When dinner was over, and Edna went to the piano, he placed himself beside her; but he did not ask Bessie to sing. She sat at her work, and tried to think that she was enjoying herself, but she felt left out in the cold; she missed the old friendliness in Richard's manner; she wondered why he did not ask about her home. Could a few months have cooled his friendship? When she bade him good-night he hardly looked at her; he shook hands far more cordially with Miss Shelton. Bessie felt chilled and depressed, for she was a faithful little soul, and was true to all her likes and dislikes; fickleness to her friends was not in her nature; if she liked a person she liked him or her always. "It is very strange, very disappointing. I think I would rather he had not come," she thought; "but perhaps he will be nicer to-morrow;" and with this vague hope she fell asleep. The next morning she was out at her usual time, and, as before, the crisp morning air seemed to dispel all uneasy thoughts; she felt brighter, more sanguine and cheerful than she had last night. Nature holds a store of comfort for those who love and seek her--she has all sorts of balmy messages to give them; a thousand mellow influences steal upon the jaded consciousness; hope is written legibly in the blue sky, the clear air, the sunshine; every flower, every leaf is a token of love; the birds sing, and, in spite of ourselves, our hearts grow lighter. "It must have been my fancy," thought Bessie; "I hope I am not growing self-conscious;" and then she gave a little start of surprise, for surely she knew that brown tweed coat, and there was Richard coming to meet her; and it was with his old pleasant smile that he greeted her. "What a lovely morning, Miss Lambert! I knew you would be out." He had expected her then. "Miss Shelton is an early riser, too, but she never walks before breakfast. I wanted to find you alone, and to tell you that I was at Cliffe the day before yesterday." "At Cliffe?" And Bessie raised her clear eyes to his with such intense surprise that Richard laughed a little nervously. "I had some business there," he began awkwardly, "and I wanted to see your father. I saw them all," hesitating, "except your brother--he has gone back to Oxford; they were very well, and sent their love." "And you saw mother?" "Yes; what a nice woman she is! I like her so much, and your father too; they were very kind--kinder than I expected. You are a little like your mother--at least, I saw a sort of likeness. I never felt more at home anywhere." "I am so glad;" and Bessie did look glad. He was quite like himself this morning; she had got her friend back again. "Did father send me no other message?" she asked presently. "No, I believe not; at least, I have no recollection of a message. Miss Lambert," and here Richard's manner was decidedly nervous, "don't you wonder what my business was at Cliffe?"