"I am sorry to say that I am, Miss Fairfax. Mr. Frederick has not lived much at home of late years, but I fear that it will be a terrible shock to his father to hear that he is lost," said Mr. John Short.
"Lost!" echoed Bessie. "Lost! Oh where? Poor grandpapa!"
"On the Danish coast. His yacht was wrecked in one of the gales of last month, and all on board perished. The washing ashore of portions of the wreck leaves no doubt of the disaster. The consul at the nearest port communicated with the authorities in London, and the intelligence reached me some days ago in a form that left little to hope. This morning the worst was confirmed."
Bessie sat down feeling inexpressibly sorrowful. "Grandpapa is out somewhere—Jonquil is seeking him. Oh, how I wish I could be more of a help and comfort to him!" she said, raising her eyes to the lawyer's face.
"It is a singular thing, Miss Fairfax, but your grandfather never seems to want help or comfort like other men. He shuts himself up and broods—just broods—when he is grieved or angry. He was very genial and pleasant as a young man, but he had a disappointment of the affections that quite soured him. I do not know that he ever made a friend of any one but his sister Dorothy. They were on the Continent for a year after that affair, and she died in Italy. He was a changed man when he came home, and he married a woman of good family, but nobody was, perhaps, more of a stranger to him than his own wife. It was generally remarked. And he seemed to care as little for her children as he did for her. I have often been surprised to see that he was indifferent whether they came to Abbotsmead or not; yet the death of Mr. Geoffry, your father, hurt him severely, and Mr. Frederick's will be no less a pain."
"I wish I had not vexed him about my uncle Laurence's boys. We were becoming good friends before," said Bessie.
"Oh, the squire will not bear malice for that. He discriminates between the generosity of your intention towards the children, and what he probably mistook for a will to rule himself. He acted very perversely in going out of the way."
"Does my uncle Laurence know the news you bring?"
"Yes, but he desired me to be the first medium of it. Jonquil is a long while seeking his master."
A very long while. So long that Bessie rang the bell to inquire, and the little page answered it. The master was not come in, he said; they had sent every way to find him. Bessie rose in haste, and followed by Mr. John Short went along the passage to her grandfather's private room. That was dark and empty, and so was the lobby by which it communicated with the garden and the way to the stables. She was just turning back when she bethought her to open the outer door, and there, at the foot of the steps on the gravel-walk, lay the squire. She did not scream nor cry, but ran down and helped to carry him in, holding his white head tenderly. For a minute they laid him on the couch in the justice-room, and servants came running with lights.