was as pretty a bit of pastoral as could be seen in all the Forest.

Bessie Fairfax loved this spot with a peculiar affection. Beyond the
ford went a footpath, skirting the river, to the village of Brook, where
young Musgrave lived--a footpath overshadowed by such giant fir trees,
such beeches and vast oaks as are nowhere else in England. The Great Ash
was a storm-riven fragment, but its fame continued, and its beauty in
sufficient picturesqueness for artistic purposes. Many a painter had
made the old russet farmhouse his summer lodging; and one was sketching
now where the water had dried in its pebbly bed, and the adventurous
little bare feet of Jack and Willie Carnegie were tempting an imaginary
peril in quest of the lily which still whitened the stream under the
bank.

It was not often that Bessie, with the children alone, wandered so far
afield. But the day had beguiled them, and a furtive hope that Harry
Musgrave might be coming to Beechhurst that way had given Bessie
courage. He had not been met, however, when it was time to turn their
faces towards home. The boys had their forest pony, and mounted him by
turns. It was Tom's turn now, and Bessie was leading Jerry, and carrying
the socks and boots of the other two in the skirt of her frock, gathered
up in one hand. She was a little subdued, a little downcast, it might be
with fatigue and the sultry air, or it might be with her present
disappointment; but beyond and above all wearied sensations was the jar
of unsettledness that had come into her life, and perplexed and
confused all its sweet simplicities. She made no haste, but lingered,
and let the children linger as they pleased.

The path by the river was not properly a bridle-path, but tourists for
pleasure often lost their way in the forest, and emerged upon the roads