“No, miss,” she assented, meekly. “I suppose nothing can be done—I mean to help him, if he is ill or in trouble. I’d”—her pretty face flushed, and her voice quivered—“I’d walk a hundred miles barefoot to serve him——” She stopped and restrained herself. “But I’m only a poor, ignorant girl, miss, and can’t do anything. What seems so dreadful is his loneliness. From week’s end to week’s end no one goes near him, now that Lord Bertie has gone away. He was the only friend he had, father says.”
Olivia rose and put on her hat.
“Mr. Faradeane does not wish for any friends, Bessie,” she said, speaking with an air of indifference. “I am sorry he has been ill, and glad that he is better. As for any trouble, I don’t know——” She stopped. “I must go now, Bessie. You must come up to the Grange; there are some dresses I want you to look over.”
“Yes, miss,” said Bessie, obediently, and, taking up her hat, followed her to the gate.
“Where are you going, Bessie?” asked Olivia.
“With you to the Grange, miss,” replied Bessie, firmly.
“Indeed you shall not,” said Olivia.
“But I mean to, miss,” retorted Bessie, steadily. “You’ve been frightened already to-night, and that’s quite enough. I am coming to take care of you.”
Olivia regarded the slim, girlish figure with a laugh.
“Why, you silly child, and who is to take care of you coming back alone?”