piece of ground I named long ago, and which
was considered the rendezvous of all the
ne'er-do-weel characters for miles round, and
where a parson and a constable were held in
much the same kind of esteem, as unwelcome
visitors. And yet Mr. Gray had his long
fits of depression, in which he felt as if he
were doing nothing, making no way in his
work, useless and unprofitable, and better out
of the world than in it. In comparison with
the work he had set himself to do, what he
did seemed to be nothing. I suppose it was
constitutional, those attacks of lowness of
spirits which he had about this time; perhaps
a part of the nervousness which made
him always so awkward when he came to
the Hall. Even Mrs. Medlicott, who almost
worshipped the ground he trod on, as the
saying is, owned that Mr. Gray never entered
one of my lady's rooms without knocking
down something, and too often breaking
it. He would much sooner have faced a
desperate poacher than a young lady any day.
At least so we thought.

I do not know how it was that it came to
pass that my lady became reconciled to Miss
Galindo about this time. Whether it was
that her ladyship was weary of the unspoken
coolness with her old friend; or that the
specimens of delicate sewing and fine spinning
at the school, had mollified her towards
Miss Bessy; but I was surprised to learn one
day that Miss Galindo and her young friend
were coming that very evening to the Hall
to tea. This information was given me by
Mrs. Medlicott, as a message from my lady,
who further went on to desire that certain
little preparations should be made in her
own private sitting-room, in which the
greater part of my days were spent. From
the nature of these preparations, I became
quite aware that my lady intended to do
honour to her expected visitors. Indeed
Lady Ludlow never forgave by halves, as I
have known some people do. Whoever was
coming as a visitor to my lady, peeress, or
poor nameless girl, there was a certain amount
of preparation required, in order to do them
fitting honour. I do not mean to say that
the preparation was of the same degree of
importance in each case. I dare say, if a
peeress had come to visit us at the Hall, the
covers would have been taken off the furniture
in the white drawing-room (they never
were uncovered all the time I stayed at the
Hall), because my lady would wish to offer
her the ornaments and luxuries which this
grand visitor (who never came— I wish she
had! I did so want to see that furniture
uncovered!) was accustomed to at home, and
to present them to her in the best order in
which my lady could. The same rule, modified,
held good with Miss Galindo. Certain
things, in which my lady knew she took
an interest, were laid out ready for her to
examine on this very day; and, what was
more, great books of prints were laid out,
such as I remembered my lady had had
brought forth to beguile my own early days
of illness,— Mr. Hogarth's works, and the
like, which I was sure were put out for Miss
Bessy.

No one knows how curious I was to see
this mysterious Miss Bessy. Twenty times
more mysterious, of course, for want of her
surname. And then again (to try and account
for my great curiosity, of which in recollection
I am more than half ashamed), I had
been leading the quiet monotonous life of a
crippled invalid for now many years,— shut
up from any sight of new faces; and this was
to be the face of one whom I had thought
about so much and so long,— O! I think I
might be excused.

Of course they drank tea in the great hall,
with the four young gentlewomen, who, with
myself, formed the small bevy now under her
ladyship's charge. Of those who were at
Hanbury when first I came, none remained;
all were married, or gone once more to live
at some home which could be called their
own, whether the ostensible head were
father or brother. I myself was not without
some hopes of a similar kind. My brother
Harry was now a curate in Westmoreland,
and wanted me to go and live with him, as I
did eventually. But that is neither here nor
there at present. What I am talking about
is Miss Bessy.

After a reasonable time had elapsed, occupied
as I well knew by the meal in the great
hall,— the measured, yet agreeable conversation
afterwards, and a certain promenade
around the hall, and through the drawing-
rooms, with pauses before different pictures, the
history or subject of each of which was invariably
told by my lady to every new visitor,—
a sort of giving them the freedom of the
old family-seat, by describing the kind and
nature of the great progenitors who had lived
there before the narrator,— I heard the steps
approaching my lady's room where I lay. I
think I was in such a state of nervous expectation,
that if I could have moved easily, I
should have got up and run away. And yet
I need not have been, for Miss Galindo was
not in the least altered (her nose a little
redder, to be sure, but then that might only
have had a temporary cause in the private
crying I know she would have had before
coming to see her dear Lady Ludlow once
again). But I could almost have pushed
Miss Galindo away, as she intercepted me in
my view of the mysterious Miss Bessy.

Miss Bessy was, as I knew, only about
eighteen, but she looked older. Dark hair,
dark eyes, a tall, firm figure, a good, sensible
face, with a serene expression, not in the least
disturbed by what I had been thinking must
be such awful circumstances as a first introduction
to my lady, who had so disapproved
of her very existence; those are the clearest
impressions I remember of my first interview
with Miss Bessy. She seemed to observe us