“DEAR DARLING BESSIE:—­I must call you that, though I have never seen you, but I have heard so much of you from Sir Jack that I feel as if I knew you, and very soon I hope to see you face to face, for you are coming here as Lady Jack, and so save me from that horrid, pokey place on the Irish coast, where I never can be happy, never.  I do so want to stay at the castle, but Madam Propriety says it would not be proper.  I hate proper things, don’t you? and I do love the castle!  Such a grand old place, with lovely views from every window.  Acres of green sward, smooth as satin, with shade trees here and there, and banks, and borders, and beds of flowers, and from the room I have selected as your sitting-room you can see a broad, grassy avenue nearly a mile long, with the branches of the trees which skirt it meeting overhead.  Every day I gallop down that avenue, which they call by my name, on Midnight, my black horse, and I always clear the gate at a bound.  I like such things, and there is not a fence or a ditch in the neighborhood which I cannot take.  Hoidenish, do you call me?  Well, perhaps I am, but I am a pretty nice girl, too, and I love you and want you to come here at once and be happy.  Sir Jack has told me how different your life has been from mine, and how tired and worn you are; but here you shall never know weariness again.  Your life shall be one long rest, in the loveliest place you ever saw, and we will all care for you so tenderly, and bring the roses back to the dear face Sir Jack says is now so pale.  I am seventeen, and not a mere child, though I am not much larger than your thumb, and I can be your companion and friend, if you will only come.  You must love Sir Jack.  You cannot help loving him when you know how good he is!  Why, if I tried real hard I could love him myself!  But he looks upon me as a child, though he does not play with and tease me as Cousin Harry did.  Poor Hal!  There is such a pain in my heart when I think of him so strong and full of fun in the morning, and then dead before noon.  Oh, Hal.  Hal!  My tears are falling fast for him, and I am so lonely without him.  Come to me, Bessie, and you shall never have a more devoted friend than little

    “FLORENCE MEREDITH.”

There were tears in Bessie’s eyes when she finished this letter, which told her something of the warm, loving nature of the impulsive Irish Flossie, whom she knew she could love so much, while the perfect rest promised her at Trevellian Castle looked so very pleasant to her and she was so tired, oh, so tired in mind and body, that it seemed to her she could gladly lie down in some quiet spot and die, if only thus she could rest.  And Jack had offered her rest and happiness and luxury with him, but she must not take it, must not consider it for a moment.  She was promised to Neil.  She would be true to Neil, even though he neither wrote nor came.  She had loved him always, and tired as she was, she was ready to take up life’s work again and battle and toil for him, if need be.  And when Jack said to her, “You will be my wife, Bessie?” she answered him, sadly, “No, I cannot.  I might learn to love you in time, if I could forget the past—­forget that I love another, am promised to another.”