She had thought Miss Bessie’s elopement a fine thing till “it came to the bit,” thus she expressed herself; but when they mutually had that bit between their teeth she did not much relish the undertaking. “She was to take me as her maid, mum,” Priscilla informed Heather; “but he would not let her. He said she could send for me afterwards; but now, ma’am, if you’ll let me stay with you, I would rather. I’ll never even think about leaving you again.” This piece of information was imparted some weeks subsequently; during the course of those weeks, nothing had been heard of or from Bessie. Where she was gone, with whom she was gone off, remained as great enigmas to the family at the Hollow, as they did to her friends in town. From Priscilla, indeed, Heather gathered that the cavalier was tall, dark, handsome, and liberal; but this was but a poor clue with which to start on a search after Bessie, and so no one attempted to follow it. She had chosen her own course, and her place knew her no more. All in vain, Heather looked for a letter each morning—no letter ever came. All in vain, Lally fretted after Bessie, and stretched out her arms for the pretty cousin who was gone no one knew where. Mr. Ormson advertised daily in the _Times_ to B—ss—e O——n, without ever receiving a ghost of a reply. Mr. Harcourt paid “private inquiry fees,” but still nothing came of all his searching. Mrs. Ormson, figuratively, washed her hands of Bessie, and scored her name out of the family Bible—a volume she never opened except upon high and rare occasions; the poor father watched his opportunity, and wrote the name in again, the first time Mrs. Ormson left her keys in the door of the cupboard where she kept this tell-tale volume of dates and ages. Dr. Marsden said he had always expected something of the kind, and Heather almost began to hate this strange man who came in as chorus to every misfortune of the family. “I knew she never would marry Harcourt,” affirmed this clever practitioner, the first time he and Mrs. Dudley met after the occurrence; “the fellow must have been a fool to believe her.” “And why did you not think she would marry him?” asked Heather, meekly. “Oh! her head was always running on a very different kind of husband to a struggling lawyer; and I only hope it is a husband she has got, and not a lover, who will be packing her home to be a disgrace and burden to her family some of these fine days.” “I should not think Bessie very likely to return to her family, whether she be married or not,” Heather answered, a little bitterly. She could not help being a trifle short with Dr. Marsden, whose first-born was still at Berrie Down, a very thorn in the flesh of every member composing the household. Never out of mischief, never still, always teasing, eternally prying about, listening and meddling, even Heather at last declared, if she only had the money to spare, she would rather pay for Harry’s education than be tormented with him.