ations. It would have been impossible to convey in
palatable words the requisition that the lawyer was put upon making; but
to Mrs. Carnegie the demand did not sound harsh, nor the manner of it
insolent. She had always kept her mind in a state of preparedness for
some such change, and the only sense of annoyance that smote her was for
her own shortcomings--for how she had suffered Bessie to be almost a
servant to her own children, and how she could neither speak French nor
play on the piano.

The doctor pooh-poohed her remorse. "You have done the best for her you
could, Jane. What right has her grandfather to expect anything? He left
her on your hands without a penny."

"Bessie has been worth more than she costs, if that were the way to look
at it. But she will have to leave us now; she will have to go."

"Yes, she will have to go. But the old gentleman shall never deny our
share in her."

"The future will rest with Bessie herself."

"And she has a good heart and a will of her own. She will be a woman
with brains, whether she can play on the piano or not. Don't fret
yourself, Jane, for any fancied neglect of Bessie."

"I am sadly grieved for her, Thomas; she will be sent to school, and
what a life she will lead, dear child, so backward in her learning!"

"Nonsense! She is a bit of very good company. Wherever Bessie goes she
will hold her own. She has plenty of character, and, take my word for
it, character tells more in the long-run than talking French. There is
the gig at the gate, and I must be off, though Bessie was starting for
Woldshire by the next post. The letter is not one to be answered on the
spur of the moment; acknowledge it, and say that it shall be answered
shortly."

With a comfortable kiss the doctor bade his wife good-bye for the day,
admonishing her not to fall a-crying with Bessie over what could not be
remedied. And so he left her with the tears in her eyes already. She sat
a few minutes feeling rather than reflecting, then with the lawyer's
letter in her hands went up stairs, calling softly as she went, "Bessie
dear, where are you?"

"Here, mother, in my own room;" and Bessie appeared in the doorway
handling a scarlet feather-brush with which she was accustomed to dust
her small property in books and ornaments each morning after the
housemaid had performed her heavier task.

Mrs. Carnegie entered with her, and shut the door; for the two-leaved
lattice was wide open, and the muslin curtai