IN MINSTER COURT.

Mr. Fairfax did not withdraw his consent to Elizabeth’s staying in Norminster with her uncle Laurence, and on Monday afternoon she and Mrs. Betts were transferred from Brentwood to Minster Court.  On the first evening Mr. John Short dined there, but no one else.  He made Miss Fairfax happy by talking of the Forest, which he had revisited more than once since the famous first occasion.  After dinner the two gentlemen remained together a long while, and Bessie amused herself alone in the study.  She cast many a look towards the toy-cupboard, and was strongly tempted to peep, but did not; and in the morning her virtue had its reward.  It was a little after eleven o’clock when Burrage threw open the door of the study where she was sitting with her uncle and announced “The dear children, sir,” in a matter-of-fact tone, as if they were daily visitors.

Bessie’s back was to the door.  She blushed and turned round with brightened eyes, and there, behold! was that sweet little boy in a blue poplin tunic, and a second little boy, a year smaller, in a white embroidered frock and scarlet sash!  The voice of the incompetent Sally was heard in final exhortation, “Now, mind you be good, Master Justus!” and Master Justus ran straight to the philosopher and saluted him imperatively as “Dada!” which honorable title the other little boy echoed in an imperfect lisp, with an eager desire to be taken up and kissed.  The desire was abundantly gratified, and then Mr. Laurence Fairfax said, “This is Laury,” and offered him to Bessie for a repetition of the ceremonial.

Bessie could not have told why, but her eyes filled as she took him into her lap and took off his pretty hat to see his shining curly locks.  Master Justus was already at the cupboard dragging out the toys, and her uncle stood and looked down at her with a pleased, benevolent face.  “Of course they are my cousins?” said Bessie simply, and quite as simply he said “Yes.”

This was all the interrogatory.  But games ensued in which Bessie was brought to her knees and a seat on the carpet, and had the beautiful propriety of her hair as sadly disarranged as in her gypsy childhood amongst the rough Carnegie boys.  Mrs. Betts put it tidy again before luncheon, after the children were gone.  Mrs. Betts had fathomed the whole mystery, and would have been sympathetic about it had not her young lady manifested an invincible gayety.  Bessie hardly knew herself for joy.  She wanted very much to hear the romantic story that must belong to those bonny children, but she felt that she must wait her uncle’s time to tell it.  Happily for her peace, the story was not long delayed:  she learnt it that evening.