Bessie's Fortune: A Novel

by Mary Jane Holmes

Over this letter Bessie had a good cry, with her face on Grey's shoulder and Grey's arms around her, and when he asked why she cried she said she did not know, only the world seemed a very dreary world with no one perfectly happy in it except themselves. But Bessie's tears in those days were like April showers, and she was soon as joyous and gay as ever, and entered heart and soul into the improvements and repairs which were to make Stoneleigh habitable for the Hon. John, who, greatly to their astonishment, came suddenly upon them one day when they were ankle deep in brick and mortar and lath and plaster, and all the other paraphernalia attendant upon repairing an old house.

Neil was away so much, he said, and he was so lonely in his lodgings, with no one to speak to but his landlady, that he had decided to come to Stoneleigh, though he did not mean to make the least trouble, or be at all in the way.

But a fine gentleman, unaccustomed to wait upon himself, is always in the way, and even Bessie's patience was taxed to its utmost during the weeks which followed. Fortunately for her, Grey knew what was needed better than she did herself, for while she would have torn down one day what had been done the day before, he moved more cautiously and judiciously, so that the work really progressed rapidly, and some time in March John McPherson took possession of the two rooms which had been expressly designed for him, and which, as they were fitted up and furnished with a reference to comfort rather than elegance, were exceedingly homelike and pleasant, and suited the London gentleman perfectly.

"Here I shall live and die, blessing you with my last breath," he said to Bessie, as he moved into his new quarters and seated himself in an arm-chair by a window which overlooked the park and the Menai Bridge not very far away.

He was very fond of Bessie, whom he always called "dear child," and once, when she stood by him, he put his arm about her and kissing her fondly said, "I wish you could have been my daughter; it would have been the making of Neil."

"No, no, oh, no, I couldn't, for there is Grey, whom I love a great deal the best," Bessie answered hurriedly, as she drew herself from him, half feeling as if a wrong had been done her husband by even a hint that she could ever have been the wife of another.

Some time in April the Jerrolds went to London and met Neil at the Grand Hotel, where he was staying a few days before leaving for India.

Owing to Grey's tact, the interview was tolerably free from embarrassment, though in Neil's heart there was a wild tumult of conflicting emotions, as he stood with Bessie again face to face, and heard her well remembered voice.

How lovely she was in her young, happy wifehood, with the tired, care-worn look gone from her sweet face, where only the light of perfect joy and peace was shining.

Grey, who, without being in the least a prig, was something of a connoisseur in the details of dress, had delighted to adorn his bride with everything which could enhance her beauty, and Bessie wore her plumage well, and there was a most striking contrast between the girl of fifteen, who, in her washed linen gown and faded ribbons, had once stood up in the park waving her handkerchief to Neil, and the young matron of twenty, who, clad in a faultless dinner dress, with diamonds in her ears and on her fingers, went forward to meet her cousin. And Neil recognized the difference, and felt himself growing both hot and cold by turns as he took the hand extended to him, and looked down upon the little lady, whom, but for her bright face and clear, innocent blue eyes, he would scarcely have known, so complete was the transformation. For a moment Neil felt as if he preferred the old linen, with its puffed sleeves and antiquated appearance, to the shimmer of the fawn-colored satin, with its facings of delicate blue, and the flush of the solitaires; but, as he watched her moving about the elegant rooms and discharging her duties as hostess just as kindly and thoughtfully as she had done at Stoneleigh, where the china was cracked and the silver was old, he said to himself, that the transformation was such as it should be, and that satins and diamonds, though out of place on little Bessie McPherson, of Stoneleigh, were fitting adornments for Mrs. Grey Jerrold, of Boston. He had called her Bessie, as of old, and the repeating the dear name to her, and seeing the quick, responsive smile and questioning glance he knew so well, nearly unmanned him, and raised within him such a tempest of love, and remorse, and regret for what he had lost, that it required all his fortitude and will not to break down entirely, and to seem natural and at ease during the dinner, to which Grey had invited him, and which was served in the private parlor.