“Do any of grandpapa’s people live at Morte?” Bessie asked.

“No, I think not; they are ours and Mr. Gifford’s, and a colony of miserable gentry who exist nobody can tell how, but half their time in jail.  It was a man from Morte who shot our head-keeper last September.  Poor wretch! he is waiting his trial now.  When I have paid a visit to Morte I always feel indifferent to my beautiful home.”

Bessie Fairfax felt a sharp pang of compunction for her former hard judgment of Mrs. Chiverton.  If it was ever just, time and circumstances were already reversing it.  The early twilight overtook them some miles from Castlemount, but it was still clear enough to see a picturesque ivied tower not far removed from the roadside when they passed Carisfort.

Bessie looked at it with interest.  “That is not the dwelling-house—­that is the keep,” Mrs. Chiverton said.  “The house faces the other way, and has the finest view in the country.  It is an antiquated place, but people can be very good and happy there.”

The coachman had slackened speed, and now stopped.  A gentleman was hastening down the drive—­Mr. Forbes, as it turned out on his nearer approach.  The very person she was anxious to see!  Mrs. Chiverton exclaimed; and they entered on a discussion of some plan proposed between them for the abolition of Morte.

“I can answer for Mr. Chiverton’s consent.  Mr. Gifford is the impracticable person.  And of course it is Blagg’s interest to oppose us.  Can we buy Blagg out?” said the lady.

“No, no; that would be the triumph of iniquity.  We must starve him out,” said the clergyman.

More slowly there had followed a lady—­Miss Burleigh, as Bessie now perceived.  She came through the gate, and shook hands with Mrs. Chiverton before she saw who her companion in the carriage was, but when she recognized Bessie she came round and spoke to her very pleasantly:  “Lady Augleby has gone to Scarcliffe to meet one of her daughters, and I have a fortnight’s holiday, which I am spending at home.  You have not been to Carisfort:  it is such a pretty, dear old place!  I hope you will come some day.  I am never so happy anywhere as at Carisfort;” and she allowed Bessie to see that she included Mr. Forbes in the elements of her happiness there.  Bessie was quite glad to be greeted in this friendly tone by Mr. Cecil Burleigh’s sister; it was ever a distress to her to feel that she had hurt or vexed anybody.  She returned to Castlemount in charming spirits.

On entering the drawing-room before dinner there was a new arrival—­a slender little gentleman who knelt with one knee on the centre ottoman and turned over a volume of choice etchings.  He moved his head, and Bessie saw a visage familiar in its strangeness.  He laid the book down, advanced a step or two with a look of pleased intelligence, bowed and said, “Miss Fairfax!” Bessie had already recognized him.  “Mr. Christie!” said she, and they shook hands with the utmost cordiality.  The world is small and full of such surprises.