lip Aubrey, all I
have to wish is, that your actions may recoil upon yourself." She would
have said more, but her feelings overcame her entirely, and sitting down
she covered her face with her hand, the tears trickling through her
fingers.

"Oh, Bessie! Bessie! they have. Bitterly have I repented of my ruse. But
I know if you will hear me you will not judge me harshly."

She drew herself up, and throwing all possible scorn into her face,
said, "Go! and if there remains in your body one vestige of feeling
belonging to a gentleman, never let me look upon your face again."

Like a stricken cur he went from her presence. He knew her too well: he
knew that once roused as she now was, years could not efface her
impression. He knew she would listen to no apology, no word of any kind;
so the only thing left for him to do, as she had expressed it, was to
"leave her presence."

As soon as he was fairly gone Bessie rose, went into the house, locked
herself in her own room and struggled with herself. She did not even
pretend to herself that her trouble was not hard to bear. What did life
hold for her now? She had not even the cousin on whom her affections had
so long been centred as her one living relation.

"Oh, if he had only died! if he had only died before he deceived me this
way!" she moaned, "I think I should have borne it more easily. It cannot
be called the thoughtless trick of a boy: he is too old, and has carried
it on too long, and planned it all too systematically, for that."

Three hours after she came from her vigil pale and silent, but a
conqueror. A little card stuck in the drawing-room mirror told her that
Philip had started for New York on his way to his Western home again.

"I declare, Ophelie, Bessie Linton's awful queer about Philip Aubrey.
Last night I says to her, says I, 'Bessie, I hear Philip Aubrey's
home--is he?' First she turned mighty red, and then as white as a sheet,
and she seemed kind a-chokin' like; but in a moment she says, 'So he
was, Mrs. Dartle, but he found some pressing business that took him back
a great deal sooner than he expected.' 'La!' says I, 'what a pity! You
ain't seen him for so long, and you was so attached to him!' And she
says, just as cold as an ice-pitcher, 'I shall miss him very much. Have
you seen my new heliotrope, Mrs. Dartle?' So I couldn't say anything
more, but I declare to man I'd give a penny to know what's the
matter--such friends as they used to be, too! You m