r mother;
and as Mrs. Sefton was very talkative and in excellent spirits, Bessie
had to maintain her share of the conversation. They found visitors on
their return, and Bessie had to pour out the tea, and help entertain
them, as Edna was tired from her exertions.

As she had predicted, Richard never made his appearance at all, although
Miss Shelton and Edna both expected him, and indulged in wondering
comments on his prolonged absence. Bessie found her position unbearable
at last, and she made an excuse to retire early to her room. She gave a
sigh of relief when she closed the door.

"At last I can think," she said to herself, as she drew her chair to the
fire.

How was she to answer Richard to-morrow? But even as she asked herself
the question she knew she had her answer ready. True, he had taken her
by surprise; she had never suspected that this was his meaning. Bessie's
unconsciousness, her humble estimate of herself, had blinded her to the
truth. She hardly knew herself how much he was to her until his words
had broken the spell; but now there was no room for doubt. She respected
him; he had claimed her sympathy long ago, and now he had won her love.

"Oh, if only my Hatty knew!" were her last thoughts that night, after
she had finished her thanksgiving for the new blessing that had come
into her life; and though she was still tremulous and confused with
happiness, she quieted herself with a few childlike prayers, and soon
slept soundly.

Bessie felt a little nervous as she left the house the next morning, but
she tried not to think of herself. Richard was waiting for her on the
Parade. One glance at him banished her nervousness; he looked pale and
anxious, as though he had not slept, but he made an effort to smile as
he held out his hand.

"Is there any hope for me, Bessie?"

"Yes," she said simply, as she left her hand in his; and Richard needed
no further answer.

It was a bright, peaceful hour that followed, as they walked side by
side, looking at the shining sea and speaking of the dim future that lay
before them.

"I was afraid you were too good for me, Bessie," Richard said, bye and
bye, when he had exhausted his gratitude a little. "Sometimes I used to
lose hope. 'She will never care for such a rough fellow,' I often said
to myself."

"You must not speak against yourself now," returned Bessie shyly.

"No, dear, for you have promised to take me just as I am, and that would
make any fellow think