Had any one come to her and said Bessie was dead, she could not have felt more shocked—more grieved. Under her eyes this thing had been going on—this deception from day to day, and from week to week—and she had never even suspected its existence. Her very servant had been cognisant of it; this girl, this false, cheating, untruthful Prissy Dobbin, had been persuaded by Bessie to conceal the mischief until it was too late to repair it. And Bessie, too, that bright, gay, affectionate creature, was but a hypocrite and a deceiver! Mrs. Dudley felt this to be the last drop in the cup, and, covering her face, wept bitterly. “Don’t ’ee, ma’am,” implored Priscilla, “don’t ’ee take on so! Read what Miss Bessie says, mayhap that ’ill tell you where she’s gone. The gentleman worships the very ground she treads on; and they would have told you, only something about his father, I don’t rightly know what, prevented them. Miss Bessie prayed and begged him yesterday to let her speak to you. He wanted her, right or wrong, to go off with him then, but she wouldn’t; she said she wouldn’t spoil your Christmas Day, not for fifty husbands—she did.” “You were very fond of Miss Bessie?” Mrs. Dudley said, inquiringly. “Main fond, ma’am,” answered the girl. “I took to her from the day she talked to me in the field, and give I that harf a crown.” “Then don’t go chattering about her having gone off with any one, Prissy. If you are fond of her, show your fondness by keeping silence.” And with that, Mrs. Dudley, first bidding Prissy stay with Lally, in case she wakened, went and roused her husband. “Arthur,” she said, “Bessie is off—she has eloped. What are we to do?” “Bessie eloped—Bessie off! Heather, you must be dreaming!” “I wish I were,” answered his wife. “Is there any use in trying to follow her, do you think?” “There might be, if we knew where she was gone,” Arthur replied. “What does she say in her letter?” he added, noticing the paper in his wife’s hand. “She does not give a clue,” said Heather. “She merely states she is gone to be married, and that, whenever her husband allows her, she will write again.” “Better call up Alick,” suggested Arthur; and, accordingly, Alick was called. “They have four hours’ start,” said the young man, practically, when he had heard Heather’s story, “and their plans must have been well laid. I will follow if you like, but I think it is useless. They are in London by this time.” “What makes you think they have gone to London?” asked Heather. “Because it is the only place in which to be lost,” answered the youth. And the three stood and looked at each other for a few moments in utter silence. A great blow had suddenly fallen on them, and they felt stunned with its force. That such a thing should have happened there! that they should all have bidden each other good-night, without a suspicion of coming evil—and that this should have come to pass before morning! Heather was the first to speak.