He did not come, however, and Bessie was not astonished.  Under other circumstances Abbotsmead might have been a cheerful house, but it seemed as if no one cared to make it cheerful now:  if the days got over tranquilly, that was enough.  The squire and his granddaughter dined alone day after day, Mr. Forbes relieved their monotony on Sundays, and occasionally Mr. Oliver Smith came for a night.  Society was a toil to Mr. Fairfax.  He did not find his house dull, and would have been surprised to know that Elizabeth did.  What could she want that she had not?  She had Janey to ride, and Joss, a companionable dog, to walk with; she had her carriage, and could drive to Hartwell as often as she pleased; and at her gates she had bright little Mrs. Stokes for company and excellent Mrs. Forbes for counsel.  Still, Bessie felt life stagnant around her.  She could not be interested in anything here without an effort.  The secret of it was her hankering after the Forest, and partly also her longing for those children.  To have those dear little boys over from Norminster would cheer her for the whole winter; but how to compass it?  Once she thought she would bring them over without leave asked, but when she consulted Mrs. Stokes, she was assured that it would be a liberty the squire would never forgive.

“I am not afraid of being never forgiven,” rejoined Bessie.  “I shall do some desperate act one of these days if I am kept idle.  Think of the echoes in this vast house answering only the slamming of a door! and think of what they would have to answer if dear little unruly Justus were in the old nursery!”

Mrs. Stokes laughed:  “I am only half in sympathy with you.  Why did you discourage that fascinating Mr. Cecil Burleigh?  A young lady is never really occupied until she is in love.”

Bessie colored slightly.  “Well,” she said, “I am in love—­I am in love with my two little boy-cousins.  What do you advise?  My grandfather has never mentioned them.  It seems as if it would be easier to set them before him than to speak of them.”

“I should not dare to do that.  What does Mr. Laurence Fairfax say?  What does his wife say?”

“Not much.  My grandfather is treating them precisely as he treated my father and my mother—­just letting them alone.  And it would be so much pleasanter if we were all friends!  I call it happiness thrown away.  I have everything at Abbotsmead but that.  It is not like a home, and the only motive there was for me to try and root there is taken away since those boys came to light.”

“Your future prospects are completely changed.  You bear it very well.”