So, indeed, it seemed, for never had Bessie been so gay as on that Christmas afternoon. And she was very sweet too, as well as gay; she uttered no sharp speeches; she was ready to play at cat’s-cradle with Leonard, and even refrained from scolding when Harry Marsden, who must needs take a hand in that scientific game also, tore her lace sleeve to shreds. She made herself agreeable to Arthur likewise, talking to him, while Heather was upstairs, concerning London, and her father’s business, and her father’s anxieties, and the Squire’s own prospects, as quietly and sensibly, her cousin subsequently declared, as her mother might have done. “And I think, Heather, she must be very fond of her father,” Arthur informed his wife; “for once when she was speaking about him, and how hard he worked, and of how little help her brothers were to him, her voice quite shook, and the tears came into her eyes. I had not given Bessie credit for so much feeling.” “She is a dear, sweet girl,” Heather answered. “I am glad she did not insist, as I feared she might, on sitting up with Lally. She is completely worn out, I think. Did you notice how pale she turned when she was bidding us good-night?” Other people beside Heather had observed this pallor. Mrs. Piggott, who, making a grievous complaint concerning Priscilla Dobbin’s shortcomings and habit of always being out of the way when wanted, was silenced by the sight of Bessie’s wan face, and by Bessie’s entreaty for her not to be hard on Priscilla. “She was with me a long time, you know, Mrs. Piggott, to-day,” she said; “I did not feel very well when I returned this morning, and Prissy put away my bonnet, and did a few other things for me that I was not inclined to do for myself.” “There, there, Miss, don’t say another word, but go away to bed; you look like a ghost this minute; you have been trying to kill yourself lately, that is my opinion; but, please God, we will all turn round now.” “Where shall we turn to, Mrs. Piggott?” asked Bessie, with a smile, and then she re-crossed the hall and ascended the stairs to her own room, only pausing for a moment ere she went, to ask Alick if he would take a letter up to town for her on the following morning. “It is to papa, and he will receive it earlier if you post it in London. Thank you. I will leave it on the hall table to-night. Good-bye, Alick, good-bye!” and Alick imagined she pressed his hand tighter than ever she had done before, and that there was a very plaintive tone in her voice as she uttered that word, “Good-bye.” Later on in the night, when every one except Lucy Dudley, who sat up with Lally, was supposed to be in bed, Bessie stole into the nursery, “to have another peep at her child,” she said. “You ought to have been asleep long ago,” Lucy remarked, rebukingly; but Bessie explained she had been writing to her father a very long letter on an important subject, which Alick was going to take to town with him.