could not exactly decide. It is strange that
nobody was lucky enough to guess anything
near the truth.

Bessy, to be sure, soon began to feel less
awe; for the grand lady was by no means
grand in her manner to her. She even
amused herself by teaching her to read and
write, and in a short time derived full
payment for her labour in the possession of the
cleverest little reader and amanuensis that
any body could wish. How pleasant it was
in the long winter evenings to see the little
girl seated on a footstool at the lodger's feet,
reading in a clear, child-like, but very intelligent
voice, long pages of Orme's History of
Hindostan, and Lives of Warren Hastings,
and the sufferings of the English prisoners in
the Black Hole of Calcutta! But sometimes
the night's entertainments consisted of lighter
and more interesting volumes than these.
There were poets, and novelists, and
historians, all opening their stores to the quick
apprehension of Bessy Miller. And there
was solid talk, too; for Mrs. Donnington had
seen the world, though the greater part of
her life had been spent in India; and, glad
of an attentive listener, though in the person
of one so young, she sat with her hand on
the lassie's head, and told her the adventures
of her life, the manners of the far East, the
storms at sea she had encountered, the grand
oriental cities she had visited, the gorgeous
buildings of Delhi, and the sacred waters of
Benares.

Then sometimes the new secretary tried
her powers in writing letters to her
patroness's son; a lad at this time of sixteen
or seventeen, and just finishing his course at
one of the great English schools, preparatory
to his embarking in a profession. What the
profession was to be the anxious mother
could not decide. Meanwhile the time for
his entrance upon life drew near, and his
letters in reply were full of ardent hope and
strong anticipations of success. Once he
came— but his visit was short, and his
interviews with his mother so long, that Bessy
was little heeded. So again she betook
herself entirely to the company of her father,
and illuminated him, at second-hand, with
the wondrous knowledge she had picked up
in the last half year. It was only when
he was on the eve of his departure that
Walter Donnington took any notice of his
mother's friend. He thanked her for her
kindness, patted her on the head with the
familiar condescension of a very old gentleman
to a very young child, and remarked for
the first time the extraordinary beauty of
cheek and eye as a blush, perhaps of shame,
perhaps of gratification, seemed to suffuse
them both. But boys of seventeen have an
unbounded contempt for girls of eleven and
a half; and Walter took a sorrowful leave of
his mother, after a week's stay, and departed
from Daisy Hope almost without wishing
Bessy Miller good-bye.

Again the confidences between the old
lady and her protégée began. A commission
in the army had been offered to the son, and
she had at last given her consent to him to
accept it. He was to spend some months at
a military academy, and then join the regiment,
which was stationed in India. So all
the interval was spent in expectation of the
visit he was to pay to Daisy Hope before he
left England. Indian story was more
carefully studied than ever; the history of the
wars of all times and nations were carefully
read; and Bessy's education was more fitted
for a cadet at Sandhurst or Woolwich, than
for the daughter of a poor Scotch carrier in
a broken-down farm-house on the banks of
the Forth.

The expected visit was to take place in
September, and people passing the ruined
gateway of the Hope were surprised to see
an approach to a little garden gradually
making its appearance in front of the drawing-
room windows. Sometimes even they were
startled by the apparition of a tall lady
dressed in black silk, and sustaining her
stately form on a long gold-headed cane,
superintending the labours of Bessy Miller,
in watering the flowers and tying up the
roses. In these labours old Andrew Miller
joyfully assisted, and a painter no doubt
could have made a very picturesque group of
the lofty lady, and the blue-bonneted, grey-
coated peasant, watching the graceful motions
of the little girl with almost equal affection.
It formed a bond between the elders which
made up for the differences of their condition;
and Andrew could stand for hours on the
lawn discoursing on Predestination and
Effectual Calling, as also on the prices of
oatmeal, and the prospects of the Barley Harvest,
with the greatest ease and fluency.
Sometimes he was interrupted in the middle of a
disquisition on turnips, or free-will, (for
Andrew was a great controversialist on all
subjects, and settled points of divinity and
routines of crops, with the same facility), by
the lady's saying to him — "But, Mr. Miller,
I have just been thinking again— what will
become of Bessy if we both die?"

"Troth, my leddy, I dinna ken; for except
it be the Bruce — who has seen his best days;
mair by token, he'll be fifteen year auld next
grass; and wadna fetch above ten pound at
Hallow fair; I'm thinking she'll hae nae
great share o' warld's gear — but she's a gude
lassie, and a bonnie; and friends will aye be
raised up for her; for isna there a promise
that she'll never be forsaken, nor reduced to
beg for bread? The cart also wadna fetch
muckle, by reason one of the wheels is rather
frail, and the left tram needs constant mending;
but what o' that? Had Queen Esther's
father a horse half sae gude as the Bruce!
or any sort o' cart ava'? and yet she clamb
up on a golden seat, and fitted a new rope
roun' Haman's thrapple — a proper end for
a' unbelieving Jews."