icket was still open, the sister was still looking out. There was a
glimpse of lofty houses, open windows, grapevines rich in purple
clusters on the walls, and boxes of mignonette and gayer flowers upon
the window-sills. Miss Foster asked Bessie if she would like to see what
of the asylum was shown; and though Bessie's taste did not incline to
painful studies, before she had the decision to refuse she found herself
inside the gates and the sister was reciting her monotonous formula.

These tall houses in a crescent on the court were occupied by
lady-boarders not suffering from mental alienation or any loss of
faculty, but from decayed fortunes. The deaf and dumb, the blind, the
crippled, epileptic, and insane had separate dwellings built apart in
the formal luxuriant gardens. "We have patients of all nations," said
the sister. "Strangers see none of these; there have been distressing
recognitions." Bessie was not desirous of seeing any. She breathed more
freely when she was outside the gates. It was a nightmare to imagine the
agonies massed within those walls, though all is done that skill and
charity can do for their alleviation.

* * * * *

"You will not forget us: if ever you come back to Caen, you will not
forget us?" The speaker was little Mrs. Foster.

Bessie had learned to love Mrs. Foster's crowded, minute _salon_, her
mixed garden of flowers and herbs; and she had learned to love the old
lady too, by reason of the kindnesses she had done her and her
over-worked daughter. Mr. Fairfax had made his granddaughter an
allowance of pocket-money so liberal that she was never at a loss for a
substantial testimony of her gratitude to any one who earned it. And now
her farewell visits to all who had been kind to her were paid, and she
was surprised how much she was leaving that she regretted. The word had
come for her to be ready at a moment's call. The yacht was in the river,
her luggage was gone on board, and Mrs. Betts had completed her final
arrangements for the comfort of the young lady. Only Mr. Cecil Burleigh
was to wait for--that was the last news for Bessie: Mr. Cecil Burleigh
was to join the yacht, and to be carried to England with her.

There were three days to wait. The time seemed long in that large vacant
house, that sunburnt secluded garden, that glaring silent court. Bessie
spent hours in the church. It was cool there, and close by if her
summons came. The good _cure_ saw