them, and they sat and talked to the tinkle of the old fountain. It was
not much either had to say to the other. The gentleman was absent and
preoccupied, like a person accustomed to solitude and long silence; even
while he talked he gave Bessie the impression of being half lost in
reverie. He bore some slight resemblance to his father, and his fair
hair and beard were whitening already, though he appeared otherwise in
the prime of life.

The day after her uncle's visit there came to Bessie a sage, matronly
woman to offer her any help or information she might need in prospect of
sea-adventures. Mrs. Betts was to attend upon her on board the yacht;
she had decisive ways and spoke like a woman in authority. When Bessie
hesitated she told her what to do. She had been in charge of Mr.
Frederick Fairfax's unfortunate wife during a few weeks' cruise along
the coast. The poor lady was an inmate of the asylum of the Bon Sauveur
at Caen. The Foam had been many times into the port on her account
during Bessie's residence in the Rue St. Jean, but, naturally enough,
Mr. Frederick Fairfax had kept his visits from the knowledge of his
school-girl niece. Now, however, concealment might be abandoned, for if
the facts were not communicated to her here, she would be sure to hear
them at Kirkham. And Mrs. Betts told her the pitiful story. Bessie was
inexpressibly awed and shocked at the revelation. She had not heard a
whisper of the tragedy before.

One evening in the cool Bessie walked with Miss Foster up the wide
thoroughfare, at the country end of which are the old convent walls and
gardens which enclose the modern buildings of the Bon Sauveur. They were
not a dozen paces from the gates when the wicket was opened by a sister,
and Mr. Frederick Fairfax came out. Bessie's face flushed and her eyes
filled with tears of compassion.