re of yourself?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Things maybe better than you expect; one can never tell." He stopped
and looked earnestly in her face, and she could see that he was very
much moved. "I wish you could be spared all this, but I know you will do
your best for everybody. I will not tell you now how we shall all miss
you; the house will seem very empty when I go back."

"You have been very good to me, Mr. Sefton; thank you for everything."

"No one can help being good to you," he replied gravely. "Good-bye, God
bless you!" The train moved on, and he lifted his hat and stood aside.

"Oh, how kind every one is!" thought Bessie, as she leaned back wearily
and closed her eyes. Was it all a dream, or was her beautiful holiday
really over? Alas! the dull, aching consciousness told her too truly
that it was sorrowful reality.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"FAREWELL, NIGHT!"

The journey seemed endless to Bessie, but she restrained her painful
restlessness for Tom's sake. Tom was very kind after his own fashion; he
got her some tea at Paddington, and was very attentive to her comfort,
and every now and then he gave utterance to a few remarks, bidding her
keep up her heart like a brave little woman.

"'While there is life there is hope,' you know, Bessie," he said. "I
think my father takes too dark a view of the case; but then, you see,
Hatty is his own child. I don't believe she is as bad as all that;
depend upon it, she will take a good turn yet."

"Don't let us talk about it, Tom," pleaded Bessie, with a sick, wretched
feeling that Tom's boyish testimony was not very reliable. How she
wished he would be silent; but in a few minutes he was back again on the
same subject, with another homely axiom for Bessie's comfort.

But the longest day must have an end, and at last they reached Cliffe.
No one met them at the station, but Tom assured her that he never
expected to be met; he put Bessie into a fly, and again there was need
for patience, as the horse toiled slowly up the steep road. It was long
past nine when they reached the house, and by that time Bessie's
overwrought feelings bordered on nervous irritability.

The door opened as the fly stopped, and by the hall lamp she saw her
mother's face, looking paler and sadder, but her voice was as quiet and
gentle as ever.

"Is that you, Bessie? My dear child, how tired you must be!"

"Oh, mother, mother!" and now Bessie literally fell on her mother's neck
and wept.

M