and
eager desire for books, that even in their walks she induced her sister
to read aloud. They thus read Southey's _Curse of Kehama_, and she was
so much excited by it that somewhat to the alarm of younger persons she
went about repeating aloud "the words of that awful curse."

There were plenty of books at Culham. Mr. Wintle interdicted two or
three, but amongst the rest his grandchildren were at liberty to select.
They picked out all that promised to be "most exciting," and this free
pasture made the visit memorable. Bessie was still "Blossom" to her
grandfather, a Blossom that he admired and loved, but Blossom only.
Never was a Blossom whose words and deeds have been treasured in such
loving hearts.

"We looked upon her as a sort of prophetess;" and this view was
confirmed by incidents that occurred in 1842. The sisters were walking
together, and first one and then another suggested strange things that
might happen. "Why, who knows," said Bessie, "in less than a month our
house may be burnt down and we may be living in a palace!" Now within a
month it is recorded that a rocket let off in the street, and badly
aimed, went through the windows of the nursery in which several children
were asleep. The governess happened to be in the room, and with great
presence of mind seized the rocket and threw it back into the street.
Now here was at any rate the possibility of a fire. Still more
impressive was the fact that within the month Dr. Gilbert was appointed
to the See of Chichester. They would really live in a palace.

Much excitement and no little awe in the nursery, not so much because
the father was a bishop as because Bessie was a prophetess. The bishop
would be comparatively innocuous in the nursery, but who could tell what
a prophetess might foresee!

And so the pleasant Oxford life came to an end; and in spite of a
prospective palace, the _sisterhood_ thought the change a calamity.
Bessie specially disliked leaving her old friends, and her regret at
parting from them did not diminish but increased with time. Doubtless in
later years the inevitable restraint of her life lent an additional
charm to the memory of her youth in Oxford. The constant solicitude of
parents, friends, and sisters had kept from her in early days the
knowledge of limitations; but in the time that was at hand she was to go
forth to face the world and to learn more of the meaning of the
mysterious word blind. Canon Melville, who knew her in O