Bessie turned away and caught up the traveling dress.
“Oh, try, try and keep up, miss!” she said, in a low, imploring voice. “Let me get you something—a little wine?”
Olivia shook her head.
“No, no; I do not want it. Don’t be afraid,” and she laid her hand on Bessie’s. “If I have kept up till now, I can——”
Bessie trembled at the stony, icelike touch, and went on with her work.
“I—I shall go down with you, miss,” she whispered.
“Yes, keep with me, dear,” said Olivia, calmly now. “Don’t”—her lips quivered—“don’t leave me alone with my father.”
Bessie understood the prayer. Her beloved mistress might endure all else on this day, but not a scene with the father she loved so passionately and was leaving.
“Yes, miss, I understand,” she murmured.
“Shall we go down?” said Olivia, as Bessie put on her hat. “I am ready!” and she raised her eyes to the glass mechanically.