might seek to be more than your cousin; but as it is, don't
attach much importance to what he says and does, or be disappointed at
what he does not do."

Bessie did not reply for the great lump which had risen in her throat as
her father put into words what in part she had suspected, but tried to
fight down. She did not like to believe that Neil had a fault, and still
she felt that her father might be right, and that Neil _was_ ashamed of
them. Something in his manner since they came to London, would indicate
as much, and her heart was very sore with a sense of something lost, and
there were tears on her long eyelashes as she bent over the darn, too
much absorbed in her own thoughts to hear the step on the stairs or know
that any one was coming until there was a tap at the open door, and
looking up she saw Jack Trevellian standing before her. Mrs. Buncher,
who was her own waitress, had bidden him "go right up," and as the door
was ajar he stood for an instant on the upper landing and heard Archie
say:

"You were fifteen last March. You are very beautiful, and Neil McPherson
knows it, and if you had a fortune he might seek to be more than your
cousin, but as it is don't attach much importance to what he says and
does or be disappointed at what he does not do."

"The old cove has hit it," Jack thought; "he understands Neil to a dot.
If Bessie had a fortune he would go down before her in dead earnest;
and, perhaps, I would too, for, 'pon my soul, she has the sweetest face
I ever saw. What a lovely woman she will make."

And then, there arose before him a vision of a stately old house in the
north country, the home of the Trevellians, and in the family vault the
present owner, a white haired man of seventy-five was lying, and by his
side his puny eldest son, and also stalwart Harry, who looked as if a
broad-ax could not kill him, and he, Jack Trevellian now the bachelor
with only 500 pounds a year, and most extravagant tastes, was there as
Sir Jack, and with him this little Welsh maiden, who was bending over
the threadbare coat, and trying to force back the tears her father's
words had caused her.

"I am a knave and a murderer," Jack thought. "Uncle Paul, and Dick, and
Hal would have to die, and little Flossie, whom I like so much, be left
alone, before all this could be;" then, with a premonitory cough, he
knocked lightly at the open door.

"Oh, Mr. Trevellian!" Bessie exclaimed, springing to her feet and
blushing