“No, no,” he said, with a forced kind of cheerfulness. “I am a little tired, I think, that is all. I am sorry Bertie did not stay to dinner.” “So am I,” said Olivia, promptly. “How well he looked! Dear Bertie!” The squire glanced at her. “Or Mr. Bradstone,” he said. “I thought he meant staying.” “Yes?” said Olivia in a colder voice. “A good fellow, Bradstone!” said the squire, stirring his coffee. “I don’t think Bertie did him justice this afternoon. If he knew him as well as I do----” “But you do not know him very well, papa,” said Olivia, gently. The squire frowned slightly. “I don’t know why you should say that, Olivia,” he said. “I--you--have seen a great deal of him----” “That is true,” responded Olivia, dryly, “and all we have seen is to his credit. Don’t let us discuss Mr. Bradstone, papa,” she was saying almost pleadingly, when the butler entered, and, approaching the squire, said something in a low and guarded voice, and the squire’s face changed. But Olivia’s ears were quick, and she caught the word “accident.” “Oh, papa! what is it? Tell me, Fleming.” Fleming, the butler, glanced from her to the squire. “Something has happened,” she said, growing pale, but speaking calmly and composedly, for Olivia was not hysterical by any means. “What is it? Why do you not tell me, papa?” “Don’t be alarmed,” said the squire, putting his hand upon her arm. “There has been an accident. Tell us again, Fleming; you need not be afraid of your mistress.” “It’s Bessie Alford, Miss Olivia,” began the butler. “Ah!” breathed Olivia, with a little, piteous catch in her voice. “Poor Bessie! the pony!” “Yes, miss,” said Fleming, gravely. “The pony--she was driving him home--has run away with her. I always told Alford that it wasn’t safe for her to drive. He’s run away and Bessie is hurt.” Olivia’s face grew pale. “Bessie hurt!” she murmured, piteously. “What’s that? Who’s killed?” exclaimed Aunt Amelia, springing to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. “Don’t attempt to keep it from me. I will know who is killed! Oh, dear! I feel--I feel as if I was going to faint. Fleming, a glass of water. Oh, Edwin, I know something dreadful is going to happen!” she wound up with a groan and a wail. Fleming stolidly got her a glass of water; no one else took any notice of her. Olivia stood for a moment pale and thoughtful; then she moved to the door. “I must go to her, papa,” she said. “Where is she, Fleming?” “At the lodge, miss,” he replied, gravely. “The pony fell down or was stopped not far from there--I have not got the rights of it quite, miss--and they carried Bessie home.” Olivia opened the door, and, disregarding her aunt’s shriek of “Where are you going, Olivia?” ran into the hall and caught up a shawl. The squire, without a word, put on his hat, and they went out together. “Poor Bessie!” murmured Olivia, as they ran down the drive. “I warned her against the pony this afternoon.”