"Some of us have hearts of stone given us--more our misfortune than our
fault," said Lady Latimer with a sudden air of offence, and turned and
left the room, preceding the others down stairs. Bessie was startled;
Miss Charlotte made no sign, but when they were in the hall she asked
her sister if she would not like to see the gardens once more. Indeed
she would, she said; and, addressing Bessie with equanimity restored,
she reminded her how she had once told her that Abbotsmead was very
beautiful and its gardens always sunny, and she hoped that Bessie was
not disappointed, but found them answer to her description. Bessie said
"Yes," of course; and my lady led the way again--led the way everywhere,
and to and fro so long that Miss Charlotte was fain to rest at
intervals, and even Bessie's young feet began to ache with following
her. My lady recollected every turn in the old walks and noted every
alteration that had been made--noted the growth of certain trees, and
here and there where one had disappeared. "The gum-cistus is gone--that
lovely gum-cistus! In the hot summer evenings how sweet it was!--like
Indian spices. And my cedar--the cedar I planted--is gone. It might have
been a great tree now; it must have been cut down."

"No, Olympia, it never grew up--it withered away; Richard Fairfax told
Oliver that it died," said Miss Charlotte.

The ladies from Hartwell were still in the gardens when the squire came
home from Norminster, and on Jonquil's information he joined them there.
"Ah, Olympia! are you here?" he said.

My lady colored, and looked as shy as a girl: "Yes; we were just going.
I am glad to have seen you to say good-bye."