her counsels heard with deference. From advice she passed into
exhortation, assuming that Bessie was, of course, destined to some sort
of work for a living--to dressmaking, teaching or service in some
shape--and encouraging her to make advances for her future, that it
might not overtake her unprepared. Lady Latimer had not come into the
Forest until some years after the Reverend Geoffry Fairfax's death, and
she had no knowledge of Bessie's birth, parentage and connections; but
she had a principle against poor women pining in the shadow of gentility
when they could help themselves by honest endeavors; and also, she had a
plan for raising the quality of National School teaching by introducing
into the ranks of the teachers young gentlewomen unprovided by fortune.
She advised no more than she would have done, and all she said was good,
if Bessie's circumstances had been what she assumed. But Bessie,
conscious that they were about to suffer a change, felt impelled at
last to set Lady Latimer right. Her shy face mitigated the effect of her
speech.

"I have kindred in Woldshire, my lady, who want me. I am the only child
in this generation, and my grandfather Fairfax says that it is necessary
for me to go back to my own people."

Lady Latimer's face suddenly reflected a tint of Bessie's. But no
after-thought was in Bessie's mind, her simplicity was genuine. She
esteemed it praise to be selected as a fit child to teach children; and,
besides, whatever my lady had said at this period would have sounded
right in Bessie's ears. When she had uttered her statement, she waited
till Lady Latimer spoke.

"Do you belong to the Fairfaxes of Kirkham? Is your grandfather Richard
Fairfax of Abbotsmead?" she said in a quick voice, with an inflection of