"Men are as blind as bats," said Bessie scornfully; "good-night." CHAPTER IV. HUGH. One bright morning towards the last of June, Bessie and Hugh were together in the studio; Bessie was working at her picture, and her cousin, seated in an old arm-chair, was gazing dreamily out through the open window over the pasture, and grove, and the blue lake beyond. "I think life is very beautiful," he said, after a long pause. "I have no patience with people who are always sighing and complaining, always talking of the cold world, the hard lot of man, and the sufferings of humanity. I always felt sure that they themselves have no taste for beauty, no affection for their friends, or enthusiasm for great deeds, and, judging others by themselves, of course they are always looking for double motives in the kindest actions, and hypocrisy in the most unselfish impulses." "What has brought these thoughts to the surface, Hugh?" "The beauty of the sky and the lake. How can any one look at them and not be happy?" "If you were very poor, Hugh, you might not have time to look at them," said Bessie, taking up the other side. "Why not? One can work and not be blind! I expect to work all my life, but I am going to be happy too." "But suppose you should lose all those you love,--suppose they should all die," said Bessie, pursuing the argument. "Even then I should be happy on such a day and with such a sky. I cannot understand how people who believe God's word can brood over their sorrows in such a gloomy way. Are not the dead with their great Creator? Can we not trust them to Him? Why, when I look up into this blue sky, I can almost see them there. My mother,--how often I think of her; not with sadness, always with pleasure, and a bright anticipation of meeting her again. Bessie, if I should die, you must not mourn for me. Think of me as gone into another world where sooner or later you will come too." "Why do you say such things, Hugh?" said Bessie, laying down her brush with her eyes full of tears.