Mr. Forbes visited him almost daily, and Mr. Cecil
Burleigh came down from London twice at his request. Bessie remitted no
act of tender thoughtfulness; and one day, shortly before the end, he
said to her, "You are a good girl, Elizabeth." She smiled and said, "Am
I, grandpapa?" but his persistent coldness had brought back her shy
reticence, and neither said any more. Perhaps there was compunction in
the old man's mind--the cast of his countenance was continually that of
regret--but there was no drawing near in heart or confidence ever again,
and the squire died in the isolation of feeling with which living he had
chosen to surround himself. The world, his friends, neighbors, and
servants said that he died in honor respected by all who knew him; but
for long and long after Bessie could never think of his death without
tears--not because he had died, but because so little sorrow followed
him.
CHAPTER XLV.
_THE SQUIRE'S WILL._
Throughout his life Mr. Fairfax had guided his actions by a certain rule
of justice that satisfied himself. The same rule was evident in his last
will. His granddaughter had given him to understand that she should
return to the Forest and cast in her lot with the humble friends from
amongst whom he had taken her, and the provision he made for her was
consonant with that determination. He bequeathed to her a sum of five
thousand pounds--a sufficient portion, as he considered, for that rank
in life--and to Mr.
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