, to win back the liking of his 
wayward mistress to Mr. Herbert ; but perhaps I 
had been so zealous because I had not thought 
success so easy. Had I been sure of it, I would 
have done no less, for I liked him in my heart, 
and had always felt that his liking for me was 
both tender and sincere ; but then it was very 
hard to give up that liking once more, to give 
up Elizabeth, and to remain alone with the 
memory of James Carr dying alienated, and far 
away. Mademoiselle was very good and kind, 
but there was a great gap of years for ever 
yawning between us — ^a gap which, do what we 
would, neither of us could fill up. 

If I had only been of a magnanimous turn, I 
could have found some comfort in all this ; for, 
after all, I was the victim. If I suffered, it was 
because others were blest ; if I was lonely, it was 
that my two friends might enjoy the sweetest 
of companionship. But I was not magnanimous 
at all, I was glad for them, but bitterly sorry 
for myself — bitterly sorry never to see their two 
kind faces again — bitterly sorry for Polly, spite 



BESSIE. 241 

her ingratitude, and for Gray's House, which I— 
oh, mortification unspeakable, had actually been 
accused of coveting I Was it wonderful, then, 
that I sat down and cried, having such thoughts 
— nay, that I cried myself to sleep f 

For, after all, I slept. Oh I glorious and 
divine privilege of youth, that cannot be wake- 
ful, which no care, no sorrow, can divorce from 
that sweet bedfellqw sleep I And I slept sound- 
ly, too, all the more soundly for my tears, until 
a sunbeam, stealing through my window blind, 
fell on my lids and woke me. 

That day, which was to be an eventful one 
in my life and in that of others, began very 
tamely. Elizabeth looked tired and dull ; Miss 
Bussell had a headache, and kept her room ; Mr. 
de Lusignan went out early, and Mademoiselle 
had letters to wiite. I wanted to lure Elizabeth 
out, but she yawned, looked at the sky, said it 
would rain, and declined. The sun which had 
wakened me was indeed early overcast by heavy 
clouds, and the aspect of the day soon grew 
sullen and, threatening. Still I teazed Elizabeth 
to come out into the garden with me — ^the truth 

VOL. m. B 



242 BESSIE. 

was, I wished to speak to her withont fear of 
interraption ; but there again I failed — either 
Elizabeth guessed my wish, and had no fancy 
to gratify it, or she was really disinclined for a 
walk, for she gave me a flat denial, and sudden- 
ly remembering that she, too, had letters to 
write, she retired to her room, as to a citadel 
which I could not invade. I made no attempt 
to do so — I was rather disheartened at the decid- 
ed rebuff my overtures had got, and sat in my 
room alone for the best part of the morning, 
reading, or rather trying to read. At length I 
could bear this no longer, and, spite the cloudy 
greyness of the sky, I went out. I did not ven- 
ture on a walk in the country — my guardian 
having rather curtly informed me that solitary 
promenades were not to his fancy ; but Miss 
Russeirs garden, orchard, and grounds being 
free to me, I went to the lake, as to the loveli- 
est haunt her demesnes could afford. There 
I sat down on the grass and tried to think ; but 
thought would not come. The sadness of the 
day and the sadness of my own heart were 
too much for me. This grey day, sunless 



BESSIE. 243 

and chill, had a look of Autumn, and seemed 
one of her early harbingers. It was as if Au- 
tumn were coming, not as she comes some- 
times, with golden sunshine round her head, 
and mellow fruit in her lap, but as she appears 
too often to us northerners, with aspect sad 
and wild, with grey clouds sweeping along a 
stormy sky, and chill breezes whistling through 
rustling boughs, and swallows and wild geese 
preparing to wing their flight to warmer climes. 
" Ah ! if I too could only go away," I thought ; 
'* go somewhere and leave trouble behind me as 
the swallows leave falling leaves, and weeping 
skies, and sodden earth I If I only could I" 

Mr. Herbert's quick step made me start to my 
feet, for, even without looking round, I knew it 
was he who was coming. What had brought 
him, and especially what had brought him here? 
He carried a sketch-book in his hand. Had he 
come to draw the little lake I It seemed likely, 
yet when he walked straight up to me, he gave 
me no immediate explanation of his presence in 
this spot. It was only after the usual greetings 
that he said : 

r2 



244 BESSIE. 

^' Mrs. Henrj de Lusignan has changed her 
mind, I fear." 

I had presence of mind enongh not to seem 
ignorant of his meaning, bnt to answer that I 
feared so. 

" It is a lady's privilege," he said, smiling, 
" and one to which man must submit." 

" And yet you are disappointed," I remarked, 
looking at him attentively. 

" Yes," he answered quietly, " I am." 

He was patient as usual, but I knew that he 
suffered. My heart beat. I felt as if his happi- 
ness lay in my hand, and I had but to open it to 
make him blest — at last. 

" A woman has many minds," I said, slowly 
and deliberately ; " and some rise uppermost, and 
others, often the truest, lie deep." 

I spoke so that every word I uttered had a 
meaning. He gave me a quick sharp look of 
sudden surprise, but was silent. 

"And what one mind dislikes to-day, the 
other mind may prize to-morrow," I continued. 

Mr. Herbert coloured up to the roots of his 
hair. 



BESSIE. 245 

" You have a meaning," he said plainly, " what 

is it r 

I was rather frightened at his direct ques- 
tioning. 

" If I have a meaning, as you say," I replied, a 
little troubled, " you must guess it." 

The colour faded away rapidly from his face. 
He stood by my side, looking down on the earth 
and gnawing his nether lip, like one perplexed 
and at fault; at length he looked up and 
said: 

" Yesterday I asked, I entreated Elizabeth to 
meet me here and listen to me. She let me 
hope that she would come ; but though I have 
been here twice already, she is not coming, and 
she will not come. There is a secret and a 
danger in her life, and such is her misfortune 
that I who know both can only utter vague 
words of warning, which she disregards. She 
will mind nothing, not even Mr. de Lusignan's 
dark face, and so she rushes on to her fate, and 
I, her fnend. must see her undoing. It is hard, 
very hard, but I am powerless. I told you once 
that the thread of water which flowed between 



246 BESSIE. 

Elizabeth and me had become a river and was 
widening into a sea, but a river can be forded, a 
sea can be crossed, and now — now," he added 
with evident emotion, " we are as two travellers 
who have met once, and neither of whom can 
turn back. Every step we take parts us more 
and more. I can still catch a glimpse of her 
when I stand and look behind me, but already 
she is very far away, and the time is coming 
fast when, look as long and as hard as I can, I 
shall see her no more." 

Tears rushed to my eyes at so unexpected a 
conclusion. 

" Oh 1 Mr. Herbert I" I exclaimed, and it was 
all I could say. 

" It seems hard, but it must be so," he said ; 
" and I believe. Miss Carr, that life i^ made up 
of such things." 

His "Miss Carr," uttered rather coldly, recalled 
me to myself. 

" I beg your pardon," I said awkwardly, " I 
am afraid you must think me a very meddle- 
some person. I shall offend so no more." 

His silence and downcast eyes seemed both to 



BESSIE. 247 

confirm the fact that Mr. Herbert did tbiuk me 
a very meddlesome person, and yet when he 
looked up there was nothing unkind in his eyes. 

" I may as well speak plainly once for all," he 
said deliberately ; " for unless I do so, you will 
never understand. Circumstances parted us in 
Fontainebleau ; and now the reason for which 
she and I must follow different paths, is that she 
never cared for me, and that, if I liked her once, 
there is another woman now whom I like ten 
times more than ever I liked her." 

I heard him amazed, and then, as his meaning 
flashed across my mind, I stepped back in sud- 
den grief and fear. 

" Oh I do not say that," I cried, " do not, 
never say that again — never I" 

He bit his lip, and did not answer at onoe. 

" I knew it would be so," he replied, in a low, 
vexed tone. " There seems a perversity in such 
things. Poor James Carr loved you dearly, and 
you were afraid of him, and did not care for him 
till he died; and then — then it was exasper- 
ating," he added, with a sudden flush, " to see 
how you grieved for him." 



248 BESSIE. 

"Why should I not grieve?" I asked. 

" But there is a way of grieving," he answer- 
ed quickly ; " and you have grieved as if your 
heart were in his grave." 

I did not answer ; he continued — 

" When Elizabeth was the apple of my eye, 
you were very kind to me; but since I have 
given her up and done my best to win your 
liking, you have grown so cold that, though I 
speak at last, I do so knowing that I shall amaze 
and alarm you. What am I to do I" he added, 
a little angrily ; '* I can only like a woman, 
show her that I like her, and if she will not 
understand me, tell her so at last." 

"But you must not like me," I exclaimed, 
with a sort of anguish — " that's just it. You 
must never like me, Mr. Herbert. I am the 
friend of Elizabeth ; I am the last of all women 
who must rob her of your liking. She has had 
faith in me " 

" No I" he sharply interrupted ; " never 1 — 
neither in you nor in me, Miss Carr. She was 
jealous of you — as jealous," he added, correct- 



BESSIE. 249 

ing himself, " as a woman can be without love ; 
for, you know, she never cared for me." 

Alas I I did not know that at all, but I could 
not betray her to him — it was impossible. I 
felt the most miserable being alive, and I sup- 
pose he saw it, for he sighed and said, 

" I must not persecute you ; and yet — I do 
not give you up. We could be so happy — ^be- 
lieve me, we could be so happy together." 

What was there in the words that gave them 
an eloquence so sudden and so irresistible that I 
felt beside myself 1 His voice and his looks 
were very persuasive. I shook like a leaf in a 
strong wind, tears rushed to my eyes, and, 
with a sense of my weakness, I put my hands 
before me to put him, his love, and the dan- 
gerous flattery of his wooing away, as far as I 
could, away from me. 

" Do not," I said—** do not." 

" Why not I" he asked, eagerly — " why should 
we not be happy together?" 

Surely there is witchcraft in the simplest 
words of love— surely there is honey on the 
tongue of the man who loves, or I should not 



250 BESSIE. 

have felt myself growing very weak — so weak 
that in my anguish and despair I cried, 

" Do not tempt me I — be generous. I do not 
like you, indeed I do not, but I am very lonely, 
and I often feel too miserable. Do not tempt 
me, lest I should forget my honour and my 
faith." 

"You ask me to be generous," he replied, 
with some passion ; " what man can or will be 
so, when the thing he is asked to give up is the 
creature he loves best I I am not generous ; I 
will not be so ; but I will not tempt you, as you 
call it, for I could not bear to get you because 
you feel, as you say, so lonely. I could not 
bear that you should come to me as to a 
refuge," he added, his lip quivering as he spoke 
— "a man to be endured for the sake of his 
roof, to be detested by fits when it is no longer 
needed, or despised all day long for his meanness 
in selling that roof so dear I On those terms I 
will never have you — never — never 1 But can 
I not have you otherwise?" he added, with 
sudden gentleness. " You speak of honour and 
faith— what barriers have they placed between 



BESSIE. 251 

US ? Aud if you cared for me half aH much as you 
care little, why should houour and faith divide 

us r 

" Oh, how can you ask it ?" I cried in my 
turn, roused to something like passion. " Do 
you notknowthatin Fontainebleau the thing you 
would have me do was imputed to me as a 
treason and a sin ? Elizabeth did not care for 
you — granted, but still she held it falsehood in 
me to seek, as she thought, for your regard ; and 
if I robbed, or seemed to rob her of it now, 
would not she — would not the world think so 

still r 

" No," he answered, without a second's hesi- 
tation, and. so coolly that I was confounded. 
" We will not argue that point," he resumed ; 
** I daresay I could not convince you, but what 
I could not do, time will. Only remember this : 
What is true of me is as true of you — Elizabeth 
and you have met, and are already going each 
on her different road, to meet no more. Remem- 
ber it, Bessie," he added, with compassionate 
tenderness ; " never again will you two be as 
you have been, and the last hour, which has 



252 BESSIE. 

long ago come for me, will soon come for you." 
I heard him with the keenest grief, for I felt 
in my heart that he spoke the truth, and that 
the fate he laid before me was already being ac- 
complished. A great pang seized me, and with 
it a sense of such utter desolation that I hid my 
face in my hands, and, turning my head away, 
I cried bitterly. Mr. Herbert made no attempt 
to soothe the sorrow he had wakened. He ut- 
tered not a word, but stood silently by my side, 
and when, checking my tears, I turned back to 
him, I found him looking at me — rather sadly, 
it is true, but very gravely. 

" Why do you tell me these things 1" I cried, 
almost angrily ; " do you think I shall like you 
any better because you show me that I have, 
and must have, nothing left ? — that my friend, 
she whom I loved and still love so dearly, does 
not care for me I" 

" I never meant that," he said quickly ; ** God 
forbid 1 How could so warm-hearted and gene- 
rous a creature as Elizabeth not love yout But, 
Miss Carr, friendship is like love — ^however true, 
however warm it may be, there are inexorable 



BESSIE. 253 

laws of life that forbid it between some. And 
depend upon it, no one knows that better than 
Elizabeth herself. What man can accuse her of 
having sought his love ? What woman can tax 
her with having tried to win her friendship? 
What came to her she received as a queen may- 
receive the homage of her subjects, but did she 
ever oflFer anything in return I You have no 
more her confidence than I had, and yet you 
surely have every gift which could win her, if 
she was to be won. You are unselfish and de- 
voted, and you forget yourself in her presence 
as naturally as a daisy in the grass might forget 
itself in the presence of a garden rose. You 
give all, and you ask for nothing in return ; and 
you do well, for Elizabeth has it not to give." 

" And yet you say she is warm-hearted," I ex- 
claimed, very indignantly. 

He was silent a while. 

** She had once much to give," he answered 
after a pause ; " but some women can give but 
once, and to one only, just as there are flowers 
that open but for the day, and then only to the 
sun." 



254 BESSIE. 

" I cannot bear this !" I said impetuously, " I 
cannot bear it !" 

I turned away ; he understood me, and let me 
go. He bowed as I passed by him, but stood 
still. And so I went on swiftly, with tears in 
my eyes, and walking as fast as if, with every 
step, my feet were leaving this new trouble be- 
hind them. 



255 



CHAPTER XII. 

"HEFORE I had walked ten minutes I stood 
^ still — I could not go fiirther — I did not 
look round, I felt sure he was not following me, 
and he could not see me where I was. I slipped 
down on the grass, and clasping my hands 
around my knees, I bowed my head upon my 
lap. 

Let us ever pity them who are tempted, for 
the fight is a hard one, and the world, who sees 
and is so prompt to censure the fall, rarely sees 
the struggle, and can never reckon the full cost 
of victory. One of the keenest temptations 
which my youth had known was clinging to 
me then with the grasp of a falcon on its prey. 
I could not help it ; with my whole soul, with 
my whole heart and being, I longed to say 



256 BESSIE. 

" yes " to the thing Mr. Herbert had put within 
my yea and nay ; no involuntary impulse made 
me turn to him with irresistible longing, but I 
pined to give myself up to him, and to be for 
ever at rest in his keeping. It seemed to me as 
if the death of James Carr, as if the inevitable 
abandonment of Elizabeth, could be not forgot* 
ten, but buried silently in the depths of that 
new life. Ah I he had said it truly — we could 
be so happy together I My heart leaped at the 
picture these words called up — a lif^ of calm love 
and tranquil delights. I saw it spreading far 
away into the greyness of age, a lovely gold- 
en sea, on which the sun ever shone, with waves 
that should never be roused to wrath by storms 
of jealous passion I And what stood between 
me and all this ? Elizabeth, who did not love, 
who had never loved Mr. Herbert, and whom 
Mr. Herbert loved no longer. Surely I was 
free to stretch out my hand and have it ; surely 
there was neither shame, nor sin, nor dishonour 
in taking that which was not hers ? Ah I if 
Mr. Herbert had been by me then, and could 
have read my heart, how easy would have been 



r 



BESSIE. 257 

bis triumph over all my denials I — how faint a 
" nay " would have answered his entreaties ! 
But I was alone, and might be weak with utter 
impunity ; I was alone, and might regret having 
been so generous and so strong as to deny my- 
self for one who would neither know of nor care 
for my denial. Shame at my useless weakness 
overtook me. Where was the use of yielding, 
when there was no one to press me into con- 
sent? I rose, thrusting back every tempting 
regret, and walked on, arguing away those 
fond fancies which were insidiously stealing all 
strength, all nobleness from me. In the name 
of womanly honour, in the name of trusting 
friendship, I bade them begone, and haunt me 
no more! I was calm again when I reached 
the house. On the terrace I met Miss Dunn. 

" I am so glad to find you," she said, with a 
sigh of relief. "Dear Miss Russell's head is 
distracted, and Mr. de Lusignan has sent out 
three times for you. I was going for you 
myself; but I am so glad to meet you, dear Miss 
Russell cannot bear me to be out of her sight, 
you know." 

VOL. III. S 



258 BESSIE. 

I asked, rather faintly, where my guardian 
was. 1 had a terrible fear that he had gained 
some unaccountable knowledge of my interview 
with Mr. Herbert, and was going to call me to 
an account. Miss Dunn's answer, that he was 
in the drawing-room with Mademoiselle, rather 
comforted me — no great harm could befall me 
if she was there; and yet, when leaving Miss 
Dunn, who looked at me very curiously, I entered 
the drawing-room, my heart beat. My guardian 
bad been so moody of late that it seemed as if I 
might expect anything from him, and I paused 
at the door, as hesitatingly as any culprit facing 
the judge. He was standing by the chimney, 
with an open letter in his hand. 

" Where is Elizabeth I" he said, impetuously, 
and taking two steps towards me as he spoke. 

I shrank back, rather afraid. 

" I don't know," I answered. " When she 
left me this morning she was going to her room 
to write letters." 

" She never wrote a line I" he exclaimed, with 
the same impetuosity of tone and bearing. " She 
went out. With my own eyes J saw her. Where 
is she now I" 



BESSIE. 259 

^ Indeed, sir, I do not know." 

I spoke feintlj, and still kept nigh the door. 

Mademoiselle, who sat nigh the farthest win- 
dow, now interfered. 

** YoQ frighten Mignonne," she said, beckon- 
ing me to her, and kindly taking my hand. 
^ My dear,'' she added, looking me in the face, 
^ all this has long been coming on, and further 
concealment is useless. We have every reason 
to fear that Mrs. Henry de Lnsignan — since I 
most still call her so — ^has deceived ns; that 
she is not my nephew's widow, that she never 
was his wife, that her child is not his child, and 
Mr. de Lnsignan's grandson." 

She spoke calmly, but very positively, and I 
stood dumb before her. 

** I have suspected this all along," resumed 
Mademoiselle, ^but our own wishes are great 
deluders. This falsehood was so pleasant to 
believe in, that both your guardian and I 
opened our hearts to it ; and then there was the 
child," she added, her voice breaking down, 
** the child so strangely like him I And now it 
is over, and mother and diild are strangers to 

S2 



260 BESSIE. 

our blood — aliens, with whom we have nothing 
in common, save the memory of a cmel wrong I" 

" But it cannot be 1" I cried, in a sort of 
despair. " Elizabeth must be his widow; and if 
she is not, who, then, is she ?" 

Mademoiselle shook her head. 

" Whoever she may be," she said, " she is not, 
I fear, the girl whom my nephew married. I 
have been to the church in which their marriage 
took place, I have seen the parish register, and 
I have read there the name of Louisa Jones, 
written in x^haracters weak, small, and tremu- 
lous. The same hand never wrote that name 
and the direction on Mr. de Lusignan's card 
which first set us all astray." 

I sat down ; spite what Mr. Herbert had 
told me that morning, the blow stunned me; 
but after a while 1 rallied. 

"But where, then, is your nephew's wife. 
Mademoiselle } Surely she would not let 
another woman take bar place ? It cannot be." 

" She njay be dead," answered Mademoiselle ; 
" indeed, I feel convinced fibe is. But, living or 
dead, she and Elizabeth are not one." 



BESSIE. 261 

" Then who is Elizabeth I" I cried, in a sort 
of despair — " who is she V* 

" We mean to ask her ; we scarcely hope she 
will tell us. All we do know is what she is 
not." 

Again I said : 

" It cannot be. She could not be such a 
deceiver." 

Mademoiselle shook her head and sighed. 

" I did not see the clergyman who married my 
nephew, when I looked over the parish register," 
she said, **' for he had left the parish, and no one 
could tell me whither he was gone; but we 
have discovered him at last, and his answer to 
Mr. de Lusignan's inquiries came half an hour 
ago. This clergyman, Mignonne, remembers 
distinctly the marriage of my nephew ; he re- 
members the year, the time of the year, the 
singular name of the bridegroom, his appear- 
ance, which he describes accurately, and that of 
the bride — a young girl, with blue eyes and 
flaxen hair. Do you think she was Elizabeth ?" 

" But he can be mistaken," I said, with a sort 
of despair. " He must have been marrying so 



262^ BESSIE. 

many people about that time, he may have 
taken one girl for another." 

" Then let her tell us so," said Mademoiselle, 
in a low, sad voice ; for, even as she spoke, the 
folding-window opened, and Elizabeth, uncon- 
scious of the storm that had been brooding so 
long, entered the room smiling, and with the 
loveliest bouquet of hot-house flowers in her 
hand. There was no need to ask where they 
came from, for Mr. Gray, calm, elegant, and 
handsome as ever, followed her in. Leaving 
him to his greetings, Elizabeth sank in an arm- 
chair, looking carelessly happy. 

" It is such a trying day !" she said, leaning 
back. " Are these orchids, Mr. Gray ? No ? 
What are they, then ?" 

She looked at the flowers, now lying in her 
lap, the rarest, the costliest which money could 
buy, as a young Goddess Flora might look at a 
bunch of weeds, the humble offering of some 
rural swain laid upon her altar. I have read 
somewhere that we rule our own destiny, it was 
so for Elizabeth ; I have seen it again and again 
in her case, I saw it then. 



BESSIE. 263 

On seeing Mr. Gray, my guardian bad thrust 
the clergyman's fatal letter into his pocket, aud 
knit his dark brows with vexation at vengeance 
deferred ; but, on seeing Elizabeth thus calm, 
thus triumphant, coming in with Mr. Gray in 
her train, and so carelessly displaying her vic- 
tory over him, all his pent-up wrath broke 
forth. He was a man of strong passions and 
little self-restraint, and without heeding Made- 
moiselle's alarmed and appealing look, he 
brought forth the letter again, and looked at 
Elizabeth with implacable resentment in his 
dark eyes. 

'^ Madam," he said, in a grave, low tone, as if 
he had been as calm as he was wrathful, ^' I will 
not do you the wrong of delaying one moment 
the question I have to put. I have ascertained 
beyond reasonable doubt, and that on the testi- 
mony of the clergyman by whom my late son 
was married, that you are not the person whom 
I took you for, whom I brought to my house 
and introduced to my friends as my lost son's 
widow. I cannot in honour allow anyone to 
labour any longer under this mistake, and 



264 BESSIE. 

though I do not doubt that you can give the 
best account of yourself, you will not wonder, 
I am sure, if I put you under the necessity to 
do so." 

I have often wondered at the needless cruelty 
of this speech, coming from one who was not 
cniel ; but he was exasperated beyond all self- 
control, and I believe did not know himself 
any longer. On hearing his first words, Eliza- 
beth had risen to her feet, as if moved by a 
spring ; and when he ceased, she stood as the 
blow had fallen upon her, with her flowers at 
her feet ; but after a while she sat down again, 
and fastening . her eyes on Mr. de Lusi^nan's 
face, she said, in a low tone, 

" Mr. de Lusignan, is this manly I" 
" Is it true ?" he asked, and he handed her 
the letter, which he still held. 

She looked at it, then handed it back to him 
with a calm, defying smile. Perhaps the 
danger was not that which she had feared — at 
all events, she was herself again. 

'" Well," he said, " you do not deny it t" 
"No," she answered, rising again and con- 



BESSIE. 265 

fronting him, " I do not deny it, sir 1" Then, 
turning to Mr. Gray, who had stood and listened 
in silent amazement, she continued: ^^6e my 
witness I Mr. de Lusignan taxes me with not 
being his son's widow, and T will neither say 
one word, nor bo much as lift up my finger 
to gainsay him. And now, sir," she resumed, 
addressing my guardian, "what next?" 
• " What next I" he cried, white with passion, 
" nothing, save who are you ?" 

" Don't you know t" she answered, with cool 
irony. "I am Mrs. Smith. You have perse- 
cuted me for months, and now, thank Heaven I 
it is over, and I am Mrs. Smith again I" 

I suppose my guardian's anger was spent, for 
he took one. or two turns up and down the 
room; then, coming back to her, said, in a low 
tone of regret: 

" Blame yourself for all this, Elizabeth. You 
left me no choice. You were as a daughter to 
me ; your child was as my child." 

She interrupted him with an impatient ges- 
ture of her hand. 

" I am not your son's widow," she said ; " she, 



266 BESSIE. 

according to the clergyman's testimony— and 
Heaven ' forbid that I should deny it 1 — was 
flaxen-haired, and I am dark. I am not your 
son's widow — I never was his wife, and my 
child is not your grandchild. Is that what you 
want I Be satisfied you have it. I defy you 
to say that I sought you. I defy you to say 
that I wanted your love or your money. I am 
Mrs. Smith — are you satisfied, sir ?" 
*' Then you have nothing to tell me ?" 
" Nothing 1" Her eyes, her lips breathed de- 
fiance as she uttered the word ; then, turning 
again to Mr. Gray : 

" After what has passed, Mr. Gray, need I 
say that you are free t The offer you made a 
while ago was made to Mr. de Lusignan's 
daughter-in-law, as you thought. You now 
know that she was Mrs. Smith all along, and a 
deceiver — for, with questionable good taste, my 
late father-in-law thrusts you into this matter. 
Believe me, however," she added softly, and 
with tears in her eyes, " I should not have de- 
ceived you — no, I should not have deceived 
you 1" 



BESSIE. 267 

. What a Circe she was, and how irresistible 
was the cup which she held out to the lips of 
her lovers I Man of the world as he was, and 
startling as was the revelation which had been 
made in his presence, Mr. Gray was evidently 
affected by these simple words. He went up to 
her, took her ha^nd, and said : 

" Whoever you may be, you are a noble crea- 
ture, I am sure ; and — and will you allow me 
to say a few words in private to you V 

Elizabeth looked at him in doubt, then as- 
sented by a silent inclination of her head. They 
walked out together, through the folding win- 
dow, but went no farther than the terrace. 
• For a few minutes they stood in close converse 
at the farther end ; then Mr. Gray took his leave, 
and Elizabeth stood on the terrace, as he had 
left her, with her eyes looking straight before 
her, and her hands closely clasped. At length, 
shaking her head as if she were putting by some 
baleful dream, she turned back, and entering 
the house, once more stood before us. I say 
that she stood before us, but her gaze was 
fastened on Mr. de Lusignan, and I doubt if in 



268 BESSIE. 

that moment it saw either Mademoiselle or m^. 

" Sir," she said, in a calm and steady voice, 
" if this house were yours, I should leave it this 
moment. As it is not, you will not wonder if I 
remain in it a few days longer — unless, indeed, 
Miss Russell should make me feel that I am no 
longer a welcome guest." 

Mr. de Lusignan looked at her from the chair 
on which he had sunk, and sighed with a trou- 
bled air. 1 dare say that ton-en t of wrath which 
had rushed out of its bed in the first storm of 
discovery had now subsided — I believe, too, that 
her beauty still kept some of its old power over 
his heart, for it was with latent tenderness in 
his voice that he said : 

"Elizabeth, let there be peace between us. 
I confess 1 forced this deceit upon you. Believe 
me, I have paid the full penalty of my eiTor, for 
I have given my heart to a child who, it seems, 
is a stranger to me, and I am not sure that I can 
take it back. Only tell me who you are. I 
cannot believe that your long silence hides an 
unworthy secret. Only tell me that, and, as I 
said before, let there be peace between us." 



BESSIE. 26^ 

He held cut his hand. 

*^ Never," she said, and her eyes flashed as 
she turned away. " Never so, Mr. de Lusignan. 
You are either the father of my dead husband, 
or you are nothing to my boy or me." 

" Tell me who you are," he persisted, with- 
out heeding her. " It is time yet, Elizabeth — 
tell me, for the boy's sake." 

*^ I am Mrs. Smith," she answered, in a clear, 
cold voice ; " don't you know it I" 

" Elizabeth, do you know what you are doing 
— what you are throwing away ? What name 
and what fortune have you to leave your childt" 

" Smith, and three hundred a year," she an- 
swered with a careless laugh ; ^^ and now," she 
added, turning to the door, ^' tell Miss Russell 
all you please, Mr. de Lusignan, and remember 
that I ask and expect no mercy from you." 

I saw my guardian's brow redden, but he did 
not answer this challenge. The door closed 
upon her, and for a few minutes we were all si- 
lent. Then my guardian rose, and, turning to 
me, he said : 

'' I cannot leave this house for a few days, at 



270 BESSIE. 

least. During that time I wish your intercourse 
with the lady who has just left the room to be 
as restricted as common civility allows. If I 
should find that this prohibition of mine is un- 
heeded by either that lady or by you, I must 
naturally take you away." 

And having so spoken, he too left the room. 
I turned to Mademoiselle, who had not uttered 
one word all this time. 

" Oh, Mademoiselle I" I said, clasping my 
hands, " how will all this end t" 

** Heaven knows, Mignonne," she answered, 
looking sorely troubled. " Heaven knows, not 
I, for never in all my life was I so perplexed." 

I looked at her; but she turned her head away. 

" Oh, Mademoiselle," I said, trembling from 
head to foot — " do you think — I mean, — do you 
not think that your Harry — I mean, do you sup- 
pose " 

"I suppose nothing," interrupted Mademoi- 
selle, reddening up and speaking almost pas- 
sionately ; " save that my darling was the soul 
of honour, and would not have joined O'Donnell 
if he had not been a free man." 



271 



CHAPTER XIII. 

rpHE whole of that day I sat alone. No one 
^ came near me, and I conld brood at leisure 
over all that had taken place. Two thoughts 
kept running in my brain, and chasiug each 
other to weariness. " Who was Elizabeth f 
And was it, could it be true, that Mr. Herbert 
cared about me t" 

And so a book lay unread on my lap, and the 
hours went by imheeded. When we all met 
again, it was at Miss Russell's dinner-table ; and 
Miss Dunn, being present, acted like the glass 
wall which divided the Prince and the Princess 
80 effectually in the fairy-tale. Mr. de Lusignan 
and Elizabeth could be as silent to each other 
as they pleased, whilst Miss Dunn talked com- 
mon-place in a silvery voice. 



272 BESSIE. 

" You can have no idea of poor dear Miss 
Russell's state," she said plaintively ; " some- 
times the pain is behind her ear, and sometimes 
right at the top of her head. She says she 
feels as if she had a grasshopper there ; and 
really there is no knowing what she has got — 
now, is there I The human machine is so mys- 
terious and complicated 1" 

And so Miss Dunn went on till dinner was 
over, and she lamented that she was compelled 
to leave us, and go to poor dear Miss Russell. 

She was scarcely gone when my guardian 
walked out into the garden without addressing 
a word to any of us. I could not help watching 
him for a while, for Harry was playing on the 
terrace with Watkins, and Mr. de Lusignan, 
though he pretended to be staring another way, 
was looking at him furtively. Once Harry 
stumbled as he ran, and I saw Mr. de Lusignan's 
involuntary motion towards him, as if to pick 
him up — a motion quickly checked, and which 
the assistance of Watkins rendered needless. 
Did Elizabeth see this ? I doubt it. Mademoi- 
selle, who looked pale and ill, had left us ; and 



BESSIE. 273 

Elizabeth, after standing a while by the marble 
mantelpiece, said, without looking at me : 
" Come up to my room, Bessie, will you ?" 
I followed her with a beating heart. Was she 
going to trust in me at last? We entered toge- 
ther that room to which I was so rarely sum- 
moned. How keen and vivid are the pictures 
which fate draws of the places wherein she acts 
her dramas I I still seem to see that room as I 
saw it then. The greyness of the morning had 
melted away into sunshine, and the evening had 
been warm and bright. A sunset sky spreading 
over masses of verdure, with low mists stealing 
through them, appeared in the square of the 
open window; whilst the crimson walls and 
furniture within looked gorgeous in the rich 
glow from the west. Elizabeth sat down in a 
deep chair facing the window, and resting her 
arms on its elbows, 'looked straight before hef. 
I took a chair nearly facing hers, but I do ri6t 
think she saw me. At length she spoke. 

^* Well, Bessie," she said, " what do you think 
of all this?" 
I rose, and twining my arms around her neck, 
VOL. III. T 



274 B^E S S I E . 

I said entreatingly : " Elizabeth, tell the truth, 
whatever it may be. Tell the truth." 

She put me away rather coldly. 

" I have nothing to teU," she said. " Mr. de 
Lusignan forced himself upon me, and now 
chooses to withdraw — let him." 

"But Harry!" I pleaded, " listen to himl"— 
for we could hear a vehement quarrel between 
him and Watkins going on just then in the gar- 
den — " think of Harry." 

" And so I do," she said impatiently. " Mr. 
de Lusignan has left me no choice ; Harry must 
have a step&ther. May he have a kind one, 
Bessie." 

" Will Mr. de Lusignan allow it, Elizabeth I" 
I asked. 

She opened her eyes. 

" Why not?" she said ; " don't you know that 
his son's wife was fair-haired, and that since I 
cannot be that lady I surely am my own mis- 
tress ?" 

I did not know whether Elizabeth was or was 
not the widow of my guardian's son, but I 
knew, and with infinite sorrow I knew it, that, 



BESSIE. 275 

whatever her secret might be, I was excluded 
from it as completely as Mr. de LusigQan him- 
self. 

" I wish you had a home to offer me, Bessie," 
she resumed after a while. " I wish you were 
mistress of Gray's House for a fortnight or so. 
I should like to be out of this place for a few 
days, and yet not seem to run away from them 
all — from Miss Dunn especially. I don't mind 
telling you, Bessie, that she troubles me far 
more than Mr. de Lusignan. I know," she add- 
ed, with a curl of her lip, ^^ that he wants to 
keep me after all ; and I know, too, that Miss 
Dunn has wished me out of this house from the 
moment I entered it. Would you believe it, 
Bessie, she has had the hope that, with her voice 
and her smoothness and all the rest of it, she 
could get Mr. Gray I" 

Nothing could exceed my surprise on hearing 
Elizabeth speak thus. I was not so much amaz- 
ed at Miss Dunn's ambition as at the evident 
irritation Elizabeth felt on the subject. She 
was indignant, and did not care to hide it. 

"That is why I stay here," she resumed, 

T 2 



276 BESSIE. 

*'even after what has passed this morning." 
She knit her brows, as if vainly seeking some 
issue to this trouble ; whilst I stood before her, 
asking myself if I were dreaming or not. A 
knock at the door here disturbed us both. It 
was only a servant with a message. Mr. Her- 
bert was below, and asked to speak to Mrs. 
Henry de Lusignan. We exchanged looks. 

" Very well,*' answered Elizabeth ; and the 
girl closed the door and vanished "Go 'down 
to him, Bessie," said Elizabeth. " I have nothing 
to hear and nothing to say. You may tell him 
what you like," she added, a Jittle impatiently, 
"anything, everthing — there, go like a good 
girl." And as I stood irresolute, she gently 
took me to the door and put me out. 

I went down the stairs as slowly as if the 
delay of every step were a gain to me. I was 
not thinking of what I could tell Mr. Herbert, 
but of what he had said to me that morning, 
when I entered the drawing-room, where he 
stood waiting for me with the flowers which 
had fallen from the hand'of Elizabeth, like the 
beauty and honour of her life, lying withered 



BESSIE. 277 

and unseen at his feet. A solitary waxlight 
burned on the table, and lit his handsome face, 
now unusually grave, but it cleared on seeing 
me. 

" Ah 1 how good you are 1" he said ; " how 
very good to come !" 

•* Elizabeth sent me," I replied ; " she cannot 
come herself." 

" That is to say, she will not — then it is all 
over." 

" But you had better know what has happen- 
ed," I said, getting frightened. "Mr. de Lusignan 
taxes her with not being his son's ^vidow, and 
— and I believe she is going to marry Mr. Gray." 

Mr. Herbert did not look moved, he did not 
even look surprised at hearing this. All he said 
was : " No, she will never marry him. Poor 
Elizabeth !" 

His voice was full of pity — of pity, and no- 
thing more ; but I felt such perplexity, such an- 
guish, so great a fear of coming calamity, that 
I clasped and wrung my hands in a sort of de- 
spair. Mr. Herbert came up to me at once. 

" Do not," he entreated ; " do not — all may 



278 BESSIE. 

end better than you think. Only let her come 
to me at once, before I speak to Mr. de Lusignan 
and Mademoiselle Aubrey." 

I did not answer him ; I turned to the door, 
and leaving the room I ran upstairs eagerly, but 
as I ran I thought : " I wonder if he cares about 
her marrying Mr. Gray!" I had no time to 
linger over the thought, for at the head of the 
stairs I met her leaving Harry's room, and com- 
ing back to her own with a light in her hand. 

*' Oh, Elizabeth," I said hurriedly, " you must 
go down to Mr. Herbert — indeed you must. He 
has something to tell you — at once." 

" What can he tell me that I shall care to 
hear I" she answered ; " let him only tell me that 
he will be a kind stepfather to Harry. I want 
no more from him." 

A thunderbolt falling at my feet would not 
have startled me more fearfully than these 
words. I suppose I looked very guilty, for 
Elizabeth, giving me a sharp look, said : 

" You have something to tell me I" 

" Yes," I faltered. 
. ^' Tell me nothing here," she resumed ; and 



/ 



BESSIE. 279 

she opened my room door, and made a sign 
which I obeyed, that I should go in and pass by 
her. 

^^ Well," she said, as she closed the door. I 
would have given worlds to be silent. I could 
not let her go down to Mr. Herbert with that 
strange error in her mind. Shrinking like a 
guilty thing, I faltered : 

" Mr. Herbert wants to marry me." 

There was a moment's pause ; then Elizabeth 
said drily : 

"In — deed I Well," she added, after a pause 
that seemed eternal to me, " what do you say 
to that I Yes, of course I" 

" Elizabeth, you shall not wrong me!" I cried; 
" I refused him." 

" Have him, if you like him, Bessie," she 
said. " Mr. Gray will do as well for me. And 
since I must be the most wretched of women, 
what need I care in whose company I am so ?" 

I looked at her ; the light which she still held 
showed me a face in which misery was written. 

" But why must you be wretched I" I asked ; 
" do hear what Mr. Herbert " 



280 B E S S I E « 

. She interrnpted me with a look, 

^ I want to hear nothing,'^ she said ; ** and as 
to my being wretched — never mind me — ^be 
happy if yon can, Bessie. Yon do not like Mr. 
Herbert yet, I daresay, bnt you will in time, 
and Gray's House is a lovely place.'* 

Her words were torture to me. I could 
not bear them.'' 

^ Elizabeth, have pity on me !" I exclaimed. 
^^ I meant no harm; but — ^but I am afraid that 
James was right, and that I liked him all along, 
only I did not know it. No, believe me, not 
even this morning did I know it." 

She looked at me in a sort of wonder. 

^ To like, and noti know it ! You must be 
wonderfullv innocent, Bessie! The moment I 
liked I knew it. The very first second I saw 
him I thought, * Oh ! how happy she will be, the 
girl whom he marries ;' and in that same mo- 
ment he thought, as he told me later, ^ That 
woman is the one — that one, and no other !"* 

Her voice was even and low, but passion 
burned in her blue eyes, passion of which the 
very remembrance was more than any reality 



BESSIE. 281 

life could still offer. Trnly, as I beard her, I 
understood that Mr. Herbert or Mr. Gray made 
little difference to her. To be wretched with 
the one, or wretched with the other, could not 
matter much to one whose heart was in a grave. 

" Well, Bessie, you are true, at least," she 
said, holding out her hand, and taking mine, 
**for you need not have told me that. God 
bless you, and make you very happy ; and do 
not trouble about me. Mr. Gray will do very 
well r she added, with a dreary smile. 

^^ Elizabeth, do not do that without having at 
least heard Mr. Herbert. Believe me, he has 
something to tell you at once, Elizabeth." 

I would have said more, but the cold silence 
with which she heard me made the words fiilter 
on my lips. 

** I must marry," she said. " The sooner it is 
over the better. Mr. Gray would not take my 
nay this morning, he shall have an ay to-morrow; 
and as to Mr. Herbert, he has nothing to say 
which T do not know beforehand; and if you will 
see him again for me, Bessie, you may tell him 
so. Tou may also tell him that life is over for 



282 BESSIE. 

me — over for ever. Good-bye; God bless you!'^ 
She turned away like one who wanted no 
answer, and I gave her none. She took her 
light with her, and I stood, as she had left me, 
in my dark room, with the stars in the sky 
looking at me through the open window. The 
last words of Elizabeth rang in my ears like a 
knell. That life which was only beginning for 
me was over for her, she told me, and over for 
ever — awful doom for one so young! What 
need I, then, go down again to Mr. Herbert and 
tell him, " You were right, I have failed ; she 
will hear — she will know nothing!" And yet, 
after a while, I went. 

My heart beat as I reached the drawing-room 
door. If I could only tell him what I had to 
say, " Give up the hope of seeing Elizabeth," 
and then vanish. If I only could ! To like a 
presence is not always to seek it willingly ; and 
there is a liking which, in a girl's heart, goes hand- 
in-'hand with fear. This was not the fear which 
I had felt of James Carr, poor fellow 1 who was 
always scolding and reproaching rae—a strange 
way of love-making I — ^but another fear, all shy-i 



BESSIE. 283 

ness, all shrinking, which would have liked to 
possess the divine privilege of spirits, and see- 
ing, not be seen. At length I opened the door, 
and entered the room with an abruptness which 
was only meant to hide cowardice. 

But there was no need for maiden shyness 
now. The hour of grace had passed for Eliza- 
beth; Mr. Herbert was no longer alone. He sat 
&cing me, talking to Mr. de Lusignan and 
Mademoiselle, and it needed only a look at these 
two to understand that he was telling no com- 
mon story. Mademoiselle leaned back in her 
chair, and her face was bathed in tears; my 
guardian stood by the mantelpiece, his elbows 
leaning upon it, and his dark face, on which 
appeared the deepest emotion, turned and bent 
towards Mr. Herbert. I believe they all saw 
me, but none of them stirred. Mr. Herbert went 
on speaking. 1 sat down on a chair by the door, 
and listened to him. 

" I wish I could have told you this less ab- 
ruptly; but remember that I was pledged to 
secrecy, and only released an hour ago." 

** And he is alive ? Oh ! is it possible ? After 



284 BESSIE. 

all that grief, after all that miserj, alive and 

coming r 

* 

It was Mademoiselle who spoke. A wild 
thought crossed my brain. Had her dead Harry 
been only lost! — was he found again? And, 
wild as the thought seemed, it was the merest 
truth which Mr. Herbert's further words con- 
firmed. 

" 1 daresay," he continued " you remember 
that paragraph which appeared in the Times 
last year, whilst we were all in Fontainebleau I 
It was taken from a Melbourne paper, and said 
plainly that Henry de Lusignan, the explorer, 
had not been murdered by the natives, but only 
taken into remote captivity; that he was now 
free, and had been met and recognized by some 
travellers on his way to Sydney. I confess I 
put little faith in this story, but Harry de 
Lusignan had been my dear friend, and on read- 
ing this I went to London to see a man named 
Carter, of whom you have both heard." 

"Yes," said Mr. de Lusignan, "he was the 
great man of the O'Donnell expedition, the only 
survivor, I believe, and he is dead now." 



BESSIE. 285 

" Yes/' continued Mr. Herbert, " he is dead ; 
but when I applied to him I found him living in 
Belgi'avia, on the handsome annuity which a 
public subscription had purchased for him, as 
the tribute due to his indomitable perseverance 
in the cause of science. I knew that Carter had 
not merely brought home most valuable notes 
and information — he was a member of almost 
every learned society in Europe — but that he 
was still in constant, in almost daily intercourse 
with Australia. If anyone could give me certain 
news, he was the man. He laughed the para- 
gi'aph from the Australian paper to scorn. * I 
did not merely see Lusignan fall by my 
side,' he said, ' but I buried him before I left the 
spot where he fell.' There was no answering 
this. I read, a few days later, a letter from 
Carter to the same purport, which appeared in 
the Tlmesj and there the matter ended. A 
month later I went to Australia to recover some 
long-lost money, which I sadly needed then. I 
thought to remain months away — the news of 
my unexpected good-fortune came and changed 
all my plans. I was on the eve of departure, 



286 BESSIE. 

when, one evening, in a remote part of the town, 
and in a lonely street, I found myself face to 
&ce with Harry de Lusignan. I beUeve that if 
he could have denied his identity to me he 
would, but, altered though he was, he could not, 
and, indeed, did not attempt it ; and now I will 
tell you word for word what passed between 
us. It was not much, but it was significant.. 

" ' Good heavens 1 Harry,' I said, laying my 
two hands on his shoulders, ' is it you, after 

aiir 

" * I suppose so,' he answered quietly, * only 
do not tell the world about it, like a good fellow. 
I want to be dead a while longer.' 

" ' But Carter knew you were living — when he 
told me that he had actually buried you I' 

" ' Carter knew that I had detected him read- 
ing my private letters; that we had had a quarrel, 
and that he had stabbed me ; robbed me of all 
my notes and papers, and left me dying of loss 
of blood in the sun,' was his answer. 

" I was astounded at so awful and so direct an 
accusation. 

" ' And it is because I bide my time,' he con- 



BESSIE. 287 

tinuedy ^ that I wish to be dead a while longer. 
I shall soon go to England, and Carter will hear 
from me there. So now give me your word 
not to open your lips about having seen me till I 
authorize you to do so.' 

" He was peremptory, and I had no alternative 
but to comply. He seemed satisfied when he 
had my pledge ; he shook me warmly by the 
hand, promised to let me hear from him, and 
without giving me time to add a word, or put a 
question, he left me. From that day to this I 
have not see him." 

" But you have heard from him!" cried Made- 
moiselle, sitting straight up with sudden terror 
on her pale face ; " you told us so !" 

^* I heard from him an hour ago, but not once 
during all these months. When I came back to 
England I made a few quiet inquiries about 
Carter. He was still living in Belgravia, he was 
still enjoying his annuity, still a member of learn- 
ed societies, and, above all, he was still the great 
Australian explorer ; but of the man whom he had 
so basely robbed and murdered I could hear no- 
thing. I had no right to stir, but Heaven alone 



288 BESSIE. 

knows bow bard I found it to keep mj word ; 
bow often I asked myself, if Hany de Losignan 
bad not become the victim of a second crime 
committed, in order to conceal the first. The 
thought took a powerful hold of me, and per- 
plexed me strangely, till the death of Carter, 
which we all read in the papers some time ago, 
set some of my doubts at rest. Whatever bad 
happened, it was useless now for me to speak ; 
but I could act, and I confess that I did so. I 
made inquiries, the result of which was verj 
conflicting; from some reports it seemed aU but 
certain that Henry de Lusignan had perished in 
the great wreck of the Sylph, on her way home 
to England ; and from others, on the contrary, it 
seemed clear that he was alive and well in Mel- 
bourne, This letter proves that both accounts 
were equally false. Will you read it f " 
• He handed an open letter to Mademoiselle, 
but though she stretched out her hand, it shook 
so that she could not hold the paper. Mr. de 
Lusignan took it from her and read aloud. 

" Mt dear Herbert, 

<( * Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," 



BESSIE. 289 

and so I have found it. When I came to Eng- 
land, fbUy armed against my enemy as I thought, 
I was struck down with illness before I could 
raise a finger against him. For weeks and 
months I remained between life and death, 
powerless to punish my murderer, and powerless 
to seek those whom I loved. When I at last 
recovered, I learned the death of Garter, also 
that you had become owner of Gray's House in 

shire, and that my unde and my dearest 

fiiend were on a visit in your neighbourhood. 
I dare say you will take me in for a day or two, 
and break the news of my resurrection to them. 
I leave London to-morrow by the 7 PJf. train, 
which is due at 10 at Hanvil Station r" 

Here Mademoiselle started up with a wild 
look. ^ He is coming I" she cried, staring round 
the room, •* coming here — to-night ■ V* 

She said no more, but sank back in her chair 
like one bereft of life. 

I started up and ran to her. 

•* Oh I Mr. Herbert, open the window T I cried ; 
and looking round at him, I saw the pale fi^ce of 
Elizabeth, who stood behind his chair as pale, as 

VOL. in. u 



290 BESSIE. 

still, as white as a statue. I do not know how 
long she had been there, nor how she had come 
in unseen and unheard among us. It cannot 
have been by the door near which I was sitting 
I think it must have been through the terrace 
and the folding window, for it was there I found 
her little cambric handkerchief torn to. shreds, 
half an hour later. What followed was all con- 
fusion. Mademoiselle had fainted, and as I at- 
tempted to restore her, Elizabeth came up and 
quietly put me by. Then Miss Dunn came in, 
and was all questioning and all amazement ; and 
at length Mademoiselle was restored to con- 
sciousness, and taken up to her room, to which 
Elizabeth accompanied her. I wanted to go up 
with them, but my guardian bade me stay below. 

" All she wants is quietness," he said, and I 
believe he said it to keep away Miss Dunn. 

" It is half-past nine," he added, looking at his 
watch ; " shall we go to the station ?" 

" Willingly," answered Mr. Herbert. 

They went and left me with Miss Dunn^ 

" I never heard anything like it I" exclaimed 
Miss Dunn, clasping her hands. "Talking of 



BESSIE. 291 

absurdities and romance, and all that, why, 
they are nothing to that, are they, now ? And 
that Mr. Henry de Lusignan not to be dead, 
after all these years 1 I remember him so well 
— such a handsome man I" 

" You knew him 1" I exclaimed, surprised and 
startled ; for that was Miss Dunn's way, to bring 
out pieces of unexpected information, just as a 
thiefbrings out a pistol. 

"He came several times to Miss Russell's," 
she answered coolly — ** she is such an amateur 
of all clever people, you know. She asked him 
to one of her conversaziones. Mrs. Henry de 
Lusignan, then Miss Clare, was present. They 
were both so handsome, I thought; but of 
course she was handsomer as a woman than he 
as a man. Poor lady I it is hard that it should 
not be her husband coming to life again. I 
wonder if he is married — but I fancy not. I 
think all the members of that expedition took 
some oath, or some pledge, or some vow not to 
marry. Did you not understand something of 
the kind. Miss Carri" 

I feigned deafness. I was no match for Miss 

U2 



292 BESSIE. 

Dunn with her news and her questions. I felt 
that Elizabeth stood on the edge of a precipice, 
and I vowed in my heart that, whatever her ein 
might be, no hand of mine should push her in. 
So, instead of answering Miss Dunn, I rose, and 
went and picked up Elizabeth's little white 
handkerchief which I saw lying on the floor 
near the folding window. 

" What is it f ' asked Miss Dunn, with sudden 
quickness — " a letter I I saw a letter when I 
came in." 

I answered that it was a handkerchief; and, 
putting it in my pocket, I declared my intention 
of going up to see how Mademoiselle was get- 
ting on. Miss Dunn, too, would go upstairs ; 
poor dear Miss Russell would be so glad to 
hear all this. Mr. Henry de Lusignan had 
always been such a favourite of hers. I believe 
Miss Dunn also wanted to have a peep at 
Mademoiselle, for she stopped with me at her 
door ; but if such was her wish, it was not 
gratified. It was Elizabeth who opened the 
door, and stood on the threshold, calm, though 
pale, but by no means inviting our entrance. 



BESSIE. 293 

** Mademoiselle Aubrey is better,'* she said; 
" but requires to be quiet a little while longer." 

" Ah 1 poor dear 1" exclaimed Miss Dunn, " I 
daresay she does." And she went on to Miss 
Bussell's room. I stood, half expecting to be 
called in by Mademoiselle's voice, but I was 
not; so merely putting Elizabeth's handker- 
chief in her hand, I turned away without saying 
a word. 



291 



CHAPTER XIV. 

"jlIY room was dark, but through the open 
■"-*- window I saw a pale starry sky. I went 
and leanedont. Ifelt in a fever,andthe fresh night 
air tempted me. I tried to think, but thought 
only frightened me. Grief and humiliation, if 
not for me, at least for one whom I loved, stood 
on either side of the only path open to her 
steps. Self-will had dug beneath her feet a pit 
in which she must now fall, and who could help 
her ? " Poor Elizabeth I" Mr. Herbert had said. 
Ay, poor Elizabeth indeed, if half of what I 
feared were true I Her fate, such as it was, 
was on its road — ^it was coming fast ; and with 
a beating heart I listened to the sounds of the 
night. Some distant clock struck ten; then 
there was a long pause; then a dog barked 



BESSIE. 295 

incessantly for ten minutes; then another 
silence followed, and at length I heard steps 
and voices coming np the road that led to Han- 
vil house. " This way, Harry," said my guard- 
ian ; a door clanged, then all was still. 

Then it was true, no false story, but an actual 
fact, the long-lost nephew, Mademoiselle's Harry, 
was below. I did not stir ; I did not feel that 
I was wanted in that family meeting. I re- 
mained where I was, looking at the night. It 
was calm again. The clock had no hour to tell, 
the dog had fallen asleep, the stars shone with 
that unchanging brightness of theirs which 
seems so cold to the impassioned heart of 
man. 

"Come weal, come woe, what is it to me?" 
each star seemed to say from its place in the 
eky; "I am bright, and I am eternal. Why 
should I vex myself with what goes on be- 
low r 

The sound of my door opening behind me, and 
a light which suddenly filled my room, made 
me turn round. It was Elizabeth. I suppose I 
looked startled, for she said softly : 



296 BESSIE. 

" Do not be afraid, Bessie, it is I." 

I went up to her; but she pointed to the 
window. I turned back and closed it, then came 
again to her. She put down the light which 
she held, and looked at me very earnestly. 

" Bessie," she said in a low tone, " you love 
me, I know you love me. Will you save me ? — 
you can." 

I did not ask her how I could save her. I 
flung my arms around her neck, and all the love 
in my heart arose to my lips. 

" Anything, Elizabeth, anything I" I said ; " I 
will do anything for you." 

" God bless you, my darling I Well, then, sit 
down and hear me." 

She still held my hand, and making me sit 
down on the edge of my bed, she sat down by 
me. 

^* You know what Mr. de Lusignan taxed me 
with this morning," she said. "Well, then, 
Bessie, it is true : I am not his son's widow ; 
but the guilt of the deceit be on the head of 
him who forced his name and his money upon 
me I I cannot undo what he has done without 



BESSIE. 297 

betraying my secret, and wild horses will not 
make me do that I" she added, with a short 
laugh. ** That secret, Bessie, only one human 
being can betray, and he is now below." 

*' Mr. de Lusignan's nephew," I said, looking 
at her — '* have you seen him ?" 

"No," she answered quietly, "I have not; 
but I listened at the head of the stairs, and I 
heard his voice in the hall ten minutes ago. I 
have the sort of memory which never forgets a 
voice, so I knew his at once. It is he, Bessie — 
as sure as you and I are sitting here, it is he." 

I looked at her again ; for as I sat thus by 
her side, I felt her shivering in every limb, but 
her self-command and her self-control were not 
gone. 

*' Mr. de Lusignan has just sent for me," she 
resumed. "I know his purpose, and I will 
defeat it, no matter at what cost, no matter 
how. He shall not conquer me — ^I say he shall 
not I And now, Bessie, what I want of you is 
this : go down, see this nephew of his, and give 
him this." — She put a slip of paper in my hand 
as she spoke. — *^ He must get this to-night," she 



298 BESSIE. 

continued, ** for I can guess what has passed, 
and what trap is lying open for me. Miss Rus- 
sell has beyond doubt asked this nephew of 
Mr. de Lusignan's to stay here for a day or so. 
Depend upon it, Bessie, he is to sleep here to- 
night; and though I have sent word that I 
am too unwell to go down, I shall have to meet 
him to-morrow, do what I can to avoid it ; and 
that is why I want you, my darling, to give 
him these few lines to-night — now — actually 
now. You can read them," she added, calmly, 
and mechanically I cast my eyes upon the 
paper and read : — 

" I was Mrs. Smith when we met last ; now I 
am here with my child as Mrs. Henry de Lusi- 
gnan, your cousin's widow. Keep my secret for 
me, and nothing — nothing in this world shall 
make me betray it." 

"And now you know how my fate lies in 
your hands," she continued. "That man has 
my secret ; he may not know that it is so, but 
he has ; arid, Bessie, I know enough of him to 
say that, unless taken by surprise, he will never 
betray me." 



BESSIE. 299 

I looked at her very sadly. 

" So you are not Mrs. Henry de Lusignan, 
after all ?" I exclaimed, with involuntary regret 
and reproach. ^^ Oh ! Elizabeth, will you not 
trust me ? Who are you ?" 

She turned her head away. 

** Bessie," she said, in a low tone, " the hard- 
est sting in my lot has been deceiving you ; I 
was driven to it — ^but oh 1 how often I longed 
to open my heart to you, and I could not — ^I 
could not 1 I cannot even now." 

« Never mind who you are I" I cried, with 
sudden emotion. "Whoever you may be, 
Elizabeth, I love you — I love you I" 

** And you will do what I ask you to do ?" 
ehe said, smiling down in my face. 

" Yes," I answered, smiling too, " I will do it." 

** To-night?" she said, coaxingly. 

" Perhaps I cannot do it to-night, Elizabeth," 
I replied, hesitatingly. 

" Then you will get up with dawn to-morrow 
— I shall waken you, if need be— and watch 
and give him that paper before I come down. 
I shall be ill, and come down late ; but, Bessie, 



3(X) B E S S I E « 

you must try to do it now — ^you must indeed.'* 

"But how 80, Elizabeth?" was the only ob- 
jection I ventured to make. I was wholly 
under her control, as ductile an instrument in 
her hands as she could wish me to be. " What 
shall I say if I go down now V* I asked, hesi- 
tatingly. 

"I have thought of that," she answered, 
coolly — she had thought of everything, as I 
found later, during the ten minutes that had 
passed since the arrival of Mr. de Lusignan's 
nephew. I have left my smelling-bottle below — 
I was using it for Mademoiselle, you know — and 
you can go and look for it, and if you say, Bes- 
sie, that I am ill, and require it, you will say the 
truth, and nothing but the truth." 

" But whcD I have found it I must come up 
agfidn," I argued, "and that may be imme- 
diately." 

" You may not find it at once," she replied, 
in a tranquil tone ; " besides, I daresay he will 
help you ; he will move at least — well, then, 
you can manage to be near him, and to slip the 
paper into bis hands." 



BESSIE. 301 

I was as frightened at this suggestion as if the 
purport of her words had not reached me be- 
fore. 

" Oh, Elizabeth I" I said, shrinking back terri- 
fied ; " how can I do that!" 

** If I could do it myself, would I ask yout" 
she replied. 

I remembered howshe had watched by my sick- 
bed, and I felt passive in her hands ; but surely 
her case must have been a desperate one indeed 
when she had to take such a step as this, and 
to rely on so poor an instrument as myself t I 
made no further remonstrance ; 1 thrust the paper 
she had given me into my pocket, and, rising, I 
went to the door. Elizabeth followed me, and 
when we stood together oh the threshold she 
pushed me back a little, and looked deep into 
my eyes. 

" Bessie," she said in a low tone, " remember 
that this is life and death to me." 

^'I shall remember it/' I said, and I went 
down. 

Once I was out of Elizabeth's sight, all the 
bravery I had felt to accomplish her errand left 



302 BESSIE. 

me, and terror took possesBion absolute of my 
whole being. How could I enter unbidden that 
room where my guardian and his long-lost ne- 
phew, where Mademoiselle and her darling were 
meeting again, sSter the cold hand of death him- 
self had seemed to part them ? How could I 
face a man who was a stranger to me, and put a 
written paper by stealth into his hand t It was 
impossible ! I must go and tell Elizabeth that 
it was impossible. I turned back, and went up 
several steps : then I paused, for her last words 
rang in my heart : ^^ Remember that this is life 
and death to me." 

Come what would, I must do her errand. I 
must at least attempt it. Abruptly, with a sort 
of despair, I opened the door of 'the drawing- 
room, where several voices were talking loud, 
and entered without knocking. My guardian, 
who stood with his back to me, turned round 
sharply, and a stranger — thin, pale, and worn, 
but with a broad brow, and the handsomest of 
dark eyes, looked at me from the depths of an 
arm-chair. By him sat Mademoiselle, and their 
hands were clasped ; Miss Dunn, and Miss Russell 



BESSIE. 303 

who had miraculously recovered from her head- 
ache, were also present ; but my heart fell when 
I saw that Mr. Herbert, on whom I had vaguely 
relied, was not there. 

Mr. de Lusignan's &ce darkened so visibly on 
seeing me that I stood still at the door, fright- 
ened out of all presence of mind. 

" Well, Bessie r he said. 

** Elizabeth has left her smelling-bottle here," 
I faltered, *' and she is qm'te unwell, and sent 
me for it." 

" I saw it in her hand when she went up," he 
said shortly. 

He was so evidently annoyed that I saw the 
stranger give him a look of slight surprise, which 
from him came to me, resting upon me with not 
unkind scrutiny. I could not myself help look- 
ing at this long-lost Harry with some emotion. 
He was, as I have said, a sallow, slender man, 
worn and thin, but with all the fire of youth in 
his eyes. 

" May I not look for it ?" I asked, scarcely 
knowing what I said. 

" I saw it in her hand when she went up with 



304 BESSIE. 

Mademoiselle Aubrey," answered my guardian ; 
" but you may look for it, of course." 

He came up to my side and stood by me 
whilst I looked on the table. Elizabeth's slip 
of paper was in my left hand ; with my right 
I moved the books, albums, and photographs. 
My errand was a hopeless one, and I knew 
it, but my mind was so absorbed with it 
that the discourse around me only reached 
me in confused fragments. "Blue moun- 
tains," " Lake Torrens," and " Natives," from 
the traveller; and the remark, more charac- 
teristic than elegant, "What a set of villains I" 
periodically uttered by Miss Russell, struck me 
most. I also gathered that Elizabeth's surmise 
was correct — ^Miss Russell had pressed her hos- 
pitality on the stranger, who had accepted it. 

" Well, Bessie," said my guardian, " do you 
think Elizabeth left her smelling-bottle here t" 

I replied in a low tone that I supposed not, 
and was turning to the door, when Mademoiselle 
called me back. 

"Mignonne," she said, drawing me to her 
side, " this is my Harry. I have not had time 



BESSIE. 305 

yet to talk to yon about Mignonne," she added, 
turning to him, ^'but if you do not know her, 
she knows you well, Harry." 

He smiled, and the smile, though brie^ lit 
his worn face with strange beauty. Oh, if I 
could have seen him alone and said a few words 
to him I How sure I felt that Elizabeth, who- 
ever she might be, would get mercy from him, 
and be safe in his hands I But as I stood before 
him, with every eye bent upon us, I was help- 
less and powerless, and could only listen to 
Mademoiselle, and, when she had done speaking, 
say that I must go back to Elizabeth, and leave 
the room with my errand unfulfilled. 

Elizabeth was waiting for me in my room, 
still sitting on the edge of my bed as I had left 
her. 

" You have feiled,'* she said. •* I knew you 
would ; but it was a desperate case, and now 
what shall I do T 

She buried her fiu^e in her hands. I thought 
she was crying, but when she looked up again 
there was the brightest smile on her fistce. 

*^ Come, Bessie, which is the better course/' 

VOL. m. X 



806 BESSIE. 

ahe said-^" to go away by the earliest train, or 
to keep my room with a bad attack of neural* 
gia ? I know he will not stay long here, and 
when he is gone I can defy Mr. de Lusignan." 

I was no adept in the art of deceit, and I 
could not advise Elizabeth. 1 believe she never 
even thought of my scruples. Heart, soul, mind, 
and every faculty were bent on escaping the 
present danger. She would have gone through 
£re and water, she would have risked her im- 
mortal soul ten times over, rather than be de- 
feated. 

'* Elizabeth," I suggested, " why not try to 
see that Mr. Heniy de Lusignan? Since he 
stays here he may not be so diflScult '* 

" Difficult 1" she interrupted with a bitter 
laugh, " take my word for it, Bessie, I shall 
have every opportunity to do so that Mr. de 
Lusignan can devise ; but do you think I will 
give him that opportunity of shaming me which 
he longs for? No-^he has forced this war upon 
me, and, I say it again, I will fight bravely to tHe 
last! And now," she added after awhile, "I 
can tell you what you are to do for me, Bessie. 



BESSIE. 307 

It will be very easy this time. Put the paper 
you have brought back inside an envelope, direct 
it to Mr. Henry de Lusignan, and take it early 
to-morrow morning to the post-office. It will 
be delivered to him in the course of the day^ 
and then/' she added with a sigh of relief ^' all 
will be well." 

'* Elizabeth, if you were to ask Mr. Herbert,"; 
I began hesitatingly. 

She rose and looked at me with flashing 
eyes. 

" Do you not see that I would not trust even 
you if I could help it I" she exclaimed, in a tone 
of BnppresBed passion, «knd you want me to 
bring Mr. Herbert into my counsel I Why not 
Miss Russell or Miss Dunn ? I assure you I care 
as much about them as I do about Mr. Her- 
bert." 

** And yet you would have married him 1" I 
said in a low tone. 

She turned dreadfully pale, and walked to the 
door ; I ran after her. 

'^ Elizabeth, I meant no harm," I said anxious- 
ly ; "do not mind what I said, but indeed you 

x2 



ha". 



lik- 

aii'l 
me, 
fait: 

80, \ 

crcn 

will 

call 

you 

beai' 

refu; 

roof, 
n(.}e<] 
in b' 
will 

I IK 

Budd 
faith 




BBSSIE. 309 

iength the real morning came, the real hour for 
^ing and doing the errand of Elizabeth. 

She did not come near me, as I had hoped she 
W'ould, if it were only to urge me on, as the spur 
^ajr urge the failing steed. She left me to my- 
self and to my own ingenuity, in order to accom- 
plish the task she had laid upon me. 

I had but one fear, because there was in truth 
but one danger, that of being met on my way 
to or from the post-office ; but fortune favoured 
me so far. I got out of the house unperceived. 
1 did not meet a soul either on my way to 
nanvil or on my return, and it was only as I 
was coming back through the garden, that 1 
was suddenly confronted by my guardian and 
his nephe\?v. 

You are out early. Miss Carr," said Mr. de 
Lusignan, with cold politeness. 

^tamttxered that the garden was so pleasant 
in the morning. 

Oh I <ielightful 1" he answered ironically; " do 
you kuow how Elizabeth is this morning!" he 
added abruptly. 

Trill 

'^^y thankful was I to be able to answer 



308 BESSIE. 

are wrong to treat Mr. Herbert 80. He is your 
true friend — he is indeed T 

^' I suppose so/* she answered, in a tone of 
supreme indifference ; ^^ but all this is mere waste 
of time. Will you do what I ask you to do, 
Bessie f " 

" You know I. will, Elizabeth," I said eagerly, 
glad that her anger should be over. 

*^Well, then, do it at once," she said im- 
patiently. 

It was soon done. Elizabeth put the paper she 
had written into an envelope, which I directed 
and placed on my table ready for the morning ; 
and Elizabeth giving it a grave, attentive look, 
thanked me coldly, and bidding me a good night, 
left me. 

Did I sleep that night ? It seems to me that 
I did not, and that its hours were spent in one 
feverish dream. I was always climbing one of 
the steep rocks in Fontainebleau, and just when 
I reached its summit breathless and weary, find- 
ing myself below again. Then I would waken 
disappointed and unrefreshed, to fall asleep once 
more, and climb that hopeless rock anew. At 



BESSIE. 309 

length the real morning came, the real hour for 
rising and doing the errand of Elizabeth. 

She did not come near me, as I had hoped she 
would, if it were only to urge me on, as the spur 
may urge the failing steed. She left me to my- 
self and to my own ingenuity, in order to accom- 
plish the task she had laid upon me. 

I had but one fear, because there was in truth 
but one danger, that of being met on my way 
to or from the post-office ; but fortune favoured 
me so far. I got out of the house unperceived. 
I did not meet a soul either on my way to 
Hanvil or on my return, and it was only as I 
was coming back through the garden, that 1 
was suddenly confronted by my guardian and 
his nephew. 

** You are out early. Miss Carr," said Mr. de 
Lusignan, with cold politeness. 

I stammered that the garden was so pleasant 
in the morning. 

" Oh 1 delightful 1" he answered ironically ; " do 
you know how Elizabeth is this morning f he 
added abruptly. 

Truly thankful was I to be able to answer 



310 BESSIE.. 

that I bad not seen her, and did not know. 

^^ Ah J to be isure," said Mr. de Lusignan, kickr 
ing a pebble with his foot, and smiling as he 
looked at the ground — " to be sure." 

And they went on. 

I stole up to the room of Elizabeth, and knock*^ 
ed at her door like a guilty thing. 

" Come in," said her voice. 

1 found her standing in the middle of the 
floor, pale and breathless, Uke one waiting her 
doom. 

" The letter is gone," 1 said. 

She breathed a deep sigh of relief and sat 
down. 

" He will get it to-day," she said, " and until ' 
he gets it I remain in my room, very poorly with 
neuralgia^^don't I, Bessie |" 

I did not answer. 

" Don't have any scruples," she said, with a 
curl of her lip. " I shall do it all myself. Per- 
haps you had better leave me," she added, a 
little impatiently: "people who have got neu- 
ralgia don't talk much, do they I" 

Thus dismissed, I. turned to the door. I bad 



B E S S I E . 311 

not reached it, when Elizabeth was behind me, 
with her two arms around my neck, and her 
cheek laid to mine. 

" God bless you I" she said softly, " and don't 
mind my horrid temper. I can't help it, Bes- 
sie, I can't ; the strain is too great — the trial is. 
too hard I" 

And laying her head on my shoulder, she 
sobbed there as if her heart would break. 

How could I be vexed with her ? — how 
could I even blame hert I could only love and 
pity, and feel the deepest tenderness Cor one so 
sorely tried. But she had asked me to leave 
her, and I felt it was well I should do so. I 
also felt relieved when her door closed on me, 
for Elizabeth lived in an atmosphere of untruth 
and mystery, which oppressed me strangely. I 
could pity, I could forgive, and 1 could love — 
but do what I would, I could not but blame in 
my heart. Elizabeth did not appear at the 
breakfast-table. Her neuralgia was so severe 
that she actually sent for a physician, who pre- 
scribed absolute repose. This bulletin came ai^ 
we were all sitting down to breakfast.. 



313 BESSIE. 

" Very unfortunate," drily said Mr. de Lusi- 
guan ; " you must stay until Elizabeth is well, 
Harry. You have seen the boy. He is like his 
poor father — ^is he notf 

^^ I think he is more like j^ou," replied his ne- 
phew. 

" You must see his mother too," resumed my 
guardian. ^^ She is a lovely woman — ^is she not, 
Miss Russell t" 

** Oh, very 1" answered Miss Russell ; " do tell 
me about these savages again, Mr. Harry — I 
must call you Mr. Harry, you know." 

^* But Mr. Henry de Lusignan has seen his 
cousin's widow I" began Miss Dunn, in tones of 
silver. 

My heart nearly failed me — ^Elizabeth's secret 
was lost — irrecoverably lostl but rescue came 
under the aspect of Miss Russell. 

** Oh 1 never mind," she said impatiently. " I 
want to hear about the savages." 

" Where did Harry see her f " sharply asked 
my guardian, turning on Miss Dunn, whilst his 
nephew looked suddenly interested, and also 
much surprised. 



BESSIE. 313 

" And I say I want to hear about the savages 1*' 
exclaimed Miss Russell, giving Miss Dunn an 
irate look, and tapping her saucer with her sil- 
ver spoon. " I wish you would not imagine or 
invent such absurdities, Dunn I" 

I had often admired the empire which Miss 
Dunn exercised over her capricious mistress, but 
it was a suggestive empire rather than an em- 
pire absolute. To my Rurprise she now unsaid 
her own words with perfect readiness. 

^ Ah, to be sure," she said, '* what a mistake ! 
I was thinking of Mr. Eeed." 

**0f course you were," pettishly said Miss 
Russell, who had not put by her headache and 
come down to breakfast in order to hear family 
matters discussed. '* And now do let me hear 
about these savages," she added, with an im- 
ploring, pathetic tone. " I adore savages — Feni- 
more Cooper's are such dears — are they not. 
Mademoiselle Aubrey t" 

Mademoiselle's voice shook a little as she an- 
swered : 

^^ Miss Russell, will you kindly wait to hear 
Harry's adventures until I can leave the room ? 



314 BESSIE. 

I feel I cannot bear to hear of his sufferings 
yet. I know it is very weak of me, but I can- 
not help it — ^indeed I cannot 1" 

" But since he is alive and well f " urged Miss 
Russell, who looked very blank. 

Harry de Lusignan, without giving Made- 
moiselle time to reply, said quietly : 

" I am afraid I cannot gratify you this morn- 
ing, Miss Russell. My story is a long one, and 
I must leave you this afternoon ; and there are, 
Jbesides, circumstances connected with my cap- 
tivity into which I cannot yet enter very fully." 
Miss Russell looked remarkably cross on hear- 
ing this, and took her breakfast in sulky silence. 
Xhe meal indeed was a silent one, and we all 
dispersed when it was over. Miss Russell was 
wheeled to the Chinese pavilion, where she was 
attended by Miss Dunn. My guardian and hi^ 
nephew walked up and down the terrace talk- 
ing earnestly, and Mademoiselle sat down in 
a chair by the window, feasting her eyes with 
the sight of her Harry. 

I suppose hers was pure perfect happiness, 
for though unconscious tears filled her eyee, she 



BESSIE. 315 

dmiled all the time as her hand bfushed them 
away. I thought she was not aware of mypre^ 
sence, but she waB, for without turning round or 
averting her happy eyes, she said to me : 

^^Mignonne, I now understand the meaning 
of Simeon's * Nunc Dimittis.' It is happiness to 
go when a great joy has come, for after that can 
only come sorrow. The aged prophet was glad 
because be had beheld the salvation of Israel, 
but he did not ask to see the Passion and the 
Gross, that were to be its fulfilment. So do I feel. 
This joy is enough for me ; I dare not ask for 
more, lest gladness should close in sorrow.** 

She bowed her head, and the tears fell over 
her clasped hands. I went up to her and clasp- 
ed my hands around her neck, and, without look- 
ing at her, I whispered : 

" Dear Mademoiselle, you will never be angry 
with me, will you V^ 

She seemed to know what I meant, for, with- 
out questioning me, she replied quietly : 

*' No, Mignonne, it was too hard a trial for 
you." 

She did not, could not know how hard it was I 



316 BESSIE. 

My gaardian aad his nephew were still walking 
up and down the terrace ; just as they reached 
the window in which we sat, a servant came up 
to them, handed three letters on a plate to my 
guardian, and gave his nephew — none. My 
heart gave a great leap in my bosom. I was in 
agonies I My letter, Elizabeth's fate, lay in 
the hands of her enemy I How had we not 
thought that sifnilarity of name might lead to 
so easy a mistake f My guardian put down two 
of the letters on a vase of scarlet geraniums by 
him, broke the seal of the one he held, and read 
it slowly. His nephew, to leave him freer, walked 
down the terrace ; and Mademoiselle, leaving me, 
went out and joined him. I took up a news- 
paper and pretended to read the advertisements, 
but all the time I was looking furtively at Mr. 
de Lusignan* The letter he was reading was 
too long a one to be mine ; but when he had 
finished it and put it into his pocket, and took 
up the second letter, my heart sank again, and I 
had a mind to run away. I did not — one never 
does, there is ever something that tempts one 
on to one's fate, just as the precipice tempts the 



BESSIE. 317 

wretch half hanging over it.* The second letter 
was soon read, and the third taken up ; this, then, 
was mine. Mr. de Losignan looked at it, then 
raising his voice, said quietly : 

" This is for you, Harry." 

His nephew turned round, and seeing the 
letter in his uncle's outstretched hand, came and 
took it with a surprised air ; then, to my infinite 
relief, put it into his pocket and turned back to 
Mademoiselle, with whom he soon walked down 
a garden path. I had forgotten my guardian in 
looking at them, but as they vanished, and I 
turned back, I found him looking steadily at me. 
I returned the look with a sort of fascination ; 
and beckoning to me, Mr. de Lusignan signed me 
to go out and join him. I obeyed, more dead 
than alive. 

" Come with me," he said. 

He took me no farther than the first flower- 
bed, but far enough for us to be out of earshot. 
When we had reached it, he stood still and said 
coldly : 

" You have done a wrong thing. Miss Carr, 
but you may tell your friend that it is a useless 



818 B E S S I E . 

thing. She will never make my nephew her 
accomplice." With these words he left me. 

I stood for a while like one rooted to the 
spot, then I walked on straight before me, feelr 
ing that I could not meet Elizabeth. I had not 
walked tea minutes before I found myself close 
to the Ghiiiese pavilion, where Miss Dunn sat 
reading the paper to Miss Russell. By what 
magic did Miss Dunn already know that the 
traveller had received a letter, and why did she 
choose me as the very person to whom she felt 
bound to express her wonder on that subject ? 
" So odd that anyone should know Mr. Henry 
de Lusignan was here, you know I For it came 
by post." Luckily Miss Russell was in the mood 
for contradiction, for with a very sharp ** Nonr 
sense, it came from Mr. Herbert, of course,'^ 
she attempted to dismiss the subject. 

But Mis6 Dunn was pertinacious, " I thought 
you know that Mr. Herbert would have sent a 
servant round with a note, and would never 
have sent it by post, you know." 

My agonies increased with every word she 
uttered, for oh ! how had. we never thought of 



BESSIE; 319 

these plain objections. But again, to my infinite 
relief, Miss Russell declared that Mr. Herbert 
would never send a note by a servant, who would 
be sure to get tipsy ; and that he would, on the 
contrary, have it posted, as the post was the 
only safe and rational means of conveying let- 
ters. Miss Dunn did . not look beaten, and I 
hurried away before she had found out any new 
fact or argument wherewith to worry me. Less" 
than ever could I face Elizabeth ; indeed I want- 
ed to face no one, and went tp the orchard for 
solitude. . 

It was very quiet and very lonely. I went to 
a remote spot, where low apple-trees shed a cool 
green shade on the high grass, and I sat down 
there, feeling oppressed with fear and care. The 
.keeping of this secret of Elizabeth's was too 
much for me. I was not trusted, and yet I felt 
both miserable and guilty. Oh I if I could only 
lay my weary burden on Mr. Herbert, and piit it 
by for awhile I If I could only go to him in my 
trouble and tell him : " Carry this for me — ^it is 
too heavy, and I cannot bear it. Do it, for you 
are strong, and I am weak." 



320 BESSIE. 

For he was strong, I saw it now, stronger 
than I had imagined. He had guessed the secret 
of Elizabeth in Fontaineblean, and mastered his 
love on the knowledge with strange power in a 
man so young. He had felt that she should not 
be his, and had turned his heart away from her 
with mexorable firmness. They had met again, 
and passion had not resumed her empire, for 
hers had been the true death, and not the lull 
which leads to the saddest falls, as resting on 
the deepest error. 

And so my thoughts wandered away, and 
were leading me very far indeed, far firom Eliza- 
beth and her troubles, when the sound of a 
step aroused me. I looked up, and saw Harry 
de Lusignan coming up the path, and walking 
slowly in its chequered shade and sunshine. He 
was alone ; he was smoking a cigar, and he held 
my letter in his hand. Again he looked at it 
curiously ; then he sat down on a bench beneath 
a tall pear-tree, tore the envelope open, let it 
fall carelessly to the ground, and read the slip 
of paper I had placed within it. 

I held my breath. I was all eyes, all vision. 



BESSIE. 321 

and all sense to read the meaning of his face. 
It told me nothing. He was unconscious of my 
presence, yet not one of the muscles of his coun- 
tenance moved, his lids did not quiver, his 
colour did not come or go, but he sat there 
gazing straight before him. After a while he 
rose, picked up the envelope without looking at 
it, then walked away. He paused not far from 
the spot where I still sat, but he never saw 
me. 



VOL. in. 



322 



CHAPTER XV. 

TNEXPRESSIBLE relief invaded my whole 
-^ being. Elizabeth was safe at last. I could 
not doubt it. I had seen it with my own eyes. 
Harry de Lusignan had read those few lines, 
which were to save her from cruel humiliation. 
I must go and tell her. I ran away light of 
foot and light of heart, and only slackened my 
speed when I reached the house, but I met none 
of the faces I feared to encounter. My guardian, 
Mademoiselle, Miss Dunn, were invisible. My 
only perplexity now was what I should say, or 
how much I should say, to Elizabeth. I entered 
my room to solve the question, and found a 
letter lying on the table. It was only an enve- 
lope, inside of which Elizabeth had written : 
"Come to me, I can bear this no longer! 
Come in without knocking." 



BESSIE. 323 

1 went at once. I found Elizabeth lying dressed 
on her bed, in a darkened room. She did not 
stir when I came in, and it was only when clos- 
ing the door I said, ^* It is I, Elizabeth," that she 
sat up, and uncovering her face, exclaimed in a 
low tone, 

« Well r 

Never shall I forget her aspect I The darken- 
ed room and the crimson curtains may have 
added to the pallor of her countenance, but they 
cannot have given it that look of breathless 
pain, which scarcely passed away when I an- 
swered, " It is all right; he has read it." 

" He has read it," she repeated mechanically ; 
and sinking back on her pillow, she turned her 
face to the wall. 

I stood at the foot of her bed, silent and per- 
plexed. Should I tell her more than this, 
though she did not question? Whilst I was 
deliberating, Fate decided the matter, under the 
aspect of Miss Dunn, who entered the room. 

She cannot have knocked, or, standing still as 
I was, I must have heard her ; yet, with her im- 
perturbable coolness, she said : 

y2 



324 BESSIE. 

♦* I scarcely dared to come in, yet being au- 
thorized by you, Miss Carr, I thought I might 
venture/' 

Elizabeth never moved, but I turned round 
and looked at Miss Dunn with a scepticism I did 
not attempt to disguise. 

•' You are mistaken,** I said coldly. " I did 
not know you were coming in." 

" Oh I indeed. I am so sorry. Well, I am 
not going to worry poor Mrs. Henry, you know 
she seems so poorly. I came up to tell you. 
Miss Carr, that Mr.* de Lusignan wants you. 
His nephew is going away at once, and not 
finding you in your room I came here. I thought 
his cousin's widow might like to see him before 
he left, you know." 

" Are you sure he is going away, Miss Dunn ?" 
I asked, much surprised. 

" Yes, he has just got a letter, you know, and 
it seems he must go at once. He looks in a 
dreadful way, and Mr. de Lusignan is exasper- 
ated, and Mademoiselle sadly cut up I And I 
really am afraid this great Australian traveller 
has a temper. Poor little Harry ran up to him, 



BESSIE. • 325 

poor child, and he scowled at the boy and 
pushed him away, and I thought, if Mrs. Henry 
would try to come down, it might mend matters." 

'' Bessie," here said the voice of Elizabeth in 
a whisper. 

I went up to the head of her bed and bent 
over her. 

" Don't let her worry me so," she whispered 
in my ear ; " take her away!" 

" I believe we must both leave Mrs. Henry de 
Lusignan," I remarked, turning back to Miss 
Dunn. 

'^ Ah, I suppose BO," she said, with as much 
complacency as if I were giving her a piece of 
good news. I saw she would not go unless I 
did, so I turned to the door, and opening it for 
her to pass first, I followed her out. She was 
going down stairs, and I thought it best to go 
down with her. All the way down Miss Dunn 
deplored Mrs. Henry's neuralgia, and wondered 
if some drops which she had would not be effi- 
cacious in her case. She had gone up with the in- 
tention of proposing them, but had unaccount- 
ably forgotten to do so. And so she chatted on. 



326 BESSIE 

tormenting me so that I wonld have given any- 
thing to escape her, but not releasing me one 
second. 

^^They are not in the drawing-room," she 
said, as I was going to enter ; ^ they are all in 
the garden with Miss JEtnsselL I shall take yon 
to the spot.** 

I groaned at Miss Dunn's officionsnessybut, to 
do her justice, she had a purpose in sticking close 
to me, which she discovered after we had walk- 
ed five mmutee side by side. 

'^ Nerves are the oddest things/' she said ; 
'* and I think my drops are excellent ; but that 
counter-stimulant is the best of all remedies. I 
don't mind teUing you," she added, laughing in 
my fitce, ** that I exaggerated a little, in order 
to rouse poor Mrs. Henry. Miss Russell sent 
me in for her fan, and so I thought I would try 
a counterHstimulant on Mrs. Henry. I find it 
wonderful at times on Miss Russell," she added, 
with rare coolness. 

1 stood still and looked at her. 

''Then Mr. de Lusiguan's nephew is not 
going away I" I exclaimed. 



BESSIE. 327 

" Well, you know, he said he was going to- 
day/' she replied smiling. 

*^ But Mr. de Lusignan did not send for me," 
I persisted. 

** He asked if I knew where you were,*' an- 
swered Miss Dunn, with great tranquillity. 

" In short, all you said upstairs was inven- 
tion 1" I cried, fairly exasperated. 

" Oh I dear, what a uncivilized word I" said 
Miss Dunn, still smiling. " Tou are not going 
away. Miss Carr ? " 

" Yes, I am," I answered indignantly ; " since 
Mr. de Lusignan did not send for me, I have 
no wish to go to him now." 

And without deigning to give this arrant 
deceiver a look, I walked back to the house. I 
thought it but right to go and tell Elizabeth 
that there was not one word of truth in all that 
Miss Dunn had been saying, for the kind pur- 
pose of curing her neuralgia by a counter-stim- 
ulant. But who says that evil has not its day 
and its hour? This petty and mean artifice of 
Miss Dunn's, so shallow that she did not even 
attempt to hide it, accomplished the object she 



328 BESSIE. 

had in view, as surely as if it had been a deeply 
laid plan. 

When I reached the room of Elizabeth, her 
bed was empty, ahe was gone — gone to meet 
the snare — gone to fall into the pit dug beneath 
her feet. I hurried down stairs again, thinking 
to overtake her; but I had missed her coming in, 
and when, hastening through the garden, I reach- 
ed the spot to which Miss Dunn was leading 
me, I saw Elizabeth, who must have taken a 
short cut by walking through the flower-beds, 
coming towards the group gathered round the 
Chinese pavilion. Miss Russell, in her yellow 
chair, and Miss Dunn were in the deepest and 
coolest part of the little building. Mademoiselle 
sat near the door, and Mr. de Lusignan and his 
nephew stood outside in the shade. Elizabeth 
paused as she reached them. She was pale as 
death, but perfectly calm. She was fully dress- 
ed, and wore her hat as if she wanted to take a 
morning walk. 

'' I am glad you made the effort, Elizabeth," 
said Mr. de Lusignan, looking first at her, then 
at his nephew. 



BESSIE. 329 

His voice waa cold as ice and hard as steel. I 
felt faint and sick Mrith terror at what was 
coming; for that it was coming at last, I 
knew. 

" Come in here to us, Mrs. Henry," cried Miss 
Russell from Mrithin, and her dark face looked 
out through the window, '*it is so cool in 
here." 

Elizabeth did not answer. I do not think 
she heard, and I am sure she did not see Miss 
Russell. 

"I believe you are strangers," resumed Mr. 
de Lusignan ; then, after a pause, ^^ Elizabeth, 
allow me to introduce my nephew to you." 

Harry bowed gravely ; Elizabeth looked dvil, 
but distant ; then leaning against the tall pedes- 
tal of one of the two stone vases which stood on 
either side of the door, she looked at the silver 
stars which spangled her black £in. She seem- 
ed very calm, as I said, but I could see her bosom 
heaving under her hice Jichu. 

^VAnd this is my grandson," said Mr. de 
Lusignan, as little Harry went bounding by. 

Eli2sabeth raised her eyes ; they gave Mr. de 



330 BESSIE. 

Lusignan a flashing glance of defiance ; then she 
bent them again on her fan. 

** A fine boy," said his nephew, but he never 
looked at the child. 

'^ Yon will be sure to get jour neuralgia back 
again if you stay out there," said Miss Buesell, 
again thrusting her head out of the window. 

" Harry, you are going to-day, you say ; be- 
fore you go, be arbiter between your cousin's 
widow and me," said Mr. de Lusignan. '* If this 
boy's mother, being still so young, must needs 
change her name and go to another home, 
should not, in common justice, the boy stay with 
me?" 

I saw Elizabeth biting her pale lips, but she 
said not a word. Harry, however, showed some 
emotion. 

^* And is this event so imminent ?" he asked 
huskily. 

" It seemed to be so yesterday," replied Mr. 
de Lusignan, looking at Elizabeth. 

She remained in the same attitude, leaning 
against the pedestal, and still toying with her 
fan, but otherwise as immovable as a martyr at 



BESSIE. 331 

the stake. Harry raised his eyes to her face, 
and looked at her steadily ; then turned them 
away and only said : 

"In— deed 1'' 

*• Surely you see no objection to it," said his 
uncle, with a bitter laugh ; " time passes over 
every grief, and young and beautiful widows 
will be admired and have their chance of wooers ; 
but a woman might go farther and fare worse 
than with Mr. Gray." 

"Indeed!" said Harry, looking at Elizabeth 
again. 

Death is not paler than her face was then. 

"Yes, indeed," said my guardian, laughing 
again^ though the veins in his forehead were 
thick and swollen with passion. "Tou seem 
amazed, Harry, instead of wishing all happiness 
to the bride." 

His nephew neither answered nor seemed to 
heed him. 

" Elizabeth," he said. 

She looked at him without stirring. 

" Come here," he added gently. She went up 
to him ; he took her hand and drew her to his 



332 BESSIE. 



side, and said tenderly, " How could you doubt 
me r 

She did not answer, but clasped her two arms 
around his neck, and laying her head on his 
shoulder, she said, " At last, at last 1 " 

" Uncle," said Harry, looking up in Mr. de 
Lusignan's face, "why have you done this? 
Elizabeth is my wife, and it seems that you 
know it. Then why did you not say to me last 
night, the wife whom you are seeking, the child 
of whose very existence you are ignorant, are 
both here under my roof? Why did you not 
even give me time to tell you the truth when I 
learned it an hour ago. Did you think I wished 
to cheat you? Above all, why have you been 
so needlessly cruel to her ? Uncle, I find it hard 
to forgive you ?" 

" You find it hard," cried Mr. de Lusignan, 
all his pent-up passion breaking forth; "will 
you tell me what I must feel ? I who, for the 
last year, have been cheated into believing this 
woman my son's widow, and her child his child, 
when a word would have undeceived me. Last 
night when we knew you were coming, when 



BESSIE. 333 

we guessed at last who and what she was, your 
friend — " his handpointed to Mademoiselle — "did 
all she could to make her confess, and she fail- 
ed. Your wife, since she is your wife, had grown 
hardened in her sin, and would confess no- 
thing — nothing. Why so ? Would she not 
have been dear to us, for your sake? Should 
I have not loved your boy, Harry ?" 

" The sin is mine," he answered, colouring 
deeply. "When I pledged myself to go out with 
O'Donnell, I was not married, for he would have 
none but single men, as perhaps you know. The 
expedition was abandoned, then taken up again, 
but in the interval Elizabeth had become my 
wife. If I had acknowledged our marriage the 
world would have said : He married because the 
expedition is one of great danger, and his heart 
failed him at the eleventh hour. Elizabeth 
sacrificed her liberty — she risked her fair name, 
to save my honour from doubt. She did what 
not a woman in a thousand would have done. 
She let me go, and never tried to keep me^ by 
telling me of my unborn child." 

'* I agree with you," angrily said Mr. de Lu- 



334 BESSIE. 

signan ; ** not a woman in a thousand woold 
have done it — not a woman in a thousand would, 
whilst by no means sure of her first husband's 
death, think of a second." 

^^ Uncle," said Harry, with strange gentleness, 
^'passion blinds you. Tou are attempting a 
cruel thing— -thank Grod that it is an impossible 
thing. Neither you nor anyone else in the wide 
world can shake my faith in the love of this wo- 
man. It is no use," he added, with a triumph- 
ant smile, '^ she would have died ten times ra- 
ther have betrayed my secret, and let a stain 
fall on my honour I And yet I was thought 
dead, and, as you say, she thought me dead. As 
to Mr. Gray, Elizabeth would never have mar- 
ried him." 

^' And I say she would have married him in a 
week," interrupted Mr. de Lusignan. 

*' She would never have married him I" con- 
fidently resumed his nephew. "At the 
eleventh hour, at the foot of the altar, she would 
have said * No,' or run away, or done something 
or other ; but she would never have been his 
wife." 



BESSIE. 335 

As he said this Elizabeth raised her face from 
his shoulder, and, looking up him, laughed 
silently, 

" And now," said Harry, with a sigh, " for the 
second time we part. It is your doing, not 
mine. I would gladly have rested awhile with 
you, but how can I ? I must go and take away 
my wife and my child from your keeping." 

Mr. de Lusignan did not answer. He listen- 
ed with a moody face to the joyous shouting of 
HaiTy, who was playing somewhere near us, 
unconscious of the drama going on close by. 
That boy was not his grandson, and he had 
known it for some time ; but he had not been able 
to tear him from his heart. He had made the 
attempt, as I had seen, and he had &iled« He 
loved him still, and could not help loving him. 
And now the child that was not his, must go 
from him for ever away, with his resentful and 
surely much-injured mother. 

" Elizabeth," said Harry, looking down at his 
wife. 

" You will not go at once," said Mr. de Lusi- 
gnau, huskily. 



S36 BESSIE. 

Harry looked at his wife again. 

" Not a moment, not a second 1" she cried im- 
petuously ; and turning round, she called in her 
cFear voice : 

" Harry, Harry, come here 1" 

The boy was invisible, but at her call he came 
running. He rushed towards us, flushed and 
breathless. 

" Oh, grandpa 1" he shouted, " I've got a bird 
— I've got a bird 1" 

He stood before us with the anxious head of 
the little prisoner peeping out of his hand, its 
black, bead-like eyes moving restlessly. 

"Let the bird go," said Mr. de Lusignan. 
His tone was so strange that the boy obeyed 
mechanically. He opened his hand ; with a cry 
of surprise and joy the bird escaped, wheeled 
round, then flew away on joyous wing to happy 
liberty. 

" Oh, grandpa ! " exclaimed Harry, much dis- 
mayed, "it gone — ^it gone 1" 

Mr. de Lusignan said not a word. He took 
up the boy, kissed him very softly, then walked 
away, without giving any of us a look. The 



BESSIE. 337 

tears were flowing down Mademoiselle's pale 
cheeks, for Harry and Elizabeth had gone up to 
her chair and stood arm in arm before her. 

" God bless you, Harry I" she said. 

Elizabeth slipped her arm from her husband's, 
and kneeling on the floor of the pavilion, pass- 
ed her two arms around Mademoiselle. 

" I would have told you," she said, " but it 
was his secret, not mine." 

Mademoiselle stooped and kissed her very 
fondly, but she did not speak. 

" We are going to London," said Harry ; " can 
we not see you there!" 

Elizabeth took her husband's arm, and moved 
on, and her eyes did not once fall upon me I I 
could not bear this. I sprang towards her. I 
clasped my arms around her neck. 

** Elizabeth, Elizabeth 1 " was all I could say. 

" Good-bye, my darling," she said very tender- 
ly, and she kissed me again and again. 

« Good-bye 1" I echoed. « Oh, Elizabeth, shall 
we never meet again — never I" 

" Good-bye," she repeated, and kissed me 
again more kindly than before ; then leaning on 

VOL. III. Z 



338 BESSIE. 

her husband's arm, and taking her child by the 
hand, she walked away. Mademoiselle rose and 
followed them slowly, whilst I stood looking 
after them, nearly blinded by teiars. 

" Brown — ^where is Brown !" cried Miss Rus- 
sell's irate voice from inside the pavilion. *^ Wheel 
me out, Miss Dunn I" 

"Yes, dear," sweetly answered Miss Dunn, 
" only don't put yourself out." 

"I will 1" cried Miss Russell, still wrathfal. "Do 
you call that civility, visitors who come to your 
house to have their tantrums out ; and who no 
more mind you when talking than if you were a 
stock or a stone ? Did I not tell that Mrs. Harry 
to come in here, on account of her neuralgia, 
and did she even so much as answer me !" 

« Very uncivil," murmured Miss Dunn, wheel- 
ing out the yellow chair ; and as it went by 
me, Miss Russell, giving me a look of defiance^ 
exclaimed, at the pitch of her voice, 

" m have no more visitors, with their flounces 
and their bounces, I can tell you 1 I'll have no 
more visitors 1" 

I am sorry to have to record such vulgar 



BESSIE. 339 

words, but you see Miss Russell was a vulgar 
woman, and being a rich one, laid no sort of 
restraint on her temper. I wonder how I re- 
membered what she said, for my heart was very 
full, so fall that I was not aware of Mr. Her- 
bert till he stood by my side. I suppose he had 
met Elizabeth and her husband, for he said to 
me, " You are crying, Bessie ; well, cry, it will do 
you good, for you have seen your last of Eliza- 
beth." 

His voice was so gentle, his look was so kind, 
that I turned to him with involuntary emotion. 
He asked for no pledge, and I gave him none — 
but I was his from that moment, and he knew it. 

* m * * * * 

That same afternoon my guardian left Hanvil. 
Before he went away he said to me : 

*^ You shall have your way this time, Bessie." 

" My way, sir I" 

"Well, Mr. Herbert's way then," he replied 
impatiently. " Mademoiselle will see to all that.'' 

This was our parting. Mr. de Lusignan ap- 
peared again on my wedding-day, then vanished 
for years ; but he gave me dear Mademoiselle, 



340 BESSIE. 

and I did not miss him much. Through her, and 
only through her, Mr. Herbert and I heard of 
Elizabeth and her husband. I need not tell 
here the story of Harry de Lusignan. He has 
written it himself in pages never to be forgotten. 
Simply and modestly he has told that wonder- 
ful tale of adventure, and suffering, and treachery, 
and late atonement, which thrilled through every 
heart in the land ; but let none seek for the name 
of Elizabeth in that book. What she bore for 
his sake, how she would have perished rather 
than have confessed the secret which she had 
guarded so bravely and so long, and how, even 
when all could read through the cobweb, she 
fought as bravely for it as if it had been the 
darkest shroud of mystery, her husband has 
never tojd; the sin he has forgiven, and the 
love he remembers still. What more shall I 
tell ? Why, that Mr. Gray slipped through Miss 
Dunn's fingers after all, and that Miss Russell is 
the same as ever, and that Polly is very good. 
As for me, I am a happy woman — need I say 
more? 

THE END. 



13, Gbbat Mablborouoh Street. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKEITS 

LIST OF NEW WORKS. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE 

AND ENGLAND. ByLADTOLKBfENTiNADAViBS. 2 vols. 21b. 

Among nnmeroriB other diBtingaiahed peraons referred to in this work are : — Louis 
XVI, Marie Antoinette, Loaia XVin, the Dachease D'Angonleme, Napoleon I, 
the Empress Josephine, Queen Hortense, Charles X, Louis Philippe, the Duke 
and Duchess de Berry, the Count de Chambord, the Emperor Alexander, King 
Frederic William, Prince Talleyrand, Prince Esterhazy, Blucher, Key, Soult, 
Fouch^ the Polignacs, Talma, Napoleon III, the Empress Eugenie, the Due 
de Momy, Count d'Orsay, Victor Hugo, Gtoorge IV, Queen Caroline, Prince 
Leopold, the Princess Charlotte, the Duke of York, the Duke of Wellington, 
Lord Byron, Sir Walter Scott, Sir H. Davy, Tom Moore, Mr. Barham, Mrs. Sid- 
dons, the Eembles, Mr& Jordan, Miss Stephens, Mlla Mars, Madame Catalan!, 
Mile. Bachel, the Countess Gniccioli, Lady Cork, Lady Bleesington, Ac 



** To every class of readers. Lady Clementina Davies's work will prove deeply 
interesting. As a book of anecdotes the volumes will be perused with avidity. 
Throughout the * BecoUections ' we trace tiie hand of an artist, one whose power 
and talents are of the highest order, and who has the faculty of bringing before 
the reader the most striking incidents of the present century in France and Eng- 
land, thus combining the functions of the historian and the biographer with those 
of the delineator of life as it exists. The style throughout is terse and lively ; it 
abounds with graphic descriptions, and there is an earnestness and a pathos when 
the authoress flies from gay to grave subjects that touches the heart Witness the 
account of Josephine's sanctuary at Malmaison, and the dying hours of the ill-fated 
Due de Berri. The lovers of history will be amply repaid by poring over the last 
days of Marie Antoinette at Versailles ; the restoration of Louis XVIII. to the throne 
of his ancestors ; the escape of Nai)oleon from Elba ; and the Chup cTEtat. The man 
about town will revel in those scenes in which Count D'Orsay, Byron, the poet 
Moore, Lord Petersham, and Sir Charles Wetherall took prominent parts. The pa- 
trons of the drama will have Catalanl, Mrs. Jordan, John Eemble, the stately Sid- 
dons, Talma, Mdlla Georges, Mdlle. Mars. Mdlle. Dnchesnois, Miss Stephens, again 
brought upon the scene ; the gossips will take in with avidity the small-talk of 
London society, the elopement at Paris; the eccentricities of Lady Cork,; in addition 
to the above we have anecdotes of Walter Scott, Lord Fife, the Prince Regent, the 
Emperor of Russia. King of Prussia, Louis Philippe, Dnchesse d*Orleans, the Bour- 
bons, Talleyrand, Napoleon L and IIL, Soult, Wellington, Esterhazy, and M. Thiers. 
Ko book of reminiscences, with perhaps one or two exceptions, has left upon us so 

E leasing an impression as the work under our notice, and which at once stamps 
ady Clementina as a most agreeable and clever authoress." — Court Journal. 

** A book worth reading.*' — Examiner. 

** This truly amusing book is thoroughly rich tn relation to well-known and highly 
important persons that played no tmimportant part upon the stage of life during 
the end of the past and also during the present century. The work is as genial as 
it is comprehensive, and as full of information as it is of wit" — Meumger. 

** Lady Clementina Davies's Recollections is a book likely to attract much atten- 
tion. She writes in a pleasant, easy style." — iSEoot«77ian. 

"A singularly interesting and amusing work, full of anecdote, gossip, and life, 
and giving a whole series of pictures of Paris and London, in a sul&ciently exciting 
epocL The entire record is full of entertainment" — Sunday Tima. 

" Living as she has done for considerably more than half a century in the very 
highest circles both here and on the Continent, Lady Clementina Da vies has a very 
wide field to draw on for her social * RecoUectiona* There is much in her book 
that is worth reading, as interesting, or curious, or amusing in some way or ano^ 
tiier.''-i-06Mroer. 



18, Gbbat Mablbqiouoh Stbbr. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 

NEW WOUKS— Continued. 



THE SWITZERS. By W. Hepworth Dixon. 

Anthor of "New America,'* "Free Rnasia," "Her Majesty*' 
Tower," Ac. Third Edition. 1 toL demy 8to. 15b. 

CoRBRS :— MoontaiB M«ii ; St Gothard ; Peopling the Alps ; The Fight for Life ; 
Bain and Boeks ; Teuton and Celt; The Commtmes ; Commnnal AattioritieB ; 
Commanal Government; Gmtona and Half Cantcms; Cantonal Bole; Canton 
ZBrich; Pore Democracy; A Bevofaition; Popular Victories; The League; 
The Federal Pact; Jesuits; Pilgrimage; Conrentand Canton; St Meinrad'a 
Cell ; Feast of the Bosary ; Last of the Benedictines; Conflict of the Churches ; 
School ; Democracy at School ; QencTS ; Scheme of Work ; Secondary Schools ; 
School and Camp; Defence; The Public Force; In the Field; Out Again; A 
drowning Service. 



**Tum where we will there is the same impassioned eloquence, the same lavish 
wealth of metaphor, the same rigour of declamation, tiie same general glow upon 
the pagea Switzerland may be hackneyed as a country, yet there is freshness in 
Mr. Dixon's subjecta Mr. Dixon throws a passing glance at the snow peaks and 
glacier fields that are the Switzerland of the tourist If he deals with the grand 
catastrophes of nature, with avalanche, flood, and storm, it is in their relation 
to tfie victims of the elements, for his topics are the people and their institutions. 
We assent entirely to the parable of his preface." — Timet. 

** A lively, interestii^, and altogether novel book on Switzerland. It is full of 
Tsluable information on social, political, and ecclesiastical questions, and, like all 
Mr. Dixon's books, it is eminently readable.*'— 2>at7|/ Neat. 

** We advise every one who cares for good literature to get a copy of this brilliant, 
ttorel, and abundantly instructive account of the Switzera. The composition of the 
book is in the very best style." — Morning PotL 

"A work of real and abiding value Mr. Dixon has never painted with more 
force and truth. His descriptions are accurate, impartial, and clear. We mlbst 
cordially recommend the book." — Standard. 

** A most interesting and useful work ; especially well timed when the questions 
of military organisation and primary education occupy so large a share of public 
attention. There is that happy fusion of the picturesque and the practical hi Mr. 
Dixon's works which gives especially to tfie present book its great charm. It has 
at once the graphic interest of a romance, and the sterling value of an educational 
essay."— Ztotiy Tiiegraph. 

** Mr. Dixon has succeeded in giving the public a very inviting book. The reader 
rises from it with the pleasant ooDBclonsness of having acquired useful information 
without fatigue, and of having been as much Interested by solid truth as if it wers 
fiction meant only to amuse."— i?c^. 

" Any respectable book on the Switzers and Switzerland is welcome to lovers of 
the land and the people, and we trust that Mr. Dixon's volume will be read tn Swit- 
zerland as well as ioi England." — Athenxwn. 

** Mr. Dixon's book contains much readable and instructive matter." — Examiner. 

" A writer of much dramatic and descriptire power, and one who knows his way 
to trustwort;hy sources of information, Mr. Dixon has given a clever and instructive 
sketch of die salient features of the confederation. All who know the playground 
of Europe will thank tiie writer for so clear an account of the social instltutiona of 
a free people." — Graphic 

" This work is in every respect the most useful and the best by means of which 
Mr. Dixon has introduced novel subjects all worthy of the utmost attention of his 
countrymen, and illustrated them by so elegant a method of commuuiCAtion as im- 
mensely to enhance their value." — Metunger. 

" No such book has been written concerning Switzerland by any Engllsbmau, 
and few books of travel we posBess unite more valuable information to more de- 
scriptive power and charm of style." — Hiuiday Vuiu*. 

•2 



Id, Gre^t Mablbobouoh Stbbet. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
NEW W ORKS—Cmtintied. 



MODERN TURKEY. By J. Lewis Farley, 

Consul of the Sublime Porte at Bristol. Second JScUtioru 1 vol. 14b. 

CoKTBNTS:— Beyront; Beit-Miry; Moiint Lebanon ; Travelling tn Syria and Palestine; 
a Day with the Bedawlns; Syria, Past and Present; the Empress Eng^oie't 
Visit to Constantinople ; the Snez Canal ; Turkish Women ; Turkish Arma- 
ments ; Public Instruction ; the Capitulations ; Turkey as a Field for Emi- 
gration; British Interests in Turkey; Turkish Finances; the Stock Exchange; 
Geographical Position of Hie Empire ; Agricultural Products ; Fisheries; Mines ; 
Petroleum; Boads ; Bailways; Docks and Harbours t Public Works, ftc 

*' 'Modem Turkey,' by J. Lewis Farley, is from a writer long familiar with the 
country, and whose experience encourages a sanguine view of its future, alike as 
regards social, political, and industrial advancement" — Times. 

** Mr. Farley has a good deal of interesting information to communicate in regard 
to the resources of modem Turkey ; and we may add that he puts it briefly, clearly, 
and in an agreeable style." — Saturday Review. 

" Mr. Farley is to be praised for the admirable manner in which he has marshall- 
ed his facts and arranged his matter. His style, too, is lucid and agreeable, and 
he manages to clothe the dry skeleton of statistics with life and animation. His 
book will do a great deal to remove many prejudices against Turkey from the 
minds of Englishmen, and will bring very vividly before their eyes the present con- 
dition of a country about which great numbers of our countrjrmen are lamentably 
ignorant" — Examiner. 

" This very interesting and exceedingly well-written volume well deserves an 
earnest perusal It is a book of incalculable value to every class of the com- 
munity." — Messenger. 

" An able sketch of the present state and latest resources of the Ottoman Empire. 
Mr. Farley writes ably and clearly, and few will put down his book without having 
learned something new about the material resources of Turkey, and the aspirations 
of its most enlightened statesman." — Qraphie. 

'* It is quite pleasant to fall in with a book of this kind. Mr. Farley was for some 
time a resident in Turkey, and has a good deal worth hearing to say about the 
country. " — Olobe. 

" Mr. Farley evinces a thorough knowledge of his subject, and his work deserves 
to be attentively perused by all who are interested politically, commercially, or 
financially, In the Ottoman Empire." — Liverpool AUnon. 

" A very charming, useful, and readable book, which we can cordially recom- 
mend to all who wish to inci'ease their knowledge of the Turkish Empire." — Bir- 
mingham News. 

HISTORY OF WILLIAM PENN, Founder of 

Pennsylvania. By W. Hepworth J)ixon. !a. New Libraby Edition. 
1 vol. demy 8vo, with Portrait. 128. 

" Mr. Dixon's ' WiUlam Penn ' is, perhaps, the best of his booka He has now re- 
vised and issued it with the addition of much fresh matter. It is now offered in a 
sumptuous volume, matching with Mr. Dixon's recent books, to a new generation of 
readers, who will thank Mr. Dixon for his interesting and instructive memoir of 
one of the worthies of England." — Examiner. w 

" * William Penn ' is a fine and noble work. Eloquent, picturesque, and epigra- 
matlc in style, subtle and philosophical in insight, and moderate and accurate in 
statement, it is a model of what a biography ought to be." — Sunday Times. 

"The character of this great Christian Englishman, William Penn, a true hero 
of moral and civil conquests. Is one of the fairest in modern history, and may be 
studied with profit by his countrymen of all ages. This biography of him now 
finally put into shape as a standard work of its kind, is Mr. Dixo'i'h most useful 
production. Few books have a more genial and wholesome interest, or convey 
more beneficial instructioa" — lUttstrated News. 

"Like all Mr. Dixon's books this is written in a pleasing, popular style, and at the 
present moment, when our relations with the United Stites are attracting bo much 
attention to the Great Bepublic of the new world, the re-appearance is most timely 
and welcome.' — Echo. 

" One of the most able specimens of biography that has ever appeared." — Messenger. 



13, Qrbat Maklborouoh Street. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 

N^EW W ORKS— Continued. 



SPORT AT HOME AND ABROAD. By Lobd 

William Pitt Lennox. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 2l8. 

**Two very amoBlng and instmctive volnmes, teaching on all sorts of nport, from 
the experienced pen ^ a writer well qualified to handle the subject Stored with 
interesting matter the book will take tiie fancy of all lovers of pastime by flood or 
field."— ite^r« Life, 

**This work is extremely hiteresting and instructive from the first page to the lasl 
It contains a vast amount of useful information and excellent advice for the British 
sportsman, interspersed with an inexhaustible fund of anecdota" — Couri Journal. 

" Lovers of sport will welcome this new work by Lord W. Lennox eagerly. We 
have here experiences of sport of the most varied kind — ^from fishing in Upper 
Canada to fowling in Siberia ; from Highland deer hunting to angling on the quiet 
banks of the Thames. Then descriptions of ancient and modem gymnastics, sports 
of England in the middle ages, hunting, fencing, wrestling, cricketing, and cock- 
fighting. We may learn how to choose a yacht or a hound, a hunter or a rifie, 
from these useful and amusing pages. And there are also a great number of lively 
anecdotes to amuse the * noble sportsman * when the fish won't rise, when the 
deer are shy, or the weather is unfavourable, or Uiere is a dead calm for the yachl 
We predict a great success for this book.'*— £nx. 

PRAIRIE FARMS AND PRAIRIE FOLK. By 

Parker Gillmorb (^ Ubiqne"), Author of " A Hunter's Adven- 
tures in the Great West," &c. 2 vols crown 8vo, with Illustra- 
tions. 21s. 

" Mr. Gillmore has written a book which will make the English reader take a 
deep interest in Prairie Farms and Prairie Folk. His narrative of his sojourn, his 
description of the country, and of his neighbours, are all most readable. Mr. Gill- 
more's sporting feats are the themes of some of its best chaptera" — Daily News. 

^' This work is the very best of its class that Mr. Parker GiJlmore has yet written, 
not merely because of its lifelike descriptions of open-air life in the vast outlying 
districts of the American continent, but because it gives an amount of Information 
of incalculable value to emigrants." — Messenger. 

" For anecdotes, descriptions, and all kinds of information relating to sport it 
would not be easy to name a more effective and readable writer than rarker 
QilbaiOTe."^Illmtrated London News. 

** We heartily recommend this work. The attraction of the author's descriptions 
is very great. His style is graphic, and his records are always entertaining and 
remarkabla"— Sunday Times. 

QUEEN CHARLOTTE ISLANDS: A Narrative 

of Discovery and Adventurd in The North Pacific. By Francis 
Poolr, O.E. Edited by John W. Lyndon. 1 vol. 8vo, with Map 
and Illustrations. 15b. 

" There can be no doubt whatever about the spirit of enterprise and power of 
endurance with which Mr. Poole is gifted, and much of his book is very exciting 
readhig. Nor are the parts of it which are the leaat novel the least interesting ; 
and the chapters descriptive of his journeys to and fro, round America, and across 
the Istiimus, with his account of San Francisco and Victoria, will repay perusal 
The materials Mr. Poole furnished have been edited by Mr. John W. Lyndon. Mr. 
Lyndon seems to have discharged his office with commendable judgment" — Poll 
Mall Gazette. 

" As a whole the book is interesting and instructive, and its author evidently a 
pleasant and a plucky fellow. We can confidently recommend the book to 6.11 who 
wish to form an idea of life and land in those countries in the present, and of their 
capacity in the future." — Athenmim. 

^* This very interesting narrative is excellent reading. Mr. Poole has added mucAi 
that is vsJuable to tiie stock of general information." — Daily News. 

"This extremely interesting work — ^well written and well edited — is full of 
novelty and curious facts. It is one among the most fresh and instructive volumes 
«f travel and adventure which have been produced for a long time."— vStomtordL 



13, Qre^t Mablbobouoh Steeet. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
NEW WORKS— Cmtinued. 



THE LITERARY LIFE OF THE REV. .WIL- 

LIAM HARNESS, Vicar of All Saints, Knightsbridge, and Pre- 
bendary of St. Paul's. By the Rev. A. G. L'Estranoe. 8vo. 158. 

Among other celebrated persons of whom anecdotes and reminiscences wQl bo 
found in this work are Lord Byron, Sheridan, Scott, Crabbe. Coleridge, Moore, 
Rogers, Charles Lamb, Sydney Smith, Talfourd, Theodore Hook, Dickens, 
Thackeray, Lockhart, Lady Byron, Miss Mitford, Miss Austen, Joanna BaUlie, 
Mrs Siddons, Madame d*Arblay, Ac. 

" The book is a pleasant book, and will be found excellent reading. All those 
to whom the good name of Byron is dear, to the utmost extent of its desert, will 
read with an almost exquisite pleasure the testimony given by Hameps. The fine 
qualities of the man are set forth, without any attempt to conceal his errors or his 
vices ; as regards the latter, there is shown to have been gross exaggeration in the 
report of them.'" — Athenaeum. 

" We are sure that this work will be read with much interest The Rev. William 
Harness was the friend of Byron, and of almost^ every literary celebrity of his 
time. He like<l to be alK)ut literary men, and they reciprocated ttai; liking, 
Byron, Miss Mitford, the Eembles, Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Lumb, Sogers, 
Sheridan, Theodore Hook, Henry Hope, were among his friends ; and the conse- 

Suence of this varied literary friendship is that his life, for richness hi biographical 
etails, is surpassed by no recent publication except Crabb flobinson's Diary.** — 
The Echo. 

LIFE AND LETTP:RS OF WILLIAM BEWICK, 

THE ARTIST. Edited by Thomas Landskkr, A.R.A. 2 vols, 
large post 8vo, with Portrait. 24h. 

" Mr. Tiandseer seems to have had a pious pleasure in editing this biography 
and these letters of his old friend We should be wanting in our duty were we 
not to thank him for furnishing us with such interesting memorials of a man 
who did good work in his generation, but about whom so little is known.*' — Times. 

** Mr. Lands?er*B account of Bewick's life is altogether interesting. The volumes 
are a pleasant medley of autobiographical fragments, letters, literary criticisms, 
and anecdotes, judiciously strung together by Mr. Landseer »vith concise links of 
narrative, and the whole work gives a lively and most welcome view of the 
character and career of a man who is worth remembering on his own account, and 
yet more on accoant of the friends and great men with whom he associated. There 
are very welcome references to Haydon, Wilkie, Wordsworth, Ugo Foscolo, Hazlitt, 
Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd, Sheliey, Keats, Leigh Hunt, and a score or 
more of other men of whom the world can hardly hear too much." — Exaimner. 

" The interedt for general readers of this * Life and Letters ' is derived almost en- 
tirely from anecdotes of men of mark with whom the artist associated, and of 
which it contains a very large and amusing store. His fellow pupil and old friend, 
Mr. Thomas Landseer, the famous engraver, has put the materials before us to- 
gether with much skill and a great deal of genial tact The literary sketches which 
Bewick made of Hazlitt, Haydon, Shelley, Keats, Scott, Hogg, Jeffrey, Maturin, and 
others, are extremely bright, apt, and clear." — Athenxiim. 

TURKISH HAREMS & CIRCASSIAN HOMES. 

By Mrs. Hakvbt, of Ickwell Bui-y. 8vo. Second Edition. ISs. 
" Mrs. Harvey's book could scarcely fail to be pleasant, for the excursion of 
which it gives us an account must have been one of the most dciightful and ro- 
mantic voyages that ever was made. Mrs. Harvey not only si.w a great deal, but 
saw all that she did see to the best advantage. She was admitted into Turkish 
interiors which are rarely penetrated, and, protected by an escort, was able to ride 
far into the mountains of Circasbia, whose lovely defiles are full of dangers which 
seal them to ordinary travellers. We cannot call to mind any account written of 
late years which is bo full of valuable information upon Turkish household life. 
In noticing the intrinsic interest of Mrs. Harvey's book, we must not forget to say 
a word for her ability as a writer."— Times. 



18, Gbiat Mablbobouoh diBSsr. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 

NEW W ORKS—Cmtinued. 



VOLS. I. & II. OF HER MAJESTY'S TOWER. 

By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS 

PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Sixth Edition. 8to. SOb. 

COVTCITTS:— The Pile— Inner Ward and Onter Ward— The Wharf— Biver Bighte— 
The White Tower— Charles of Orleane— Uncle Qloacester— Prison Ralee— Beao- 
champ Tower— The good Lord Cobham— King and Cardinal— The Pilgrimage 
of Grace— Madge Cheyne— Heirs to the Crown— The Nine Days' Qneen— De- 
throned— The Men of Kent— Conrtney— No Cross no Crown— Cranmer, Latl- 
naer, lUdley— White Boses— Princess Margaret— Plot and Counterplot— Mon- 
sieur Charles- Bishop of Ross— Marder of Northumberland— Philip the Con- 
fessor—Mass in the Tower— Sir Walter Baleigh— The Arabella Plot— 
Baleigh's Walk— The Villain Waad— The Garden House— The Brick Tower 
—The Anglo-Spanish Plot— Pactions at Court— Lord Grey of Wilton- 
Old English Catholics— The EngliHh Jesuits— White Webbs— The PriestH' P.'ot 
—Wilton Court— Last of a Noble Line — Powder-Plot Boom— Guy Fawkeu— ^ 
Origin of the Plot — ^Vinegar HouMe— Conspiracy at Large — ^The JeHuit's Move- 
In fxjndon- November, 160^^— Hunted Down— In the Tower— Search for Gar- 
net—End of the English JesnitH— ITie Catholic Ix)rd»— Harry Percy— The 
Wizard Earl— A Beal Arabella Plot— William Seymour- The Escape— Pursuit 
—Dead in the Tower— Lady Frances Howard— BobertOarr— Powder Poisoning. 



Fbom the Timbs:— "All the civilized world— English, Continental, and Ame- 
rican — takes an interest in the Tower of London. The Tower is the stage 
upon which has been enacted some of the grandest dramas and saddest tragedies 
in our national annals. If, in imagination, we take our stand on those time-worn 
walls, and let century after century flit past us, we shall see in duo succession the 
majority of the most famous men and lovcly women of England in the olden time. 
We shall see them jesting, Jousting, love-making, plotting, and then anon, per- 
haps, commending their souls to God in the presence of a hideous nlasked figure, 
bearing an axe in his hands. It is such pictures as these that Mr. Dixon, with 
eoiisiderable skill as an historical limner, has set before us in these volumes. Mr. 
Dixon dashes off the scenes of Tower history with great spirit His descriptions 
are given with such terseness and vigour that we should spoil them by any attempt 
at condensation. As favourable examples of his narrative powers we may call at- 
tention to the story of the beautiful but unpopular Elinor, Queen of Henry IIL, and 
the description of Anne Boleyn's first and second arrivals At the Tower. Then we 
have the story of the bold Bishop of Durham, who escapes by the aid of a cord 
hidden in a wine-Jar; and the tale of Maud Fitzwalter, imprisoned and murdered 
bv the caitiff John. Passing onwards, we meet Charles of Orleans, the poetic 
French Prince, captured at Agincourt, and detained for flve-and-tweuty years a 
prisoner In the Tower. Next we encounter the baleful form of Bichard of Gloucester, 
And are filled with indignation at the blackest of the black Tower deeds. As we 
draw nearer to modem times, we have the sorrowful story of the Nhie Days* 
Queen, poor little Lady Jane Grey. The chapter entitled *'No Cross, no Crown '* 
Is one of the most affecting in the book, A mature man can scarcely read it with- 
out feeling the tears ready to trickle from his eyea No part of the first volume 
gields in interest to the chapters which are devoted to the story of Sir Walter 
alelgh. The greater part of the second volume is occupied with the story of the 
Gnnpowder Plot. The narrative is extremely interesting, and will repay perusal. 
Another catm celtbre possessed of a perennial interest, is the mnrder of Sir Thomas 
Overbury by Lord and Lady Somerset Mr. Dixon tells the tale akilfuily. In con- 
elusion, we may congratulate the author on this work. Both volumes are decided- 
ly attractive, and throw much light on our national history." 

**From first to last this work overflows with new InfornuLtion and original 
thought, with poetry and picture. In these faschiating pages Mr. Dixon dis- 
charges alternately the functions of the historian, and the historic biographer, with 
the insight, art, humour and accurate knowledge which never fail nim when he 
undertakes to illumine the darksome recesses of our national story." — Morning PoiL 

" We earnestly recommend this remarkable work to those in quest of amose- 
ment and inttmction, at once ■olid and leflned.."— i>a//y Telef^raph. 



18, Gbxat Marlbobovoh Stuit. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
NEW WORKS— Continued. 



VOLS. III. & IV. OF HER MAJESTY'S TOWER. 

By W. HEPWORTH DIXON. DEDICATED BY EXPRESS 
PERMISSION TO THE QUEEN. Completing the Work. Tfnrd 
Edition, Demy 8vo. SOs. 

CoMTBirTs:— A Fayonrite; A FaTonr!te*t Friond; The Ck>onteB8 of Suffolk; To tht 
Tower ; Lady Catherine MannerB ; Hoose of VUliertt ; Beyolatfon ; Fall of Lord 
Bacon ; A Spanish Match; Spaniollzlng ; Henry De Vere ; The Matter of Hol- 
land ; Sea Affairs ; The Pirate War ; Port and Court ; A New Bomanxo ; Move 
and Coonter-move ; Pirate and Prison ; In the Marshalsea ; The Spanish Olive ; 
Prisons Opened; A Parliament; Digby, Earl of Bristol ; Turn of Fortune; Eliol 
Eloquent; Feiton's ELnife; AnAssaasin; Nine Gentlemen in the Tower; A 
King's Revenge ; Charles L ; Pillars of State and Church ; End of Wentworth ; 
Laud's Last Troubles ; The Lieutenant's House ; A Political Bcmiance ; Phi- 
losophy at Bay ; Fate of an Idealist ; Britannia ; Killing not Murder; A Second 
Buckingham; Boger, Earl of Oastlemaine ; A Life of Plots ; The Two Penns; 
A Quaker's Cell; Colonel Blood; Crown Jewels, King and Colonel ; Bye House 
Plot ; Murder; A Patriot; The Oood Old Cause; James, Duke of Monmouth; 
The Unjust Judge ; The Scottish Lords ; The Countess of Nithisdale ; Escaped; 
Cause of the Pretender ; Bef ormers and Beform , Beform Blots ; Sir Francis 
Burdett; A Summons to the Tower; Arthur Thistlewood; A Cabinet CovnoO; 
Cato Street; Pursuit; Last Prisoners in the Tower. 



** Mr. Dixon's lively and accurate work." — Tlma. 

** This book is thoroughly entertaining, well-written, and instructive.*' — Examiner. 

** These volnmen will place Mr. Dixon permanently on the roll of English authors 
who have rendered their country a service, by his putting on record a truthful and 
brilliant account of that most popular and instructive relic of antiquity. * Her 
Majesty's Tower ;' the annals of which, as related in these volumes, are by turns 
excithig and amusing, while they never fail to interest Our ancient stronghold 
oould have had no better historian than Mr. Dixoa" — P<M. 

"By his meritrt of literary execution, his vivacious portraitures of historioal 
figures, his masterly powers of narrative and description, and4he force and grace- 
ful ease of his style, Mr. Dixon will keep his hold upon a multitude of readera"— 
Illustrated Newt. 

" These volumes are two galleries of richly painted portraits of the noblest 
men and most brilliant women, besides others commemorated by English 
history. The grand old Boyal Keep, palace and prison by turns, is revivified in 
these volumes, which close the narrative, extending from the era of Sir John Eliot, 
who saw Baleigh die in Palace Yard, to that of Thistlewood, the last prisoner im> 
mured in the Tower. Few works are given to us, tn these days, so abundant in 
originality and research as Mr. Dixon'a"— ^StondordL 

*'This intensely interesthig work will become as popular as any book Mr. 
Dixon has written."— IfeMoijrer. 

** A work always eminently readable, often of fascinating interest** — Echo. 

**The most brilliant and fascinating of Mr. Dixon's literary achievementa*''— aSTtsi. 

** Mr. Dixon has accomplished his task welL Few subjects of higher and more 
general interest than the Tower could have been found. Around the old pile 
clings all that is most romantic in our history. To have made himself the trusted 
and accepted historian of the Tower is a task on which a writer of highest reputa- 
tion may well be proud. This Mr. Dixon has dona He has, moreover, adapted 
his work to all dassea To the historioal student it presents the result of umg 
and successful research in sources undiscovered till now; to the artist it gives the 
most glowing picture yet, perhaps, produced of the more exciting scenes of national 
history ; to the general reader it offers fact with all the graces of fiction. Mr. 
Dixon's book is admirable alike for the general view of history it preeenta, and for 
the beanty and value of its single pUsturea"-- uSTumfi^ TimeL 



13, OsKAT Mablbobouoh Stskct. 

MESSRS HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
NEW 'WORKS— Continued. 



FREE RUSSIA. Bv W. Hepworth Dixon. Third 

Edition 2 toIs. 8vo, with Colonred niustrations. 20s. 

**Mr. Dixon's book wiU be certain not only to mterest but to please its leaders 
and it deeenres to do sa It contains a great deal that is worthy of attention, and 
is likely to produce a very oaefnl effect The ignorance of Uie EInglish people 
with respect to Rossia has l<Hig been so dense that we cannot avoid being grateful 
to a writer who has taken the troable to make personal acquaintance with that 
seldom- visited land, and to bring before the eyes of his ooontrymen a picture ot 
its scenery and its people, which is so novel and interesting that it can scarcely 
fail to arrest their attention.** — Saivrdaif Reriew. 

** Mr. Dixon has invented a good title for his volumes on Bnssia^ The chapter on 
LomonoBoff, the peasant poet, is one of the itest in the book, and the chapter on 
Kief is equally good. The descriptions of the peasant villages, and of the habits 
and manners of the peasantry, are very good; in fact, tlie descriptions are excel- 
lent throughout the work." — Tinu$. 

** We claim for Mr. Dixon the merit of having treated his subject in a fre6h and 
original manner. He has d<me his best to see with his own eyes the vast country 
which he describes, and he has visited some parts of the land with which few 
even among its natives are familiar, and he has had the advantage of being 
brought into personal contact with a number of those Bussians whose opinions 
are of most weight The consequence is, that he has been able to lay before 
general readers such a picture of Bossia and the Bussian iMople as cannot fail to 
interest them.** — Athenanan. 

ANNALS OF OXFORD. By J. C. Jeaffreson, 

B.A., Oxen. Author of " A Book Ahout the Clergy," Ac. Second 
Edition. Ht vols. 8vo. SOs. 

CoHTKNTs : — The Cross Kejrs ; King Alfred's Expulsion from Oxford ; Chums snd In- 
mates; Classical Schools and Benefactions; Schools and Scholars: On Learn- 
ing and certain Incentives to it; Colleges ani) Halls; Structural Newness of 
Oxford; Arithmetic gone Mad; Beduction of the Estimates ; A Happy Family; 
Town and Gown ; Death to the Legate's Cuok ; The Great Biot ; St Scholastica ; 
King's College Chapel used as a Playhouse ; St Mary's Church; Ladies in Besi- 
dence ; Gownswomen of the 17th Century ; The Birch in the Bodleian ; Anlarian 
Bigour; Boyal Smiles : Tudor, G^rgian, Elizabeth and Stuart ; Boyal Pomps; 
Oxford in Arms; The Cavaliers in Oxford; Henrietta Maria's Triumph and 
Oxford's Capitulation; The Samts Triumphant; Cromwellian Oxford; Alma 
Mater in the Days of the Merry Monarch; The Sheldonian Theatre ; Gardens 
and Walks; Oxford Jokes and Sausages; Terreo Filii ; The Constitution Club ; 
Nicholas Amhurst ; Commemoration ; Oxford in the Future. 

"The pleasantest and most hiforming book about Oxford that has ever been 
written. Whilst these volumes will be eagerly perused by tiie sons of Alma Mater, 
they will be read with scarcely less interest by the geneni reader." — Post. 

^' Those who turn to Mr. Jeaffreson's highly interesting work for solid tuformSr 
tien or for amusement, will not be disappointed. Bich in research and full of 
antiquarian interest, these volumes abound in keen humour and well-bred wit 
A scholar-like fancy brightens every page. Mr. Jeaffreson is a very model of a 
cicerone ; full of information, full of knowledge. The work well deserves to be 
read, and merits a permanent niche in the library." — I%e Oraphie. 

"These interesting volumes should be read not only by Chconians, but by all 
students of English history.*'— n/oA» Bull. 

A BOOK ABOUT THE CLERGY. By J. C. 

Jeaffbeson, B.A., Oxen, author of " A Book about Lawyers," " A 
Book about Doctors," &c. Second Edition. 2 vols 8vo. SOs. 

" This is a book of sterling excellence, in which all— laity as well as clergy — will 
find entertainment and instruction : a book to be bought and placed permanently 
in our librariea It is vrritten in a terse and lively style throughout, it is eminently 
fair and candid, and is full of interesting information on almost every topic that 
serves to illustrate the history of the English dergy" — limes. 

8 



13, Ghbat Mariaobouoh Strket. 

MESSRS. HURST AND BLACKETT'S 
NEW WORKS— Continued. 



MY EXPERIENCES OF THE WAR BETWEEN 

FRANCE AND GERMANY. By Archibald Forbbs. 2 vols. 8vo. 
'* Mr. Forbes's book is an extremely valnable contribution to the 'literature of 
the War. Not only is the book good in itself but it deBcribea events which have 
no parallel in modem history." — Atftenmim. 

SPIRITUAL WIVES. By W. Hep worth Dixon. 

Fourth Editioh. 2 vols. 8vo. With Portrait of the Author. 308. 

**Mr. Dixon has treated his subject in a philosophical spirit, and in his usual 
graphic manner. There is, to our thinking, more pernicious doctrine in one chap- 
ter of some of ttie sensational novels which find admirers in drawing-rooms and 
•ulogists in the press than in the whole of Mr. Dixon's interesting work." — Examiner. 

THE CITIES OF THE NATIONS FELL, By 

the Rev. John Gumming, D.D. Second Edition. 1 vol. 68. 

Contents : — Babylon — ^Egypt — Nineveh — ^Tyre and Sidon — Bashan— Jerusalem^- 
Borne — The Seven Cities of Asisr— Constantinople — Metz, Sedan, and Strasburg — 
Viennar-Munich— Madrid— Paris— Chicago— The City that never Falls— The City 
that comes down from Heaven— There shall be no more Tears — Elements of 
National Prosperity. 

"Dr. Cumming's book will be read by many with advantage/' — Orapkic 
** The work before um contains mu(^ historical information of interest and value. 
We muHt applaud here, as we applauded in his treatise on The Seventh Vial, the 
skill and diligence of the author in the vast and careful selection of facts, both phy- 
sical and moral, the interest of each when taken singly, and the striking picture of 
the whole when presented coUectively to the view." — Record, 

TRAVELS OF A NATURALIST IN JAPAN 

AND MANCHURIA. By Arthur Adams, F.L.S., Staff-Surgeon 

R.N. 1 vol. 8vo, with Illiistratioiis. 
** An amusing volume. Mr. Adams has acquired a body of interesting informa- 
tion, which he has set forth in a lively and agreeable style. The book will be a 
favourite with naturalists, and ia calculated to interest others as well" — DaUy Newt. 

THE SEVENTH VIAL; or, THE TIME OF 

TROUBLE BEGUN, as shown in THE GREAT WAR, THE 

DETHRONEMENT OF THE POPE, and other Collateral Events. 

By the Rev. John Cumming, D.D., &c. Third Edition. 1 voL 68. 

** Dr. Cumming is the popular exponent of a school of prophetic interpretation, 
and on this score has established a claim to attention. His book furnishes an 
instructive collection of the many strange portents of our day. Dr. Cumming takes 
his facts very fairly. He has a case, and Uie gravity of the subject must command 
the attention of readers." — Timet. 

MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE, MOTHER 

OF NAPOLEON III. Cheaper Edition, in 1 vol. 68. 
** A biography of the beautiful and unhappy Queen, more satisfactory than any we 
have yet met with." — DaUy Newt. 

THE LADYE SHAKERLEY; bein^ the Record of 

the Life of a Good and Noble Woman. A Cheshire Story. By 
ONE of the HOUSE of EGERTON. Second Edition. 1 vol. 6s. 

**Thi8 charming novelette pleasantly reminds one of the well-known series of 
stories by the author of 'Mary PowelL' The characters bear the same impress of 
truthfulness, and the reader is made to feel equally at home among scenes sketched 
with a ready hand. The author writes gracefully, and has the faculty of placing 
tiafore others the pictures her own imagination has called up."— /*a2< Mall Oatettc 

9 



THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 

PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 



WRAYFORD'S WARD, and otlier Tales. By 

F. W. RoBlNMK, anther of " Grandmother's Money," iie. 8 toIs. 

THE WOMAN WITH A SECRET. By Auce 

Kino, author of ** Queen of Herself,*' &c. 8 voIb. 

JANET'S CHOICE. By Maky Charlotte Phiix- 

POTTg, author of " Maggie's Secret," Ac. 3 vols. 

^ A delightful Btory, belonging to that pattern of which Miss Austen was the 
most flniahed illuBtrator. **—i/eMen^er. 

OFF PARADE. By Stephen J. Mac Kenna, late 

28th Regiment. 8 vols. 

*'' This book teen» with interest from the first page to the last We cannot too 
strongly recommend * Off Parade ' to all readers, and more especially to young 
officers in the army, who, in Its pages, will find much to interest and even more to 
edify and instruct. It is a novel which we feel confident will be read alike with 
pleasure and profit either in camp or in quarters, and we congratulate the author 
on such a meritorious production, a production equally honourable to his head 
and heart" — United Service Magaxine. 

"There is nowhere a wider or a brighter field for the social novelist than the 
British officer's mess-room. Mr. Mac Kenna's officers are life-like, and talk exactly 
as their compeers may be heard to do any day at Aldershot, or Colchester, or the 
Curragh. Their rattle is agreeable, and their 1ov&-maklng fairly interesting. There 
is not a heavy chapter in the book." — United Service Ocuette, 

FIRST IN THE FIELD. By the Author of « Re- 

commended to Mercy." 8 vols. 

" A novel of considerable ability. .... The plot is full of strong situatlonB. The 
characters are distinct, and not unnatural" — Athenaeum. " We cordially recom- 
mend this work for general perusal. The characters are strongly drawn, the inci - 

dents well developed and diversified." — Meuenger. *' A powerful, original, and 

profoundly interesting novel"— Sunday Timet. 

THE LOST BRIDE. By Georgiana Lady 

Ghattebton. 8 vols. 

" This book is pleasant reading, and ought to satisfy many tastes."— iEr:i»im<iMr.— 
" An ingenious and pituresque story, in which there is a good deal of character 

drawing, and some pleasant and lively sketches of society occur." — Spectator. 

" * The Lost Bride ' will add considerably to Lady Chatterton's literary reputation. 
It is replete with interest, and the characters are perfectly true to natura" — Court 
Journal. ** Those who read this novel witib a facility to sympathize with ro- 
mance, will, no doubt, be gratified, and all will allow that its pmpose and moral 
are good."— Poif. 

GOLDEN KEYS. 3 vols. 

" ' Golden Keys * will find a wide circle of readers. It possesses many decided 
merits, many signs of careful thought and study of character, and a bold healthi- 
ness of style and tona The plot is well planned, and the interest admirably sna- 
tahied to the last The various dramatis persona are drawn with a keen and 
life-like vigour."— StomlardL 

**The work of a very clever writer and an original thinker."^/i)An Bull. 

LIL. By Jean Middlemass. 3 vols. 

" A very readable novel There is much that is interesting In the history of *LIL* ** 

^'Examiner. '* This story is well told. The interest never flags, but fascinates 

the reader from the very first page to the last"— Cotirt Journal ** * lil ' has many 

of the qualities of a good novel The story has the merit of being animated, and 
well caloalated to keep the interest of the reader aliva"— (?raj»/Uc. 

10 



THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 

PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT. 



OMBRA. By Mrs. Oliphant. Autlior of "Chronicles 

of Carlingford," " Salem Chapel," Ac. 3 vols. 
" A delightful book."— J/br/i»«^ Post. 

A GOLDEN SORROW. ByMrs.OASHELHoEY. 3 v. 

" A most agreeable book. Mra Hoey not only displays good natare and good 
tense, bat her diction is fresh, clear, and incisive. She weaves an interesting plot, 
and her characters are drawn with remarkable distinctness and consistency." — 

Eramfner. ** A story of remarkable ability both in design and execution, and we 

much mistake if it does not become one of the most popular novels of the seasoa" 

— Cfraphie. "A most admirable novel" — John BtUl "A very pleasant, 

lively novel."'— Spectator. 

HOPE DEFERRED. By Eliza F. Pollard. 3 v. 

*' We direct attention to this book as a true and beautiful delineation of a woman's 
heart at war with circumstances and fate. The style is clear and pleasant; and it 
has an unaffected earnestness — one of the rarest graces of fiction." — Spectator. 

*' We have read few stories lately, certainly none professing to treat of female 
character, which have left upon us so pleasing an impression." — Atherusum 

THE QUEEN OF THE REGIMENT. By Katha- 

RINB EllNO. 3 vols. 

** A charming, fresh, cheery novel Its merits are rare and welcome. The glee- 
fulness, the ease, the heartiness of the Author's style cannot fail to please. Her hero- 
ine is a captivating girl" — Spectator. " In spite of little defects, * The Queen of the 

Begiment ' may be pronounced a KuccesHful and attractive novel It is amusing, 
and, to some extent, original ; the style is simple and unaffected, and the tone Ib 
healthy throughout." — Athenuum. " A brilliant novel The heroine is a charm- 
ing creature. With the exception of ' Fair to See,' we have not seen any modem 
novel which shows such intimate acquaintance with, as well as keen observation 
of, English military life as the book before us." — United Service Chuette. 

ASTON-ROYAL. By the Author of «St.0lave'8." 3 v. 

"A book that is delightful to read."— Po**. " * Aston-Eoyal ' abounds with 

beauties, much clever writing, and that thorough insight into human nature which 
made * St Olave's ' so universally and deservedly popular." — Messenger. 

" ' Aston Eoyal * is far superior to anything the author has yet done. The book 
is not only interesting as a story, but evinces great knowledge of the world and 
BhrewdnesB of observation.'* — British Quarterly Review. 

BRUNA'S REVENGE. By the Author of "Caste," 

&c. 3 vols. 
** Viewed simply as love stories, fresh, pure, and pathetic, these volumes deservB 

praise." — Athemeinn. " ' Bruna's Revenge ' is all fire, animation, life and really. 

The whole story fascinates the reader's attention." — Standard. 

A WOMAN IN SPITE OF HERSELF. By J. 

C. Jeafpreson, Author of " Live it Down," Ac. 3 vols. 
'* A delightful and exciting story. The interest intensifies with every page, 
until it becomes quite absorbing." — Morning Post. 

HANNAH. By the Author of "John Halifax." 

New and Cheeper Edition, in 1 vol. Ss. bound and Illustrated. 

** A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistioally told. The book Is sure of 
a wide cirole of readers. The character of Hannah ia one of rare beauty."— ^tamterdL 

MY LITTLE LADY. 3 vols. 

** There is a great deal of fascination about this book.**— 2%nca 

11 



WinUt t^t (gspmal patronage oi ^tt ptajtsfg. 

Published annualli/^ in One Vol.^ royal Syo, with the Arms beautifully 
engravedy handsomely bounds with gilt edges, price 81«. Sd, 

LODGERS PEERAGE 

AND BARONETAGE, 

CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY. 



THE fOBTY-riBS T EDITION FOB 1 872 IS HOW BEADY, 

LoDOB*B Peeraoe AND Babonetaob ia acknowledged to be the most 
•omplete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As an esta- 
blished and authentic authority on all questions respecting the family 
histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy, no work has 
ever stood so high. It is published under the especial patronage of Her 
Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, from the personal com- 
munications of the Nobility. It is the only work of its class in which, tltt 
time being kept constantly standing, every correction is made in its proper 
place to the date of publication, an advantage which gives it supremacy 
over all its competitors. Independently of its full and authentic informa- 
tion respecting the existing Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most 
sedulous attention is given in its pages to the collateral branches of the 
various noble families, and the names of many thousand individuals are 
introduced, which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For 
its authority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty of 
its typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place it 
occupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobihty. 



LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS. 



Historical View of the Peerage. 

Parliamentary EoU of the House of Lorda 

English, ijcotch, and Irish Peers, in their 
orders of Precedence. 

Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain 
and the United Kingdom, holding supe- 
rior rank In the Scotch or Irish Peerage. 

Alphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers, 
holding superior titles In the Peerage of 
Great Britain and the United Kingdom. 

A Collective list of Peers, In their order of 
Precedence. 

Table of Precedency among Men. 

Table of Precedency among Women. 

The Queen and the Royal Family. 

Peers of the Blood BoyaL 

The Peerage, alphabetically arranged. 

Families of such Extinct Peers as have left 
Widows or Issue. 

Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the 
reera 



The Archbishops and Bishops of England. 
Ireland, and the Colonies. 

The Baronetage alphabetically arranged. 

Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by 
members of Noble Famillea 

Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of 
Peers, usually borne by their Eldest 
Sons. 

Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
Dukes, Marquises, and Earls, who, hav- 
ing married Commoners, retain the title 
of Lady before their own Christian and 
their Husband's Snmamea 

Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of 
VlBcounts and Barons, who, having 
married Commoners, are styled Honoar* 
able Mrs. ; and, in case of the husband 
being a Baronet or Knight, Honourable 
Lady. 

Mottoes alphabetically arranged and traae- 
lated. 



**Awork which corrects all errors of former works. It is a most useful publication. 
We are happy to bear testimony to the fact that scrupulous accuracy Is a di8tlngni8b> 
ing feature of this book."— IVmet. 

** Lodge's Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for two reasons: first, it 
Is on a better plan ; and secondly, it is better executed. We can safely pronounce it to be 
the readiest, the most useful, and exactest of modem works on the subject." — Spectator. 

"A work of great value. It is the most faithful record we possess of the arislo- 
eracy of the day." — Pott. 

** The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage It is the staadaitl 
authority on the subject"— /StomiardL 

13 



HURST & BLACKETrS STANDARD LIBRARY 

OF CHEAP EDITIONS OP 

POPULAR MODERN WORKS, 

ILLUSTRATED BY MILLAIS, HOLMAN HUNT, LEECH, BIRKET FOSTER, 
JOHN GILBERT, TENNIEL, SANDYS, £. HUGHES, &C. 

Eftoh in a Biflgle Volune, ekgantlj printed, Ixmnd, and flliutnted, prioe 5i. 



I.— SAM SLICK'S NATUKE AUD HUMAN NATUKE. 

**The first volame of Messrs. Hnrst and Blackett's Standard Library of Cheap Editions 
forms a very good beginning to what will doubtless be a very snocessf ol nadertaking. 
*Nataro and Human Nature' is one of the best of Sam Slick's witty and bomoroiu 

firodnctions, and is well entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtain 
n its present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines with the great recom- 
mendations of a clear, bold type, and good paper, the lesser but attractive merits of ' 
being well iUnstrated and elegantly bound."— i>oit 

n.-nJOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN. 

** This to a very good and a very interesting work. It is designed to trace the career 
from boyhood to age of a perfect man — a Christian gentleman; and it abounds in inci- 
dent boUi well and highly wrought Throughout it is conceived in a high spirit, and 
written with great ability. This cheap and handsome new edition is worthy to pass 
freely from hand to hand as a gift book in many householda" — Examiner. 

^ The new and cheaper editi<ni of thto interesting work will doubtiess meet with great 
success. John Halifax, the hero of this most beautiful story, is no ordinary hero, and 
this his htotory is no orduuuy book. It is a full-length portrait of a true gentleman, one 
of nature's own nobility. It is also the history of a home, and a thoroughly English 
on& The work abounds in incident, and is full of graphic power and true pathos. It 
is a book that few will read without becoming wiser and better." — SeoUman. 

ni.— THE CBESCENT AND THE CEOSS. 

BY ELIOT WARBURTON. 

** Independent of its value as an original narrative, and its useful and interesting 
information, this work is remarkable for the colouring power and play of fancy with 
wluch its descriptions are enlivened. Among its greatest and most lasting charms to 
its reverent and serious spirit" — Quarterljf Review. 

IV.— NATHALIE. By JULIA EAVANAGH. 

** * Naihalier* is Miss Kavanagh's best imaginative effort Its manner is gracious and 
attractive. Its matter is good. A sentiment, a tenderness, are conunanded by her 
which are as individual as they are elegant"— iKAeMSum. 

v.— A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

** A book of sound counsel It to one of the most sensible works of its kind, well- 
written, true-hearted, and altogether practical Whoever wtohes to give advice to a 
young lady may thank the author for means of doing sa" — Examiner. 

YI.— ADAM GEAEME. By MBS. OLIFHANT. 

"A story awakening genuine emotions of Interest and delight by its admirable pie- 
tnres of Scottish life and scenery. The author sets before us the essential attributes of 
Chnstian virtue, their deep and silent workings in the heart, and their beautiful mani- 
festations in life, with a delicacy, power, and truth which can hardly be surpassed^-PofC 

Vn — SAM SLICK'S WISE SAWS AND MODEBN 

INSTANCES. 

'*The reputation of this book will stand as long as that of Scott's or Bulwer's Novels. 
Its remarkable originality and happy descriptions of American life still continue the 
sub jectof universal admiration. The new edition forms a part of Messrs. Hurst and 
Blackett's Cheap Standard Library, which has included some of he very best specimens 
•f light literature that ever have been written." — Meumger. 

IS 



HURST & BLACKEXrS STANDARD LIBRARY 

(continued.) 

Vm.— OABDINAL WISEMAJTS BECOLLECTIOHS OF 

THE LAST FOUE FOFES. 

** A irictareMiiie book on Some and its eccletUMtical soyereigna, bj an eloqnrat Bomaa 
Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has treated a special subject with so much geniality, that 
bis recollections will excite no ill-feeling in those who are most conscientiously opposed 
to every idea (A homan hifallibility represented in Papal domination.''— ilCAeiuswa 

IX.— A LIFE FOE A LIFE. 

BY THE AUTHOR OP " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

** In * A Life for a Life ' the author is fortunate in a good subject, and has prodnoed a 
work of strong effect" — AVimuum. 

X.— THE OLD COTJET SUfiUEB. By LEIGH HUNT. 

** A delightful book, that will be welcome to all readers, and most welcome to those 
who have a lOTe for the best kinds of reading." — Examiner. 

** A more agreeable and entertaining book has not been published since Boswell pro- 
dnoed his reminiscences of Johnson." — Obaerter. 

XI.— HASOABDT AND HEB BBIDESHAIDS. 

** We recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel to read this work for 
themselTCS. They will find it well worth their while. There are a freshness and ori- 
ginality about it quite charming " — Atheiueum. 

Xn.— THE OLD JUDGE. By SAM SLICK. 



"The publications included in this Library have all been of good quality; many give 
.tion while thev 
The manner in which the Cheap Editions forming the series is produced, deserves 



taformatlon while they entertain, and of that class the book before us is a specimen. 



especial mention. The paper and print are unexceptionable ; there is a steel engraving 
in each volume, and the outsides of them will satisfy the purchaser who likes to utm 
books in handsome uniform." — Examiner, 

XIIL— DAEIEN. By ELIOT WAEBTJETON. 

**This last production of the author of * The Crescent and the Cross ' has the sam« 
dements of a very wide popularity. It will please its thousanda" — Oloibe. 

XIV.— FAMILY EOMANGE ; OE, DOMESTIC ANNALS 

OF THE AEISTOCEACY. 

BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS. 

** It were impossible to praise too highly this most interesting book It ought to be 
found on every drawing-room table." — Standard. 

XV.— THE LAIED OF NOELAW. By MES. OLIFHANT. 

** The * Laird of Norlaw ' fully sustains the author's high reputation."— .Suiu^ Tinus. 

XVI.— THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY. 

** We can praise Mrs. Gretton's book as interesting, unexaggerated, and full of oppor- 
tone instruction."— Titin^f. 

XVII.— NOTHING NEW. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

** 'Nothing New * displays all those superior merits which have made 'John Halifax ' 
•ne of the most popular works of tiie day." — Pott. 

XVIII.— FEEEE'S LIFE OF JEANNE D'ALBEET. 

"Nothing can be more interesting than MisM Freer's story of the life of Jeanna 
D'Albfet, and the narrative is as truMtworthy as it is attractive.'* — Post. 

XIX.— THE VALLEY OF A HUNDEED FIEES. 

ffY THE AUTHOR OF "MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS." 

" If asked to classify this work, w e should give it a place between ' John Halifax * and 
The Caxtona' "Standard 

U 



HURST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRARY 



XX.— THE BOMANCE OF THE FOBTJIL 

BY PETER BURKE, SERGEANT AT LAW. 
** A work of Bingalar interest, which can never fail to charm. The present cheap and 
elegant edition indndes the true story of the Colleen Bawn.*' — lUusttxOed Newt. 

XXI.— ADELE. By JULIA EAVAKAGH. 

** * Adele * is the best work we have read by Misa Eavanagh ; it is a oharming atory, 
full of delicate character-i>ainting." — Athenaeum. 

XXn.— STUDIES FBOM LIFE. 

BY THE AUTHOR OP " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

" These * Stadies *rom Life * are remarkable for graphic power and observation. The 
book will not diminish the reputation of the accomplished author.'* — Saturday Reoitw. 

XXm.— GBANDMOTHEB'S MONEY. 

** We commend * Grandmother's Money ' to readers in search of a good noreL The 
characters are true to hnman nature, the story is interesting." — Athenmum, 

XXIV.— A BOOK ABOUT DOGTOBa 

BY J. C. JEAFFRESON. 
" A delightful book."— ilttouettffi. ** A book to be read and re-read ; fit for the study 
aa well as the drawing-room table and the circulating library." — Lomeet. 

XXV.— NO CHUBGH. 

"* We adyise all who have the opportunity to read this \ioolC*—AihmmmL 

XXVL— mSTBESS AND MATT). 

BY THE AUTHOR OP " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

** A good wholesome book, gracefully written, and as pleasant to read as it is instroe- 
tlye."— iKAenontm. " A charming tale charmingly Xo\±''—3tomdard. 

XXV n.— LOST AND SAVED. By HON. MBS. NOBTON. 

** * Lost and Saved ' will be read with eager interest It is a vigorous novel" — Tinm, 
** A novel of rare ezcellenca It is Mra Norton's best prose work."— JPaxsminer. 

XXVm.— LES mSEBABLES. By VICTOB HUGO. 

AUTHORISED COPYRIGHT ENGLISH TRANSLATION. 

*' The merits of * Les Miserables ' do not merely consist in the conception of it as a 
whole; it abounds, page after page, with details of unequalled beauty. In dealing with 
all the emotions, doubts, fears, which go to make up our common humanity, M. Victor 
Hugo has stamped upon every page tloie hail-mark of gnniua" — Quarterly Reeiet». 

XXIX.— BABBABA'S HJSTOBY. 

BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. 
" It is not often that we light upon a novel of so much merit and interest as * Barbara's 
History.' It is a work conspicuous for taste and literary culture. It is a very graceful 
and chHrming book, with a well-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and sentiments 
expressed with an exquisite elocution. It is a book which the world will lik& This ia 
high praise ot a work of art, and so we intend it." — Timee. 

XXX.— LIFE OP THE BEV. EDWABD IBVING. 

BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 

** A good book on a most interesting thema" — Timet. 

** A truly interesting and most affecting memoir. Irving's life ought to have a niche 
in every gallery of religions biography. There are few lives that wiU be fuller of in- 
struction, interest, and consolation." — Saturday Review. 

"Mrs. Oliphant's Life of Irving supplies a long-felt desideratom. It is copious 
earnest and eloquent" — Edinburgh Review. 

XXXL— ST. OLAVE'S. 

" This charming novel is the work of one who possesses a gnreat talent for writing, as 
well us experience ami knowledge of the world. * St Olave's ' is the work of an artiat 
The whole book is worth reading " — .AUttnceum. 

16 



HUEST & BLACKETT'S STANDARD LIBRAKY 



XXXn.— SAM SLICE'S AHEBICAN HTIHOTnL 

** Dip where yon will into this lottery of f nn, yon are sure to draw out a prize.**— Pofl 

XXXIII.— CHMSTIAN'S MISTAKE. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

** A more charming story, to oar taste, has rarely been written. The writer has hit 
off a circle of varied characters all tme to natar& Even if tried by the standard of 
the ArchbiBhop of York, we shonld expect that even he would pronounce ' Chriutian's 
Mistake ' a novel without a fault'*— -TYmei. 

XXXIV.— ALEC POEBES OP HOWGLEN. 

BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 

** No account of this story would give any idea of the profound interest that permdes 
Ihe work from the first page to the last** — AVietuntm. 

XXXV.— AGNES. ByMRa OLIPHANT. 

** * Agnes * is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant's former works.'* — Athenaum. 
** A story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to all readers.** — Post. 

XXXVI.— A NOBLE LIPE. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

"This is one of those pleasant tales in which the author of * John Halifax* speftks 
•ut of a generous heart the purest truths of Ufa*' — Examiner. 

XXXVII.— NEW AMEEICA. By HEPWOETH DIXON. 

** A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtfully and well" — Timet. 
Mr. Dixon's very entertaining and instructive work on New Arx>erica." — PaU Mall Oat. 
"We recommend every one who feels any interest in human nature to read Mr. 
Dixon's very interesting hook."— Saturday Review. 

XXXVIII.— EOBEET PALCONEE. 

BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 

" ' Robert Falconer ' is a work brimful of life and humour and of the deepest human 
Interest It is a book to be returned to again and again for the deep and searching 
knowledge it evinces of human thoughts and feelings." — Athenaeum. 

XXXIX.— THE WOMAN S KINGDOM. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

*' * The Woman's ELingdom * sustains the author's reputation as a writer of th« 
purest and noblest kind of domestic stories. — Aihenmim. 

XL.— ANNALS OP AN EVENTPUL LIPE. 

BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L. 
** A racy, well-written, and original novel The interest never flags. The whole 
work sparlcles with wit and humour." — (Quarterly Review. 

XLL— DAVID ELGINBEOD. 

BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D. 
** A novel which is the work of a man of true genius. It will attract the highest 
olass of readers." — Times. 

XLII.— A BEAVE LADY. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 

**A very good novel ; a thoughtful, well-written book, showing a tender sympathy 
with human nature, and permeated by a pure and noble spirit'* — Exammer. 

XLIII. -HANNAH. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF " JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
"A powerful novel of social and domestic life. One of the most successful efforts of 

a successful novelist"— ^ai/y News. 

*'A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told. The book is sure of a 

wide circle of readers. The character of annah is one of rare beauty." — Standard 

/ . 1«