The boles and sweeping branches of the great beeches hid the figures at
their feet, and Mrs. Musgrave, observing that dear Bessie was very fond
of the manor-garden, and had probably strolled into the wilderness, my
lady accepted the explanation and resumed her seat and her patience.
Meanwhile, Harry did not waste his precious opportunity. He had this
advantage, that when he saw Bessie he saw only the fair face that he
worshipped, and thought nothing of her adventitious belongings, while in
her absence he saw her surrounded by them, and himself set at a vast
conventional distance. He said that the four years since she left
Beechhurst seemed but as one day, now they were together again in the
old familiar places, and she replied that she was glad he thought so,
for she thought so too. "I still call the Forest home, though I do not
pine in exile. I return to it the day after to-morrow," she told him.
"Good little philosophical Bessie!" cried Harry, and relapsed into his
normal state of masculine superiority.
Then they talked of themselves, past, present, and future--now with
animation, now again with dropped and saddened voices. The afternoon sun
twinkled in the many-paned lattices of the old house in the background,
and the brook sang on as it had sung from immemorial days before a stone
of the house was built. Harry gazed rather mournfully at the ivied walls
during one of their sudden silences, and then he told Bessie that the
proprietor was ill, and the manor would have a new owner by and by.
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