“It is a dreary day for her to start, poor little girl.  I wish I had money of my own, and I would never let her go,” he said to himself, as he began to realize what it would be to have Bessie separated from him the breadth of the great ocean.

Selfish and weak as we have shown Neil to be, he loved Bessie better than he loved anything except himself, and there was a load on his heart and a lump in his throat every time he thought of her.  She was to sail that afternoon at three, and he had come from London on the night express to meet her and say good-by.  His father, and mother, and Blanche were staying at a gentleman’s house, a few miles from the city, and he was to join them there in the evening, and make one of a large dinner-party given in honor of Lady Jane.  He had told his mother that Bessie was going to America, and in her delight at the good news she did not oppose his going to see her off, and actually handed him a five-pound note, which he was to give to Bessie with her best wishes for a pleasant voyage and happiness in the new world.

Thus armed and equipped, Neil waited until a whiz and a shriek outside told him the train from Chester was in, and, going out, he stood at the gate when Bessie came through, accompanied by Mrs. Goodnough, who carried her bag and waterproof, and who courtesied very low to Neil.  Never had the latter seen Bessie look as lovely, as she did to him then in her simple traveling-dress of black, which brought out so clearly the dazzling purity of her complexion, and seemed to intensify the deep blue of her large, sad eyes.

“Oh, Bessie!” he exclaimed, taking her hand and putting it under his arm, “how can I let you go?  Where is Mrs. Goodnough? and who is this woman bobbing up and down and staring so at me?”

Neil had a great contempt for people like Mrs. Goodnough, and when Bessie said to him, in a low tone, “It is my compagnon du voyage.  She is rough-looking, but kind and good.  I wish you would speak to her,” he answered, quickly: 

“That woman!  You going out with her!  Why, she looks like a fish-woman!  She is only fit to be a steerage passenger!”

“She is a steerage passenger, and I am steerage, too,” Bessie said, very quietly, while Neil dropped her hand as if it had burned him.

“Bessie, what do you mean?” he exclaimed, glancing down upon her and stopping suddenly.

“Let us go inside.  Do not make a scene here, please,” Bessie answered him, in a low, firm voice, while her cheek grew a shade paler and something shone in her eyes which Neil had never seen there before.

“A private parlor, please; a small one will answer,” he said to the clerk at the bureau; and in a few moments he was sitting with Bessie at his side, asking her to tell him what she meant by saying she was steerage, too.