She knew he would be very angry, and probably insist upon paying the difference, but she could take no more money from him, and her blood was hot whenever she reflected what she had heard him say to Flossie of the bills incurred in Rome, and which she meant to pay to the uttermost farthing, if her life was spared and she found something to do in the new world, where to work was not degrading.  But she must know the amount, and she timidly asked Neil to tell her how much it was.

“Enough!  I assure you.  Those Italians are rascals and cheats—­the whole of them; but it need not trouble you, the debt is paid,” he said, a little bitterly.  But Bessie insisted upon knowing, and finally wrung from him that two hundred and fifty pounds would probably cover the whole indebtedness.

“Bringing mother home and all?” Bessie asked, and he replied: 

“Yes, bringing her home and all; that was a useless expense.”

He spoke before he thought, and when he saw how quickly the tears came to Bessie’s eyes, he repented the act, and stooping down to kiss her, said: 

“Forgive me, Bessie, I did not mean to wound you; but mother did fret so about the bills.  You know she did not like your mother.”

“Tell her I shall pay them all,” Bessie answered, as she withdrew herself from the arm he had thrown round her.  “My mother was my own, and with all her faults I loved her, and I believe she was a good woman at the last.  I should die if I did not.”

“Yes, oh yes, of course,” Neil said, feeling very awkward and uncertain what to say next.

At last he asked, rather abruptly, if Bessie knew where Jack Trevellian and Grey Jerrold were, saying he had never heard from either of them since he was in Rome.

Bessie replied that Flossie had written that Sir Jack was somewhere in the Bavarian Alps leading a kind of Bohemian life, and that he had written to his steward at Trevellian Castle that he should not be home until he had seen the Passion Play, then in process of presentation at Oberammergau.

“He never writes Flossie,” Bessie said; “neither does she know where Mr. Jerrold is.  She wrote to him at Venice, but he did net answer her letter.  Perhaps he has gone home.”

Neil said it was possible, adding, that she would probably see him in America, as his Aunt Lucy lived in Allington.

“But you are not to fall in love with him,” he continued, laughingly.  “You are mine, and I shall come to claim you as soon as you write me you have found that fortune you are going after.  Do your best, little Bess, and if you cannot untie the old maid’s purse strings nobody can.”

Bessie made no reply, but in her heart there was a feeling which boded no good to Neil, who left her the next day, promising to come down to Liverpool and see her off.

CHAPTER VI.

IN LIVERPOOL.

It was a steady down-pour, and the streets of Liverpool, always black and dirty, looked dirtier and blacker than ever on the day when Neil McPherson walked restlessly up and down the entrance hall of the North-western Hotel, now scanning the piles of baggage waiting to be taken to the Germanic, and then looking ruefully out upon the rain falling so steadily.