her features like a handsome mask. She was too composed. Pride tinged
with resentment simulates dignified composure very well for a little
while, but only for a little while when there is a heart behind.

They went walking hither and thither about the steep, windy streets.
Bessie fell behind. Now and then there was an encounter with other
gentlemen, brief, energetic speech, inquiry and answer, sally and
rejoinder, all with one common subject of interest--the Norminster
election. Scarcliffe is a fine town, and there was much gay company
abroad that afternoon, but Bessie was too miserable to be amused. Her
uncle Laurence was the one of the party who was so fortunate as to
discover this. He turned round on a sudden recollection of his stranger
niece, and surprised a most desolate look on her rosy face. Bessie
confessed her feelings by the grateful humility of her reply to his
considerate proposal that they should turn in at a confectioner's they
were passing and have a cup of tea.

"My father is as full of this election as if he were going to contest
the city of Norminster himself," said he. "I hope you have a blue
bonnet? You will have to play your part. Beautiful ladies are of great
service in these affairs."

Bessie had not a blue bonnet; her bonnet was white chip and pink
may--the enemy's colors. She must put it by till the end of the war. Tea
and thick bread and butter were supplied to the hungry couple, and
about four o'clock Mr. Fairfax called for them and hurried them off to
the train. Mr. Laurence went on to Norminster, dropping the squire and
Elizabeth at Mitford Junction. Thence they had a drive of four miles
through a country of long-backed, rounded hills, ripening cornfields,
and meadows green with the rich aftermath, and full of cattle. The sky