CHAPTER V.

Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January, when Bessie brought

a candle into my closet and found me already up and nearly dressed.

I'd risen half an hour before her entrance, and it washed my face, and put on my clothes

by the light of a half moon, just setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window

near my crib.

I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach, which passed the lodge gates at 6am.

Bessie was the only person yet risen, shed that a fire on the nursery, where she now proceeded

to make my breakfast.

Few children can eat, when excited with the thoughts of a journey, nor could I.

Bessie, having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread

she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put them into my bag.

Then she helped me on with my police and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl she

and I left the nursery.

As we passed Mrs. Reeds bedroom, she said, Will you go in and bid Mrs. Goodbye?

No Bessie.

She came to my crib last night when you were gone down to supper and said, I'd need not

disturb her in the morning, or my cousin's either.

And she told me to remember that she'd always been my best friend, and to speak of her

and be grateful to her accordingly.

What did you say, Miss?

Nothing.

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