Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie turned away in silence. They had nothing to do but
sorrowfully to repair home again. They were more grieved at heart by
this disappointment than by any that had preceded it; and all the more
did they try to cheer one another.

"Don't fret, Jane: it hurts me to see you fret," said the doctor. "It
was a nice thought in Bessie, but the chance was a poor one."

"We have lost her, Thomas; I fear we have lost her," said his wife. "It
is unnatural to pass by our very door, so to speak, and not let us see
her. But I don't blame her."

"No, no, Bessie is not to blame: Harry Musgrave can tell us better than
that. It is Mr. Fairfax--his orders. He forbade her coming, or it might
have been managed easily. It is a mistake. He will never win her heart
so; and as for ruling her except through her affections, he will have a
task. I'm sorry, for the child will not be happy."

When Mr. and Mrs. Carnegie arrived at home they found Bessie's letter
that had come by post--an abrupt, warm little letter that comforted them
for themselves, but troubled them for her exceedingly. "God bless her,
dear child!" said her mother. "I am afraid she will cry sadly, Thomas,
and nobody to say a loving word to her or give her a kiss."

"It is a pity; she will have her share of vexations. But she is young
and can bear them, with all her life before her. We will answer that
pretty letter, that she may have something to encourage her when she
gets amongst her grand relations. I suppose it may be a week or ten days
first. We have done what we could, Jane, so cheer up, and let it rest."