Her future husband! The sting lay in those significant words. Was it not her duty as his affianced bride, to tell him of the incident, and leave the matter in his hands? Yet how could she bring herself to do it? The woman’s interrupted communication might have referred to some past incident in Bartley Bradstone’s life with which she--Olivia--could have no concern, and she could scarcely go to him and demand his confidence, perhaps his confession of a past wrong--she who had, even since their betrothal, treated him with cold civility, and kept him at arm’s length. No, she could take no notice of the woman’s warning; after all, it was probably a prelude to a request for money; these gypsies, she had always heard, were accomplished and daring beggars; an attempt to coax or extort money from her or Bartley was probably the woman’s only motive. She sighed again, as she arrived at this decision, and put the matter from her mind. “Are you rested now, miss?” said Bessie, gently. “Yes, Bessie,” replied Olivia; “I am all right now. I am tired and--and I was frightened by meeting a gipsy outside the lodge.” Bessie looked up quickly. “Father was right, then, miss--there are some of them about. Father’s in the woodshed; shall I call him and tell him to look after them?” “No, no,” said Olivia, quickly, with a slight flush; “they are far away by this time, I dare say. I haven’t been to see you for some time, Bessie,” she went on, hurriedly, changing the subject. “No, miss,” said Bessie, softly. “But I didn’t expect--I knew you would have a great deal to do.” She faltered and colored. “I’ve heard the news, miss, and”--she dropped her work and clasped her hands, her eyes fixed with affectionate earnestness on Olivia’s pale face--“I do pray you may be happy!” “Thank you, Bessie,” said Olivia, a slight flush passing across her face. “Yes, I am going to marry Mr. Bartley Bradstone; so you see you will not lose me altogether.” “No,” said Bessie, with a quiet sigh; “that thought comforts me a little. The Maples isn’t far, and--and you’ll let me see you sometimes, Miss Olivia?” “As often as you like, Bessie,” said Olivia. “But you speak as if I had been ordered to execution,” and she smiled. Bessie colored, and took up her work again. “Did I, miss? I didn’t mean to; I only meant that it--it was a surprise.” Olivia’s eyes dropped. “Such things are always a surprise, Bessie,” she said. “I came to ask how you were, but I see there is no need to do so. It’s just the Bessie of old, sitting there so quietly and happily at her needle----” A strange look flashed across the girl’s face, and she bent still lower over her work. “Yes, miss, I’m all right now,” she said, quietly. “Father was afraid that the fright would upset me for a long time; but Mr. Faradeane says such care was taken of me that I shall come to no harm. I’m quite right now.” At the mention of Faradeane’s name, Olivia started slightly, and reached for her shawl.