It was her nature to struggle against gloom and pain
for a clear outlook at her horizon, and Madame Fournier had not failed
to supply her with moral precepts for sustenance when cast on the shore
of a strange and indifferent society.
The Foam touched at Hastings, at Dover, at semi-Dutch Harwich, and then
no more until it put into Scarcliffe Bay. Here Bessie's sea-adventures
ended. She went ashore and walked with her uncle on the bridge, gazing
about with frank, unsophisticated eyes. The scenery and the weather were
beautiful. Mr. Frederick Fairfax had many friends now at Scarcliffe, the
favorite sea-resort of the county people. Greetings met him on every
hand, and Bessie was taken note of. "My niece Elizabeth." Her history
was known, kindness had been bespoken for her, her prospects were
anticipated by a prescient few.
At length one acquaintance gave her uncle news: "The squire and your
brother are both in the town. I fell in with them at the bank less than
an hour ago."
"That is good luck: then we will go into the town and find them." And he
moved off with alacrity, as if in sight of the end of an irksome duty.
Bessie inquired if her uncle was going forward to Abbotsmead, to which
he replied that he was not; he was going across to Norway to make the
most of the fine weather while it lasted. He might be at horns in the
winter, but his movements were always uncertain.
Mr. Fairfax came upon them suddenly out of the library.
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