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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Letter of Credit, by Susan Warner
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Letter of Credit
+
+
+Author: Susan Warner
+
+
+
+Release Date: May 18, 2011  [eBook #36159]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LETTER OF CREDIT***
+
+
+Susan Warner (1819-1885), A letter of credit (1881), 1882 edition
+
+
+
+Produced by Daniel FROMONT
+
+
+Note from the transcriber: a very important text for the study of 
+Susan Warner's "Queechy". 
+
+
+
+THE LETTER OF CREDIT. 
+
+
+
+_BY THE AUTHOR OF "WILD, WILD WORLD_."
+
+
+I. THE END OF A COIL. 12mo. $1.75. 
+
+
+"Miss Warner has added another pure and beautiful picture to the gallery 
+that has given so much pleasure to such great numbers. All her pictures 
+are bright and warm with the blessedness of true love and true religion. 
+We do not wonder that they receive so wide a welcome, and we wish 
+sincerely that only such stories were ever written."--_N. Y. Observer_. 
+
+
+II. MY DESIRE. 12mo. $1.75. 
+
+
+"Miss Warner possesses in a remarkable degree the power of vividly 
+describing New England village life, the power of making her village 
+people walk and talk for the benefit of her readers in all the freshness 
+of their clear-cut originality. She has an ample fund of humor, a keen 
+sense of the ridiculous, and a rare faculty of painting homely truths in 
+homely but singularly felicitous phrases."--_Philadelphia Times_. 
+
+
+III. THE LETTER OF CREDIT. 12mo. $1.75. 
+
+
+IV. PINE NEEDLES. A Tale. 12mo. $1.50. 
+
+
+V. THE OLD HELMET. A Tale. 12mo. $2.25. 
+
+
+VI. MELBOURNE HOUSE. A Tale. 12mo. $2.00. 
+
+
+VII. THE KING'S PEOPLE. 5 vols. $7.00. 
+
+
+VIII. THE SAY AND DO SERIES. 6 vols. $7.50. 
+
+
+IX. A STORY OF SMALL BEGINNINGS. 4 vols. $5.00.
+
+
+
+_By Miss Anna Warner_.
+
+
+
+THE BLUE FLAG AND THE CLOTH OF GOLD $1.25 
+
+
+STORIES OF VINEGAR HILL 3 vols. 3.00 
+
+
+ELLEN MONTGOMERY'S BOOKSHELF 5 vols. 5.00 
+
+
+LITTLE JACK'S FOUR LESSONS 2.50
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
+
+NEW YORK. 
+
+
+
+
+THE 
+
+
+LETTER OF CREDIT. 
+
+
+
+BY THE AUTHOR OF 
+
+"THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD." 
+
+ 
+
+
+
+   ...."The bewildering masquerade of life, 
+   Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers." 
+LONGFELLOW. 
+
+
+
+NEW YORK: 
+ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 
+
+530 BROADWAY. 
+1882. 
+
+
+
+Copyright, 1881, 
+BY ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS. 
+
+
+
+
+CAMBRIDGE: PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
+
+
+ST. JOHNLAND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, SUFFOLK CO., N. Y. 
+
+
+
+
+_NOTE. 
+
+
+The following story, like its predecessors, "The End of a Coil," "My 
+Desire," and "Diana," is a record of facts. For the characters and the 
+coloring, of course, I am responsible; but the turns of the story, even 
+in detail, are almost all utterly true. 
+
+
+S. W. 
+
+
+Martlaer's Rock, 
+Sept. 12, 1881_. 
+
+
+
+CONTENTS. 
+
+
+
+CHAP. 
+
+
+I. THE LETTER  
+
+
+II. MOVING  
+
+
+III. JANE STREET 
+
+
+IV. A VISITER 
+
+
+V. PRIVATE TUITION 
+
+
+VI. A LEGACY 
+
+
+VII. MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 
+
+
+VIII. STATEN ISLAND 
+
+
+IX. FORT WASHINGTON 
+
+
+X. L'HOMME PROPOSE 
+
+
+XI. MRS. BUSBY 
+
+
+XII. MRS. BUSBY'S HOUSE 
+
+
+XIII. NOT DRESSED 
+
+
+XIV. IN SECLUSION  
+
+
+XV. MRS. MOWBRAY  
+
+
+XVI. SCHOOL  
+
+
+XVII. BAGS AND BIBLES 
+
+
+XVIII. FLINT AND STEEL  
+
+
+XIX. A NEW DEPARTURE 
+
+
+XX. STOCKINGS 
+
+
+XXI. EDUCATION
+
+
+XXII. A CHANGE 
+
+
+XXIII. TANFIELD 
+
+
+XXIV. THE PURCELLS 
+
+
+XXV. ROTHA'S REFUGE 
+
+
+XXVI. ROTHA'S WORK  
+
+
+XXVII. INQUIRIES  
+
+
+XXVIII. DISCOVERIES 
+
+
+XXIX. PERPLEXITIES 
+
+
+XXX. DOWN HILL 
+
+
+XXXI. DISCUSSIONS
+
+
+XXXII. END OF SCHOOL TERM
+
+
+
+
+THE LETTER OF CREDIT. 
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. 
+
+
+THE LETTER. 
+
+
+"Mother, I wonder how people do, when they are going to write a book?" 
+
+"Do?" repeated her mother. 
+
+"Yes. I wonder how they begin." 
+
+"I suppose they have something to tell; and then they tell it," said 
+simple Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"No, no, but I mean a story." 
+
+"What story have you got there?" 
+
+The mother was shelling peas; the daughter, a girl of twelve years old 
+perhaps, was sitting on the floor at her feet, with an octavo volume in 
+her lap. The floor was clean enough to sit upon; clean enough almost to 
+eat off; it was the floor of the kitchen of a country farmhouse. 
+
+"This is the 'Talisman,'" the girl answered her mother's question. "O 
+mother, when I am old enough, I should like to write stories!" 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"I should think it would be so nice. Why, mother, one could imagine 
+oneself anything." 
+
+"Could you?" said her mother. "I never imagined myself anything but what 
+I was." 
+
+"Ah, but perhaps you and I are different." 
+
+Which was undoubtedly the fact, as any stander by might have seen with 
+half an eye. Good types both of them, too. The mother fair, delicate 
+featured, with sweet womanly eyes, must have been exceedingly pretty in 
+her young days; she was pretty now; but the face shewed traces of care 
+and was worn with life-work. While she talked and now and then looked at 
+her daughter, her fingers were untiringly busy with the peas and peas 
+pods and never paused for a minute. The girl on the floor did not look 
+like her mother. She was dark eyed and dark haired; with a dark 
+complexion too, which at present was not fine; and the eyes, large and 
+handsome eyes, revealed a fire and intensity and mobility of nature which 
+was very diverse from the woman's gentle strength. Mrs. Carpenter might 
+be intense too, after her fashion; but it was the fashion of the 
+proverbial still waters that run deep. And I do not mean that there was 
+any shallowness about the girl's nature; though assuredly the placidity 
+would be wanting. 
+
+"I wish your father would forbid you to read stories," Mrs. Carpenter 
+went on. 
+
+"Why, mother?" 
+
+"I don't believe they are good for you." 
+
+"But what harm should they do me?" 
+
+"Life is not a story. I don't want you to think it is." 
+
+"Why shouldn't it be? Perhaps my life will be a story, mother. I think it 
+will," said the girl slowly. "I shouldn't want my life to be always like 
+this." 
+
+"Are you not happy?" 
+
+"O yes, mother! But then, by and by, I should like to be a princess, or 
+to have adventures, and see things; like the people in stories." 
+
+"You will never be a princess, my child. You are a poor farmer's 
+daughter. You had better make up your mind to it, and try to be the best 
+thing you can in the circumstances." 
+
+"You mean, do my duty and shell peas?" asked the girl somewhat 
+doubtfully, looking at her mother's fingers and the quick stripped pea 
+pods passing through them. "Is father poor, mother?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"He has a good farm, he says." 
+
+"Yes, but it is encumbered heavily." And Mrs. Carpenter sighed. Rotha had 
+often heard her mother sigh so. It was a breath with a burden. 
+
+"I don't know what you mean by 'encumbered.'" 
+
+"It is not needful you should know, just yet." 
+
+"But I should like to know, mother. Won't you tell me?" 
+
+"It is heavily mortgaged. And _that_ you do not understand. Never mind. He 
+has a great deal of money to pay out for it every year the interest on 
+the mortgages and that keeps us poor." 
+
+"Why must he pay it?" 
+
+"Because the farm is pledged for the debt; and if the interest, this 
+yearly money, were not paid, the farm itself would go." 
+
+"Go? How?" 
+
+"Be sold. For the money due on it." 
+
+There was silence awhile, during which only the pea pods rustled and 
+fell; then the girl asked, 
+
+"What should we do then, mother, if the farm was sold?" 
+
+"I do not know." The words came faint. 
+
+"Does it trouble you, mother?" 
+
+"It need not trouble you, Rotha. It cannot happen unless the Lord will; 
+and that is enough. Now you may carry these pea pods out and give them to 
+the pigs." 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha as she slowly rose and laid away her book, "all you 
+say makes me wish more than ever that I were a princess, or something." 
+
+"You may be _something_," said Mrs. Carpenter laughing slightly, but with  
+a very sweet merriment. "Now take away this basket." 
+
+Rotha stooped for the basket, and then stood still, looking out of the 
+window. Across the intervening piece of kitchen garden, rows of peas and 
+tufts of asparagus greenery, her eye went to the road, where a buggy had 
+just stopped. 
+
+"Maybe something is going to happen now," she said. "Who is that, mother? 
+There is somebody getting out of a wagon and tying his horse;--now he is 
+coming in. It is 'Siah Barker, mother." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter paused to look out of the window, and then hastily 
+throwing her peas into the pot of boiling water, went herself to the 
+door. A young countryman met her there, with a whip in his hand. 
+
+"Mornin', Mis' Carpenter. Kin you help the distressed?" 
+
+"What's the matter, 'Siah?" 
+
+"Shot if I know; but he's took pretty bad." 
+
+"Who, pray?" 
+
+"Wall, I skurce can tell that. He's an Englisher--come to our place this 
+mornin' and axed fur a horse and wagon to carry him to Rochester; and 
+he's got so fur,--that's two miles o' the way,--and he can't go no furder, 
+I guess. He's took powerful bad." 
+
+"Ill, is he?" 
+
+"Says so. And he looks it." 
+
+"Cannot go on to Rochester?  
+
+"It's fifteen mile, Mis' Carpenter. I wouldn't like to be the man to 
+drive him. He can't go another foot, he says. He was took quite sudden." 
+
+"Cannot you turn about and carry him back to Medwayville?" 
+
+"Now, Mis' Carpenter, you're a Christian, and a soft-hearted one, we all 
+know. Can't you let him come in and rest a bit? Mebbe you could give him 
+sunthin' that would set him up. You understand doctorin', fust-rate." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter looked grave, considered. 
+
+"Is this your idea, or the stranger's, 'Siah?" 
+
+"It's his'n, ef it's anybody's in partickler. He told me to set him down 
+some'eres, for he couldn't hold out to go on nohow; and then he seed this 
+house, and he made me stop. He's a sick man, I tell you." 
+
+"What's the matter with him?" 
+
+"Wall, it's sunthin' in his insides, I guess. He don't say nothin', but 
+he gits as white as a piece o' chalk, and then purple arter it." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter made no more delay, but bade 'Siah fetch the sick man in; 
+and herself hastily threw open the windows of the "spare room" and put 
+sheets on the bed. She had time for all her preparations, for the 
+bringing the stranger to the house was a work of some difficulty, and not 
+accomplished without the help of one of the hired men about the farm. 
+When he came, he was far too ill to give any account of himself; his 
+dress proclaimed him a well-to-do man, and belonging to the better 
+classes; that was all they knew. 
+
+As Mrs. Carpenter came out from seeing the stranger put to bed in the 
+spare room, her husband came in from the field. An intellectual looking 
+man, in spite of his farmer's dress, and handsome; but thin, worn, with 
+an undue flush on his cheek, and a cough that sounded hollow. He was very 
+like his little daughter, who instantly laid hold of him. 
+
+"Father, father! something has happened. Guess what. There's a sick man 
+stopped here, and he is in the spare room, and we don't know the least 
+bit who he is; only 'Siah Barker said he was English, or an 'Englisher,' 
+he said. We don't know a bit who he is; and his clothes are very nice, 
+like a gentleman, and his valise is a beautiful, handsome leather one." 
+
+"You use rather more adjectives than necessary, Rotha." 
+
+"But, father, that is something to happen, isn't it?" 
+
+"You speak as if you were glad of it." 
+
+"I am not glad the man is sick. I am just glad to have something happen. 
+Things never do happen here." 
+
+"I am afraid your mother will hardly feel as much pleased as you do. Is 
+the man very ill, Eunice?" 
+
+"I think so. He is too ill to tell how he feels." 
+
+"He may be on your hands then for a day or two." 
+
+"He may for more than that." 
+
+"How can you manage?" said Mr. Carpenter, looking anxiously at the sweet 
+face which already bore such lines of care, and was so work-worn. 
+
+"I don't know. I shall find out," Mrs. Carpenter answered as she was 
+dishing the dinner. "The Lord seems to have given me this to do; and he 
+knows. I guess, what he gives me to do, I can do." 
+
+"I don't see how you can say that, mother," Rotha put in here. 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"This man was taken sick on the road, and happened to come in here. How 
+can you say, the Lord gave him to you to take care of?" 
+
+"Nothing 'happens,' Rotha. Suppose his sickness had come on a little 
+sooner, or a little later? why was it just here that he found he could go 
+no further?" 
+
+"Do you suppose there was any 'why' about it?" 
+
+Father and mother both smiled; the father answered. 
+
+"Do you suppose I would plough a field, without meaning to get any fruit 
+from it." 
+
+"No, father." 
+
+"Neither does the Lord, my child." 
+
+Rotha pondered the subject, and had occasion to ponder it more as the 
+days went on. She found she had some share in the consequences of this 
+"happening"; more dishes to wash, and more sweeping and dusting, and 
+churning, and setting of tables, and cleaning of vegetables; and she 
+quite ceased to be glad that something had come to them out of the common 
+run of affairs. For several days her mother was much engaged in the care 
+of the sick man, and put all she could of the housework upon Rotha's 
+hands; the nursing kept herself very busy. The sickness was at first 
+severe; and then the mending was gradual; so that it was full two weeks 
+before the stranger could leave his room. Mrs. Carpenter had no servant 
+in the house; she did everything for him with her own hands; and with as 
+much care and tenderness and exactness it was done as if the sick man had 
+been a dear friend. By day and by night; nothing failed him; and so, in 
+about two weeks, he was healed and had only his weakness to recover from. 
+Mrs. Carpenter often looked tired and pale during those weeks, but 
+cheerfulness and courage never gave out. 
+
+"I have learned something," she said one day at dinner, as the two weeks 
+were ended. 
+
+"What is that?" her husband asked. 
+
+"The name of our guest." 
+
+"Well who is he?" 
+
+"He is English; his name is Southwode. He came to America on business two 
+months ago; to New York; then found it was needful for him to see some 
+people in Rochester; and was on his way when he was taken ill at our 
+door." 
+
+"That's all?" 
+
+"Pretty much all. He is not much of a talker. I never found out so much 
+till to-day." 
+
+"It is quite enough. I suppose he will go on to Rochester now?" 
+
+"Not for two or three days yet, Liph; he is very weak; but I guess we 
+will have him out to supper with us this evening. You may put a glass of 
+roses on the table, Rotha, and make it look very nice. And set the table 
+in the hall." 
+
+Unlike most of its kind, this farmhouse had a wide hall running through 
+the middle of it. Probably it had been built originally for somewhat 
+different occupation. At any rate, the hall served as a great comfort to 
+Mrs. Carpenter in the summer season, enabling her to get out of the hot 
+kitchen, without opening her best room, the "parlour." 
+
+It was a pretty enough view that greeted the stranger here, when he was 
+called to supper and crept out of his sick room. Doors stood open at 
+front and rear of the house, letting the breeze play through. It brought 
+the odours of the new hay and the shorn grass, mingled with the breath of 
+roses. Roses were on the table too; a great glass full of them; not 
+skilfully arranged, certainly, but heavy with sweetness and lovely in 
+various hues of red and blush white. A special comfortable chair was 
+placed for him, and a supper served with which an epicure could have 
+found no fault. Mrs. Carpenter's bread was of the lightest and whitest; 
+the butter was as if the cows had been eating roses; the cold ham was 
+cured after an old receipt, and tender and juicy and savoury to suit any 
+fastidious appetite; and there were big golden raspberries, and cream 
+almost as golden. Out of doors, the eye saw green fields, with an elm 
+standing here and there; and on one side, a bit of the kitchen garden. 
+Mr. Southwode was a silent man, at least he was certainly silent here; 
+but he was observant; and his looks went quietly from one thing to 
+another, taking it all in. Perhaps the combination was strange to him and 
+gave him matter for study. There was conversation too, as the meal went 
+on, which occupied his ears, though he could hardly be said to take an 
+active part in it. His host made kind efforts for his entertainment; and 
+Rotha and her father had always something to discuss. Mr. Southwode 
+listened. It was not the sort of talk he expected to hear in a farmhouse. 
+The girl was full of intelligence, the father quite able to meet her, and 
+evidently doing it with delight; the questions they talked about were 
+worthy the trouble; and while on the one hand there was keen 
+inquisitiveness and natural acumen, on the other there was knowledge and 
+the habit of thought and ease of expression. Mr. Southwode listened, and 
+now and then let his eye go over to the fair, placid, matronly face at 
+the head of the table. Mrs. Carpenter did not talk much; yet he saw that 
+she understood. And more; he saw that in both father and mother there was 
+culture and literary taste and literary knowledge. Yet she did her own 
+work, and he came in to-day in his shirt sleeves from the mowing of his 
+own fields. Mr. Southwode drew conclusions, partly false perhaps, but 
+partly true. He thought these people had seen what are called better 
+days; he was sure that they were going through more or less of a struggle 
+now. Moreover, he saw that the farmer was not strong in body or sound in 
+health, and he perceived that the farmer's wife knew it. 
+
+The supper ended, a new scene opened for his consideration. With quick 
+and skilful hands the mother and daughter cleared the table, carrying the 
+things into the kitchen. Rotha brought a Bible and laid it before her 
+father; and mother and daughter resumed their seats. Mr. Carpenter read a 
+chapter, like a man who both knew and loved it; and then, a book being 
+given to the stranger, the other three set up a hymn. There was neither 
+formality nor difficulty; as the one had read, so they all sang, as if 
+they loved it. The voices were not remarkable; what was remarkable, to 
+the guest, was the sweet intonations and the peculiar _appropriation_ with 
+which the song was sung. It was a very common hymn, 
+
+   "Jesus, I love thy charming name, 
+   'Tis music to my ear;"--
+
+
+And Mr. Southwode noticed a thing which greatly stirred his curiosity. As 
+the singing went on, the lines of those careworn faces relaxed; Mrs. 
+Carpenter's brow lost its shadow, her husband's face wore an incipient 
+smile; it was quite plain that both of them had laid down for the moment 
+the burden which it was also quite plain they carried at other times. 
+What had become of it? and what power had unloosed them from it? Not the 
+abstract love of music, certainly; though the melody which they sang was 
+sweet, and the notes floated out upon the evening air with a kind of 
+grave joy. So as the summer breeze was wafted in. There was a harmony, 
+somehow, between the outer world and this little inner world, for the 
+time, which moved Mr. Southwode strangely, though he could not at all 
+understand it. He made no remark when the service was over, either upon 
+that or upon any other subject. Of course the service ended with a 
+prayer. Not a long one; and as it was in the reading and singing, so in 
+this; every word was simply said and meant. So evidently, that the 
+stranger was singularly impressed with the reality of the whole thing, as 
+contradistinguished from all formal or merely duty work, and as being a 
+matter of enjoyment to those engaged in it. 
+
+He had several occasions for renewing his observations; for Mr. 
+Southwode's condition of weakness detained him yet several days at the 
+farm-house. He established for himself during this interval the character 
+he had gained of a silent man; however, one afternoon he broke through 
+his habit and spoke. It was the day before he intended to continue his 
+journey. Rotha had gone to the field with her father, to have some fun in 
+the hay; Mr. Southwode and Mrs. Carpenter sat together in the wide 
+farmhouse hall. The day being very warm, they had come to the coolest 
+place they could find. Mrs. Carpenter was busy with mending clothes; her 
+guest for some time sat idly watching her; admiring, as he had done often 
+already, the calm, sweet strength of this woman's face. What a beauty she 
+must have been once, he thought; all the lines were finely drawn and 
+delicate; and the soul that looked forth of them was refined by nature 
+and purified by patience. Mr. Southwode had something to say to her this 
+afternoon, and did not know how to begin. 
+
+"Your husband seems to have a fine farm here," he remarked. 
+
+"It is, I believe," Mrs. Carpenter answered, without lifting her eyes 
+from her darning. 
+
+"He took me over some of his ground this morning. He knows what to do 
+with it, too. It is in good order." 
+
+"It would be in good order, if my husband had his full strength." 
+
+"Yes. I am sorry to see he has not." 
+
+"Did he say anything to you about it?" the wife enquired presently, with 
+a smothered apprehensiveness which touched her companion. He answered 
+however indifferently in the negative. 
+
+"I don't like his cough, though," he went on after a little interval. 
+"Have you had advice for him?" 
+
+There was a startled look of pain in the eyes which again met him, and 
+the lips closed upon one another a little more firmly. They always had a 
+firm though soft set, and the corners of the mouth told of long and 
+patient endurance. Now the face told of another stab of pain, met and 
+borne. 
+
+"He would not call in anybody," she said faintly. 
+
+That was not what Mr. Southwode had meant to talk about, though closely 
+connected with the subject of his thoughts. He would try again. 
+
+"I owe you a great debt of gratitude, Mrs. Carpenter," he said after a 
+long enough pause had ensued, and beginning on another side. "I presume 
+you have saved my life." 
+
+"I am very glad we have been able to do anything," she said quietly. 
+"There is no need of thanks." 
+
+"But I must speak them, or I should not deserve to live. It astonishes 
+me, how you should be so kind to an entire stranger." 
+
+"That's why you needed it," she said with a pleasant smile. 
+
+"Yes, yes, my need is one thing; that was plain enough; but if everybody 
+took care of other people's needs--Why, you have done everything for me, 
+night and day, Mrs. Carpenter. You have not spared yourself in the least; 
+and I have given a deal of trouble." 
+
+"I did not think it trouble," she said in the same way. "There is no need 
+to say anything about it." 
+
+"Excuse me; I must say something, or earn my own contempt. But what made 
+you do all that for a person who was nothing to you? I do not understand 
+that sort of thing, in such a degree." 
+
+"Perhaps you do not put it the right way," she returned. "Anybody who is 
+in trouble is something to me." 
+
+"What, pray?" said he quickly. 
+
+"My neighbour,"--she said with that slight, pleasant smile again. "Don't 
+you know the gospel rule is, to do to others what you would wish them to 
+do to you?" 
+
+"I never saw anybody before who observed that rule." 
+
+"Didn't you? I am sorry for that. It is a pleasant rule to follow." 
+
+"Pleasant!" her guest echoed. "Excuse me; you cannot mean that?" 
+
+"I mean it, yes, certainly. And there is another thing, Mr. Southwode; I 
+like to do whatever my Master gives me to do; and he gave you to me to 
+take care of." 
+
+"Did he?" 
+
+"I think so." 
+
+"You did it," said the stranger slowly. "Mrs. Carpenter, I am under very 
+great obligations to you." 
+
+"You are very welcome," she said simply. 
+
+"You have done more for me than you know. I never saw what religion can 
+be--what religion is--until I saw it in your house." 
+
+She was silent now, and he was silent also, for some minutes; not knowing 
+exactly how to go on. He felt instinctively that he must not offer money 
+here. The people were poor unquestionably; at the same time they did not 
+belong to the class that can take that sort of pay for service. He never 
+thought of offering it. They were quite his equals. 
+
+"Mr. Carpenter was so good as to tell me something of his affairs as we 
+walked this morning," he began again. "I am sorry to hear that his land 
+is heavily encumbered." 
+
+"Yes!" Mrs. Carpenter said with a sigh, and a shadow crossing her face. 
+
+"That sort of thing cannot be helped sometimes, but it is a bother, and 
+it leads to more bother. Well! I should like to be looked upon as a 
+friend, by you and your husband; but I shall be a friend a good way off. 
+Mrs. Carpenter, do not be offended at my plain speaking;--I would say, 
+that if ever you find yourself in difficulties and need a friend's help, 
+I would like you to remember me, and deliver that letter according to the 
+address." 
+
+He handed her as he spoke a letter, sealed, and addressed to "Messrs. 
+Bell & Buckingham, 46 Barclay St., New York." Mrs. Carpenter turned the 
+letter over, in silent surprise; looked at the great red seal and read 
+the direction. 
+
+"Keep it safe," Mr. Southwode went on, "and use it if ever you have' 
+occasion. Do not open it; for I shall not be at the place where it is to 
+be delivered, and an open letter would not carry the same credit. With 
+the letter, if ever you have occasion to make use of it, enclose a card 
+with your address; that my agent may know where to find you." 
+
+"You are very kind!" Mrs. Carpenter said in a little bewilderment; "but 
+nothing of this kind is necessary." 
+
+"I hope it may not be needed; however, I shall feel better, if you will 
+promise me to do as I have said, if ever you do need it." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter gave the promise, and looked at the letter curiously as 
+she put it away. Would the time ever come when she would be driven to use 
+it? Such a time could not come, unless after the wreck of her home and 
+her life happiness; never could come while her husband lived. If it came, 
+what would matter then? But there was the letter; almost something 
+uncanny; it looked like a messenger out of the unknown future. 
+
+
+CHAPTER II. 
+
+
+MOVING. 
+
+
+Mr. Southwode went away, his letter was locked up in a drawer, and both 
+were soon forgotten. The little family he left had enough else to think 
+of. 
+
+As the warm weather turned to cold, it became more and more evident that 
+the head of the family was not to be with it long. Mr. Carpenter was ill. 
+Nevertheless, with failing strength, he continued to carry the burden 
+that had been too much for him when well. He would not spare himself. The 
+work must be done, he said, or the interest on the mortgages could not be 
+paid. He wrought early and late, and saw to it that his hired people did 
+their part; he wore himself out the quicker; but the interest on the 
+mortgages was not paid, even so. Mrs. Carpenter saw just how things were 
+going, saw it step by step, and was powerless to hinder. 
+
+"They will foreclose!" Mr. Carpenter said with a half groan. It was late 
+in the winter; towards spring; his health had failed rapidly of late; and 
+it was no secret either to him or his wile that his weeks were numbered. 
+They were sitting together one evening before the fire; he in his easy 
+chair, and she beside him; but not holding each other's hands, not 
+touching, nor looking at one another. Their blood was of a genuine New 
+England course; and people of that kind, though they would die for one 
+another, rarely exchange kisses. And besides, there are times when 
+caresses cannot be borne; they mean too much. Perhaps this was such a 
+time. Mrs. Carpenter sat staring into the fire, her brow drawn into fine 
+wrinkles, which was with her a sign of uncommon perturbation. It was 
+after a time of silence that her husband came out with that word about 
+foreclosing. 
+
+"If I had been stronger," he went on, "I could have taken in that twenty 
+acre lot and planted it with wheat; and that would have made some 
+difference. Now I am behindhand--and I could not help it--and they will 
+foreclose." 
+
+"They cannot do it till next fall," said Mrs. Carpenter; and her secret 
+thought was, By that time, nothing will matter! 
+
+"No," said her husband,--"not until fall. But then they will. Eunice, 
+what will you do?" 
+
+"I will find something to do." 
+
+"What? Tell me now, while I can counsel you." 
+
+"I don't know anything I could do, but take in sewing." She spoke calmly, 
+all the while a tear started which she did not suffer to be seen. 
+
+"Sewing?" said Mr. Carpenter. "There are too many in the village already 
+that do sewing--more than can live by it." 
+
+"If I cannot here," his wife said after a pause, overcoming herself,--"I 
+might go to New York. Serena would help me to get some work." 
+
+"Would she?" asked her husband. 
+
+"I think she would." 
+
+"Your charity always goes ahead of mine, Eunice." 
+
+"You think she would not?" 
+
+"I wouldn't like to have you dependent on her.--This is what you get for 
+marrying a poor man, Eunice!" 
+
+He smiled and stretched out his hand to take the hand of his wife. 
+
+"Hush!" she said. "I married a richer man than she did. And I have wanted 
+for nothing. We have not been poor." 
+
+"No," he said. "Except in this world's goods--which are unimportant. 
+Until one is leaving one's wife and child alone!" 
+
+I suppose she could not speak, for she answered nothing. The fingers 
+clasped fingers fast and hard; wrung them a little. Yet both faces were 
+steady. Mrs. Carpenter's eyes looked somewhat rigidly into the fire, and 
+her husband's brow wore a shadow. 
+
+"I wish your father had left you at least the old place at Tanfield. It 
+would have been no more than justice. Serena might have had all the rest, 
+but that would have given you and Rotha a home." 
+
+"Never mind," said Mrs. Carpenter gently. "I am content with my share." 
+
+"Meaning me!" And he sighed. 
+
+"The best share of this world's goods any woman could have, Liph." 
+
+"We have been happy," he said, "in spite of all. We have had happy years; 
+happier I could not wish for, but for this money trouble. And we shall 
+have happy years again, Eunice; where the time is not counted by years, 
+but flows on forever, and people are not poor, nor anxious, nor 
+disappointed." 
+
+She struggled with tears again, and then answered, "I have not been 
+disappointed. And you have no need to be anxious." 
+
+"No, I know," he said. "But at times it is hard for faith to get above 
+sense. And I am not anxious; only I would like to know how you are going 
+to do." 
+
+There was a silence then of some length. 
+
+"Things are pretty unequal in this world," Mr. Carpenter began again. 
+"Look at Serena and you. One sister with more than she can use; the other 
+talking of sewing for a livelihood! And all because you would marry a 
+poor man. A poor reason!" 
+
+"Liph, I had my choice," his wife said, with a shadow of a smile. "She is 
+the one to be pitied." 
+
+"Well, I think so," he said. "For if her heart were as roomy as her 
+purse, she would have shewn it before now. My dear, do not expect 
+anything from Serena. Till next fall you will have the shelter of this 
+house; and that will give you time to look about you." 
+
+"Liph, you must not talk so!" his wife cried; and her voice broke. She 
+threw herself upon her husband's breast, and they held each other in a 
+very long, still, close embrace. 
+
+Mr. Carpenter was quite right in some at least of his expectations. His 
+own life was not prolonged to the summer. In one of the last days of a 
+rough spring, the time came he had spoken of, when his wife and child 
+were left alone. 
+
+She had till fall to look about her. But perhaps, in the bitterness of 
+her loneliness, she had not heart to push her search after work with 
+sufficient energy. Yet Mrs. Carpenter never lacked energy, and indulged 
+herself selfishly no more in grief than she did in joy. More likely it is 
+that in the simple region of country she inhabited there was not call 
+enough for the work she could do. Work did not come, at any rate. The 
+only real opening for her to earn her livelihood, was in the shape of a 
+housekeeper's situation with an old bachelor farmer, who was well off and 
+had nobody to take care of him. In her destitution, I do not know but 
+Mrs. Carpenter might have put up with even this plan; but what was she to 
+do with Rotha? So by degrees the thought forced itself upon her that she 
+must take up her old notion and go to the great city, where there were 
+always people enough to want everything. How to get there, and what to do 
+on first arriving there, remained questions. Both were answered. 
+
+As Mr. Carpenter had foreseen, the mortgages came in the fall to 
+foreclosure. The sale of the land, however, what he had not foreseen, 
+brought in a trifle more than the mortgage amount. To this little sum the 
+sale of household goods and furniture and stock, added another somewhat 
+larger; so that altogether a few hundreds stood at Mrs. Carpenter's 
+disposal. This precisely made her undertaking possible. It was a very 
+doubtful undertaking; but what alternative was there? One relation she 
+would find, at the least; and another Mrs. Carpenter had not in the wide 
+world. She made her preparations very quietly, as she did everything; her 
+own child never knew how much heart-break was in them. 
+
+"Shall we go first to aunt Serena's, mother?" Rotha asked one day. 
+
+"No." 
+
+The "no" was short and dry. Rotha's instinct told her she must not ask 
+why, but she was disappointed. From a word now and then she had got the 
+impression that this relation of theirs was a very rich woman and lived 
+accordingly; and fancy had been busy with possibilities. 
+
+"Where then, mother?" 
+
+"Mr. Forbes," he was the storekeeper at the village, "has told me of the 
+boarding house he goes to when he goes to New York. We can put up there 
+for a night or two, and look out a quiet lodging." 
+
+"What is New York like, mother?" 
+
+"I have never been there, Rotha, and do not know. O it is a city, my 
+child; of course; it is not like anything here." 
+
+"How different?" 
+
+"In every possible way." 
+
+"_Every_ way, mother? Aren't the houses like?" 
+
+"Not at all. And the houses there stand close together." 
+
+"There must be room to get about, I suppose?" 
+
+"Those are the streets." 
+
+"No green grass, or trees?" 
+
+"Little patches of grass in the yards." 
+
+"No trees?" 
+
+"No. In some of the fine streets I believe there are shade trees." 
+
+"No _gardens_, mother?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"But what do people do for vegetables and things?" 
+
+"They are brought out of the country, and sold in the markets. Don't you 
+know Mr. Jones sends his potatoes and his fruit to the city?" 
+
+"Then if you want a potato, you must go to the market and buy it?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Or an apple, mother?" 
+
+"Yes, or anything." 
+
+"Well I suppose that will do," said Rotha slowly, "if you have money 
+enough. I shouldn't think it was pleasant. Do the houses stand _close_ 
+together?" 
+
+"So close, that you cannot lay a pin between them." 
+
+"I should want to have very good neighbours, then." 
+
+Rotha was innocently touching point after point of doubt and dread in her 
+mother's mind. Presently she touched another. 
+
+"I don't think it sounds pleasant, mother. Suppose we should not like it 
+after we get there?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter did not answer. 
+
+"What then, mother? Would you come back again, if we did not like it 
+there?" 
+
+"There would be no place to come to, here, any more, my child. I hope we 
+shall find it comfortable where we are going." 
+
+"Then you don't know?" said Rotha. "And perhaps we shall not! But, 
+mother, that would be dreadful, if we did not like it!" 
+
+"I hope you would help me to bear it." 
+
+"I!" said Rotha. "You don't want help to bear anything; do you, mother?" 
+
+An involuntary gush of tears came at this appeal; they were not suffered 
+to overflow. 
+
+"I should not be able to bear much without help, Rotha. Want help? yes, I 
+want it--and I have it. God sends nothing to his children but he sends 
+help too; else," said Mrs. Carpenter, brushing her hand across her eyes, 
+"they would not last long! But, Rotha, lie means that we should help each 
+other too." 
+
+"I help you?" 
+
+"Yes, certainly. You can, a great deal." 
+
+"That seems very funny. Mother, what is wrong about aunt Serena?" said 
+Rotha, following a very direct chain of ideas. 
+
+"I hope nothing is wrong about her." 
+
+And Mrs. Carpenter, in her gentle, unselfish charity, meant it honestly; 
+her little daughter was less gentle and perhaps more logical. 
+
+"Why, mother, does she ever do anything to help you?" 
+
+"Her life is quite separate from mine," Mrs. Carpenter replied evasively. 
+
+"Well, it would be right in her to help you. And when people are not 
+right, they are wrong." 
+
+"Let us take care of our own right and wrong, Rotha. We shall have enough 
+to do with that." 
+
+"But, mother, what _is_ the matter with aunt Serena? Why doesn't she help 
+you? She can." 
+
+"Our lives went different ways, a long time ago, my child. We have never 
+been near each other since." 
+
+"But now you are going to be where she is, mother?" 
+
+"Rotha, did you rip up your brown merino?" 
+
+"Not yet." 
+
+"Then go and do it now. I want it to make over for you." 
+
+"You'll never make much of that," said the girl discontentedly. But she 
+obeyed. She saw a certain trait in the lines of her mother's lips; it 
+might be reserve, it might be determination, or both; and she knew no 
+more was to be got from her at that time. 
+
+The brown merino disappointed her expectation; for when cleaned and made 
+over it proved to be a very respectable dress. Rotha was well satisfied 
+with it. The rest of Mrs. Carpenter's preparations were soon 
+accomplished; and one day in November she and her little daughter left 
+what had been home, and set out upon their journey to seek another in the 
+misty distance. The journey itself was full of wonder and delight to 
+Rotha. It was a very remarkable thing, in the first place, to find the 
+world so large; then another remarkable thing was the variety of the 
+people in it. Rotha had known only one kind, speaking broadly; the plain, 
+quiet, respectable, and generally comfortable in habitants of the village 
+and of the farms around the village. They were not elegant specimens, but 
+they were solid, and kindly. She saw many people now that astonished her 
+by their elegance; few that awakened any feeling of confidence. Rotha's 
+eyes were very busy, her tongue very silent. She was taking her first 
+sips at the bitter-sweet cup of life knowledge. 
+
+The third-class hotel at which they put up in New York received her 
+unqualified disapprobation. None of its arrangements or accommodations 
+suited her; with the single exception of gas burners. 
+
+Close, stuffy, confined, gloomy, and dirty, she declared it to be. 
+"Mother," she said half crying, "I hope our house will not be like this?" 
+
+"We shall not have a house, Rotha; only a few rooms." 
+
+"They'll be rooms in a house, I suppose," said the girl petulantly; "and 
+I hope it will be very different from this." 
+
+"We will have our part of it clean, at any rate," answered her mother. 
+
+"And the rest too, won't you? You would not have rooms in a house that 
+was not all clean, would you, mother?" 
+
+"Not if I could help it." 
+
+"Cannot you help it?" 
+
+"I hope so. But you must not expect that things here in a big city can 
+ever be bright and sweet like the fields at home. That can hardly be." 
+
+Rotha sighed. A vision of dandelions came up before her, and waving grass 
+bent by summer wind. But there was hope that the morrow's search would 
+unfold to her some less unpromising phases of city life, and she 
+suspended judgment. 
+
+Next day, wonder and amusement for a time superseded everything else. The 
+multitude of busy people coming and going, the laden carts and light 
+passing carriages, the gay shops, and the shops that were not gay, filled 
+Rotha's eye and mind. Even the vegetables exposed at a corner shop were a 
+matter of lively interest. 
+
+"O mother," she cried, "is this a market?" 
+
+"No. It is a store for groceries." 
+
+"Well, they have got some other things here. Mother, the cabbages don't 
+look nice." Then soon after coming to a small market store, Rotha must 
+stand still to look. 
+
+"They are a little better here," she judged. "Mother, mother! they have 
+got everything at this market. Do see! there are fish, and oysters, and 
+clams; and eggs; and what are those queer things?" 
+
+"Lobsters." 
+
+"What are they good for?" 
+
+"To eat." 
+
+"They don't look as if they were good for anything. Mother, one could get 
+a very good dinner here." 
+
+"With plenty of money." 
+
+"Does it take much?--to get one dinner?" 
+
+"Are you hungry?" said her mother, smiling faintly. "It takes a good deal 
+of money to get anything in New York, Rotha." 
+
+"Then I am afraid we ought to have staid at Medwayville." 
+
+A conclusion which almost forced itself upon Mrs. Carpenter's mind. For 
+the business of finding a lodging that would suit her and that she could 
+pay for, soon turned out to be one of difficulty. She and Rotha grew 
+weary of walking, and more weary of looking at rooms that would suit them 
+which they could not pay for, and other rooms which they could pay for 
+and that would not do. All the houses in New York seemed to come under 
+one or the other category. From one house agency to another, and from 
+these to countless places referred to, advertised for hire, the mother 
+and daughter wandered; in vain. One or the other difficulty met them in 
+every case. 
+
+"What will you do, mother, if you cannot find a place?" Rotha asked, the 
+evening of the first day. "Go back to Medwayville?" 
+
+"We cannot go back." 
+
+"Then we must find a place," said Rotha. 
+
+And driven by this necessity, so they did. The third day, well tired in 
+body and much more in mind, they did at last find what would do. It was a 
+long walk from their hotel, and seemed endless. No doubt, in the country, 
+with grass under their feet, or even the well beaten foot track beside 
+the highway, neither mother nor daughter would have thought anything of 
+the distance; but here the hard pavement wearied them, and the way 
+measured off by so many turns and crossings and beset with houses and 
+human beings, seemed a forlorn pilgrimage into remote regions. Besides, 
+it left the pleasanter part of the city and went, as Rotha remarked, 
+among poor folks. Down Bleecker St. till it turned, then following the 
+new stretch of straight pavement across Carmine St., and on and on into 
+the parts then called Chelsea. On till they came to an irregular open 
+space. 
+
+"This must be Abingdon Square," said the mother. 
+
+"It isn't square at all," Rotha objected. 
+
+"But this must be it. Then it's only one street more, Rotha. Look for 
+Jane Street." 
+
+Beyond Abingdon Square Jane Street was found to be the next crossing. 
+They turned the corner and were at the place they sought. 
+
+The region was not one of miserable poverty and tenant houses. Better 
+than that; and the buildings being low and small did not darken the 
+streets, as Mrs. Carpenter had found in some parts of the city. A decent 
+woman, a mantua-maker, had the house and offered Mrs. Carpenter the 
+second floor; two little rooms and a closet off them. The rooms were 
+furnished after a sort; but Mrs. Marble could give no board with them; 
+only lodging. She was a bright, sharp little woman. 
+
+"Yes, I couldn't," she said. "It wouldn't pay. I couldn't mind my 
+business. I take _my_ meals in a corner; for I couldn't have grease and 
+crumbs round; but where one person can stand, three can't sit. You'll 
+have to manage that part yourself. It'll be cheaper for you, too." 
+
+"Is anything cheap here?" Mrs. Carpenter asked wearily. She had sat down 
+to rest and consider. 
+
+"That's how you manage it," said the other, shewing a full and rather 
+arch smile. She was a little woman, quick and alert in all her ways and 
+looks. "My rooms aint dear, to begin with; and you needn't ruin yourself 
+eating; if you know how." 
+
+"I knew how in the country," said Mrs. Carpenter. "Here it is different." 
+
+"Aint it! I guess it is. Rents, you see; and folks must live, landlords 
+and all. Some of 'em do a good deal more; but that aint my lookout. I'd 
+eat bread and salt sooner than I'd be in debt; and I never do be that. Is 
+it only you two?" 
+
+"That is all." 
+
+"Then you needn't to worry. I guess you'll get along." 
+
+For Mrs. Marble noticed the quiet respectability of her caller, and 
+honestly thought what she said. Mrs. Carpenter reflected. The rooms were 
+not high; she could save a good deal by the extra trouble of providing 
+herself; she would be more private, and probably have things better to 
+her liking. Besides, her very soul sickened at the thought of looking for 
+any more rooms. She decided, and took these. Then she asked about the 
+possibilities of getting work. Mrs. Marble's countenance grew more 
+doubtful. 
+
+"Plain sewing?" she said. "Well, there's a good many folks doing that, 
+you see." 
+
+"I thought, perhaps, you could put me in the way of some." 
+
+"Well, perhaps I can. I'll see what I can think of. But there's a many 
+doing that sort o' thing. They're in every other house, almost. Now, when 
+will you come?" 
+
+"To-morrow. I suppose I cannot tell what I want to get till I do come." 
+
+"I can tell you some things right off. You'd better do part of it to-day, 
+or you'll want everything at once. First of all, you'd better order in 
+some coal. You can get that just a block or two off; Jones & Sanford; 
+they have a coal yard. It is very convenient." 
+
+"Where can it be put?" 
+
+"In the cellar. There's room enough. And if I was you, I wouldn't get 
+less than half a ton. They make awful profits when they sell by the 
+basket. You will want a little kindling too. Hadn't you better get a 
+little bit of a stove? one with two places for cooking; or one place. It 
+will save itself six times over in the course of the winter." 
+
+"Where can I get it?" 
+
+"I guess you're pretty much of a stranger here, aint you?" 
+
+"Entirely a stranger." 
+
+"I thought so. Folks get a look according to the place they live. You 
+aint bad enough for New York," she added with a merry and acute smile. 
+
+"I hope there are some good people here," said Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"I hope so. I haven't passed 'em all through my sieve; got something else 
+to do; and it aint my business neither. Well--only don't you think there 
+aint some bad ones in the lot, that's all. There's plenty of places where 
+you can get your stove, if you want to. Elwall's in Abingdon Square, is a 
+very good place. Some things goes with the stove. I guess you know what 
+you want as well as I do," she said, breaking off and smiling again. 
+
+"I shall need bedding too," said Mrs. Carpenter, with a look at the empty 
+bedstead. 
+
+"You can't do everything at once, if you're to come in to-morrow. I'll 
+tell you--I've a bed you can have, that I aint using. It'll cost you 
+less, and do just as well. I aint one of the bad ones," she said, again 
+with a gleam of a smile. "I shan't cheat you." 
+
+The arrangement was made at last, and Mrs. Carpenter and Rotha set out on 
+their way back. They stopped in Abingdon Square and bought a stove, a 
+little tea-kettle, a saucepan and frying pan; half a dozen knives and 
+forks, spoons, etc., a lamp, and sundry other little indispensable 
+conveniences for people who would set up housekeeping. Rotha was glad to 
+be quit of the hotel, and yet in a divided state of mind. Too tired to 
+talk, however, that night; which was a happiness for her mother. 
+
+The next day was one of delightful bustle; all filled with efforts to get 
+in order in the new quarters. And by evening a great deal was done. The 
+bed was made; the washstand garnished; the little stove put up, fire made 
+in it, and the kettle boiled; and at night mother and daughter sat down 
+to supper together, taking breath for the first time that day. Mrs. 
+Carpenter had been to a neighbouring grocery and bought a ham and bread; 
+eggs were so dear that they scared her; she had cooked a slice and made 
+tea, and Rotha declared that it tasted good. 
+
+"But this is funny bread, mother." 
+
+"It is baker's bread." 
+
+"It is nice, a little, but it isn't sweet." 
+
+"Let us be thankful we have got it, Rotha." 
+
+"Yes; but, mother, I think I should be _more_ thankful for better bread." 
+
+"I will try and make you some better," Mrs. Carpenter said laughing. 
+"This is not economical, I am sure." 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, "do you suppose aunt Serena takes in sewing?" 
+
+"She? no. She gives it out." 
+
+"You would not like to do _her_ sewing?" 
+
+"I shall not ask for it," said the mother calmly. 
+
+"Does she do her own cooking, as you do?" 
+
+"No, my child. She has no need." 
+
+"Do you think she is a better woman than you are, mother?" 
+
+"That's not a wise question, I should say," Mrs. Carpenter returned. But 
+something about it flushed her cheek and even brought an odd moisture to 
+her eyes. 
+
+"Because," said Rotha, wholly disregarding the animadversion, "_if she 
+isn't_, I should say that things are queer." 
+
+"That's what Job thought, when his troubles came on him." 
+
+"And weren't they?" asked Rotha. 
+
+"No. He did not understand; that was all." 
+
+"I should like to understand, though, mother. Not understanding makes me 
+uneasy." 
+
+"You may be uneasy then all your life, for there will be a great many 
+things you cannot understand. The better way is to trust and be easy." 
+
+"Trust what?" Rotha asked quickly. 
+
+"Trust God. He knows." 
+
+"Trust him for what?" Rotha insisted. 
+
+"For everything. Trust him that he will take care of you, if you are his 
+child; and let no harm come to you; and do all things right for you, and 
+in the best way." 
+
+"Mother, that is trusting a good deal." 
+
+"The Lord likes to have us trust him." 
+
+"But you are his child, and he has let harm come to you?" 
+
+"You think so, because you know nothing about it. No harm can come to his 
+children." 
+
+"I don't know what you call harm, then," said Rotha half sullenly. 
+
+"Harm is what would hurt me. You know very well that pain does not always 
+do that." 
+
+"And can you trust him, mother, so as to be easy? Now?" 
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Carpenter. "Most days." 
+
+Rotha knew from the external signs that this must be true. 
+
+"Are you going to see aunt Serena, mother?" 
+
+"Not now." 
+
+"When?" 
+
+"I do not know." 
+
+"Where does she live?" 
+
+"Rotha, you may wash up these dishes, while I put things a little to 
+rights in the other room." 
+
+The next day Mrs. Carpenter set about finding some work. Alas, if there 
+were many that had it to give, there seemed to be many more that wanted 
+it. It was worse than looking for rooms. At last some tailoring was 
+procured from a master tailor; and Mrs. Carpenter sat all day over her 
+sewing, giving directions to Rotha about the affairs of the small 
+housekeeping. Rotha swept and dusted and washed dishes and set the table, 
+and prepared vegetables. Not much of that, for their meals were simple 
+and small; however, with one thing and another the time was partly filled 
+up. Mrs. Carpenter stitched. It was a new thing, and disagreeable to the 
+one looker-on, to see her mother from morning to night bent over work 
+which was not for herself. At home, though life was busy it was not 
+slaving. There were intervals, and often, of rest and pleasure taking. 
+She and Rotha used to go into the garden to gather vegetables and to pick 
+fruit; and at other times to weed and dress the beds and sow flower 
+seeds. And at evening the whole little family were wont to enjoy the air 
+and the sunsets and the roses from the hall door; and to have sweet and 
+various discourse together about a great variety of subjects. Those 
+delights, it is true, ceased a good while ago; the talks especially. Mrs. 
+Carpenter was not much of a talker even then, though her words were good 
+when they came. Now she said little indeed; and Rotha missed her father. 
+An uneasy feeling of want and longing took possession of the child's 
+mind. I suppose she felt mentally what people feel physically when they 
+are slowly starving to death. It had not come to that yet with Rotha; but 
+the initial fret and irritation began to be strong. Her mother seemed to 
+be turned into a sewing machine; a thinking one, she had no doubt, 
+nevertheless the thoughts that were never spoken did not practically 
+exist for her. She was left to her own; and Rotha's thoughts began to 
+seethe and boil. Another child would have found food enough and amusement 
+enough in the varied sights and experiences of life in the great city. 
+They made Rotha draw in to herself. 
+
+
+CHAPTER III. 
+
+
+JANE STREET. 
+
+
+Mrs. Carpenter's patient face, as she sat by the window from morning till 
+night, and her restless busy hands, by degrees became a burden to Rotha. 
+
+"Mother," she said one day, when her own work for the time was done up 
+and she had leisure to make trouble,--"I do not like to see you doing 
+other people's sewing." 
+
+"It is my sewing," Mrs. Carpenter said. 
+
+"It oughtn't to be." 
+
+"I am very thankful to have it." 
+
+"It takes very little to make you thankful, seems to me. It makes _me_  
+feel angry." 
+
+"I am sorry for that." 
+
+"Well, if you would be angry, I wouldn't be; but you take it so quietly. 
+Mother, it's wrong!" 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"For you to be doing that work, which somebody else ought to do." 
+
+"If somebody else did it, somebody else would get the pay; and what would 
+become of us then?" 
+
+"I don't see what's to become of us now. Mother, you said I was to go to 
+school." 
+
+"Yes,"--and Mrs. Carpenter sighed here. "I have not had time yet to find 
+the right school for you." 
+
+"When will you find time? Mother, I think it was a great deal better at 
+Medwayville." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter sighed again, her patient sigh, which aggravated Rotha. 
+
+"I don't like New York!" the latter went on, emphasizing every word. 
+"There is not one single thing here I do like." 
+
+"I am sorry, my child. It is not our choice that has brought us here." 
+
+"Couldn't our choice take us away again, mother?" 
+
+"I am afraid not." 
+
+Rotha looked on at the busy needle for a few minutes, and then burst out 
+again. 
+
+"I think things are queer! That you should be working so, and other 
+people have nothing to do." 
+
+"Hush, Rotha. Nobody in this world has nothing to do." 
+
+"Nothing they need do, then. You are better than they are." 
+
+"You speak foolishly. God gives everybody something to do, and his hands 
+full; and the work that God gives we need to do, Rotha. He has given me 
+this; and as long as he gives me his love with it, I think it is good. He 
+has given you your work too; and complaining is not a part of it. I hope 
+to send you to school, as soon as ever I can." 
+
+Before Rotha had got up her ammunition for another attack, there was a 
+tap at the door, and Mrs. Marble came in. She always seemed to bring life 
+with her. 
+
+"What do you get for that?" she asked, after she had chatted awhile, 
+watching her lodger. Mrs. Carpenter was making buttonholes. 
+
+"A shilling a dozen." 
+
+Mrs. Marble inspected the work. 
+
+"And how many can you make in that style in a day? I should like to 
+know." 
+
+"I cannot do this all day," said Mrs. Carpenter. "I get blind, and I get 
+nervous. I can make about two dozen and a half in five hours." 
+
+"Twenty five cents' worth: I declare!" said the little woman. "I wonder 
+if such folks will get to heaven?" 
+
+"What folks, Mrs. Marble?" enquired Rotha, to whom this saying sounded 
+doubtful. 
+
+"The folks that want to get so much for so little. They wouldn't be 
+satisfied with any heaven where they couldn't get a hundred per cent." 
+
+"The Lord gives more than that," said Mrs. Carpenter quietly. "A 
+hundredfold in this present world; and in the world to come, eternal 
+life." 
+
+"I never could get right hold of that doctrine," said Mrs. Marble. "Folks 
+talk about it,--but I never could find out it was much more than talk." 
+
+"Try it," said Mrs. Carpenter. "Then you'll know." 
+
+"Maybe I shall, if you stay with me long enough. I wisht I was rich, and 
+I'd do better for you than those buttonholes. I think I can do better 
+anyhow," said the little woman, brimming over with good will. "Ha' you 
+got no friends at all here?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter hesitated; and then said "no." "What schools are there in 
+this neighbourhood?" she asked then immediately. 
+
+"Schools? There's the public school, not far off." 
+
+"The public school? That is where everybody goes?" 
+
+"Everybody that aint rich, and some that be. I don't think they had ought 
+to. There's enough without 'em. Twelve hundred and fifty in this school." 
+
+"Twelve hundred and fifty children!" 
+
+"All that. Enough, aint it? But they say the teaching's first rate. You 
+want to send Rotha? You can't get along without her at home, can you? Not 
+unless you can get somethin' better than them buttonholes." 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha when Mrs. Marble had gone, "you wouldn't send me to 
+that school, would you? That's where all the poor children go. I don't 
+think anybody but poor people live all about here." 
+
+"Then it is a proper place for us. What are we but poor people, Rotha?" 
+
+"But mother, we were not poor people at Medwayville? And losing our farm 
+and our home and all, don't make any difference." 
+
+"Don't it?" 
+
+"No, mother, not in us. We are not that sort of people. You wouldn't send 
+me to such a school?" 
+
+"Take care, my child. 'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich;' and one is 
+not better than the other." 
+
+"One is better off than the other," said Rotha. "Mother, how comes aunt 
+Serena to be rich and you to be poor?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter hesitated and seemed to choose her words. 
+
+"It was because of the way she married," she answered at last. "I married 
+a poor man, and her marriage brought her into riches. I would not 
+exchange with her for all the world, Rotha. I have had much the best of 
+it. You see your judgment is not worth much." 
+
+Rotha was not satisfied by this statement, and as time wore on she 
+thought she had less and less reason. Mrs. Marble did succeed in finding 
+some different work with better pay for her lodger; that is, she got her 
+the private sewing of a family that paid her at the rate of seventy five 
+cents for a gentleman's shirt, with stitched linen bosom and cuffs. It 
+was better than the buttonhole making; yet even so, Mrs. Carpenter found 
+that very close and diligent application was necessary, if she would pay 
+her rent and pay her way. She could hardly do without Rotha's assistance. 
+If she tried, with natural motherly feeling, to spare her child, she made 
+her fingers rough and unfit for delicate work. It would not do. Rotha's 
+hands must go into the hot water, and handle the saucepan, and the broom, 
+and the box-iron. Ironing made Mrs. Carpenter's hands tremble; and she 
+must not be hindered in her work or made to do it slowly, if she and her 
+child were to live. And by degrees Rotha came thus to be very busy and 
+her days well filled up. All errands were done by her; purchases at the 
+market and the grocery shop and the thread and needle store. The care of 
+the two little rooms was hers; the preparation of meals, the clearing of 
+tables. It was better than to be idle, but Rotha sighed over it and Mrs. 
+Carpenter sometimes did the same. If she had known just what a public 
+school is, at all hazards she would not have kept her child at home; 
+Rotha should have had so much education as she could get there. But Mrs. 
+Carpenter had a vague horror of evil contact for her daughter, who had 
+lived until now in so pure an atmosphere bodily and mentally. Better 
+anything than such contact, she thought; and she had no time to examine 
+or make inquiries. 
+
+So days slipped by, as days do where people are overwhelmingly busy; the 
+hope and intention of making a change kept in the background and 
+virtually nullified by the daily and instant pressure. Rotha became 
+accustomed to the new part she was playing in life; and to her turn of 
+mind, there was a certain satisfaction in the activity of it. Mrs. 
+Carpenter sat by the window and sewed, from morning to night. Both of 
+them began to grow pale over their confined life; but they were caught in 
+the machinery of this great, restless, evil world, and must needs go on 
+with it; no extrication was possible. One needleful of thread after 
+another, one seam after another, one garment finished and another begun; 
+that was the routine of Mrs. Carpenter's life, as of so many others; and 
+Rotha found an incessant recurrence of meal-times, and of the necessary 
+arrangements before and after. The only break and change was on Sunday. 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter suddenly awoke to the conviction, that Rotha's going to 
+any sort of school was not a thing at present within the range of vision. 
+What was to be done? She thought a great deal about it. 
+
+On their way to and from church she had noticed a small bookstall, closed 
+then of course, which from its general appearance and its situation 
+promised a tariff of prices fitted for very shallow pockets. One 
+afternoon she resolutely laid down her work and took time to go and 
+inspect it. The stock was small enough, and poor; in the whole she found 
+nothing that could serve her purpose, save two volumes of a broken set of 
+Rollin's Ancient History. Being a broken set, the volumes were prized at 
+a mere trifle, and Mrs. Carpenter bought them. Rotha had been with her, 
+and as soon as they reached home subjected the purchase to a narrow and 
+thorough inspection. 
+
+"Mother, these are only Vol. I. and Vol. V." 
+
+"Yes, I know it." 
+
+"And they are not very clean." 
+
+"I know that too. I will cover them." 
+
+"And then, what are you going to do with them? Read them? You have no 
+time." 
+
+"I am going to make you read them." 
+
+"Well, I would like to read anything new," said Rotha; "but what shall we 
+do for all that goes between No. I. and No. V.?" 
+
+"We will see. Perhaps we can pick them up too, some time." 
+
+The reading, Rotha found, she was to do aloud, while her mother sewed. It 
+became a regular thing every afternoon, all the time there was to give to 
+it; and Rotha was not aware what schooling her mother managed to get out 
+of the reading. Mrs. Carpenter herself had been well educated; and so was 
+able to do for Rotha what was possible in the circumstances. It is 
+astonishing how much may be accomplished with small means, if there is 
+sufficient power of will at work. Not a fact and not a name in their 
+reading, but it was made the nucleus of a discussion, of which Rotha only 
+knew that it was very interesting; Mrs. Carpenter knew that she was 
+teaching her daughter history and chronology. Not the history merely of 
+the people immediately in question, but the history of the world and of 
+humanity. For without being a scholar or having dead languages at her 
+command, Mrs. Carpenter had another knowledge, which gives the very best 
+key to the solution of many human questions, leads to the most clear and 
+comprehensive view of the whole human drama of life and gives the only 
+one clue to guide one amidst the confusions of history and to its 
+ultimate goal and termination. Namely, the knowledge of the Bible. It is 
+marvellous, how that knowledge supplies and supplements other sorts. So 
+Rotha and her mother, at every step they made in their reading, stopped 
+to study the ground; looked back and forward, traced connections of 
+things, and without any parade of learning got deep into the philosophy 
+of them. 
+
+History was only one branch of the studies for which Rollin was made a 
+text-book. Mrs. Carpenter had an atlas in her possession; and she and 
+Rotha studied geography. Studied it thoroughly, too; traced and fixed the 
+relations of ancient and modern; learned by heart and not by head, which 
+is always the best way. And Mrs. Carpenter taxed her memory to enable her 
+as far as practicable to indoctrinate Rotha in the mysteries and delights 
+of physical geography, which the girl took as she would the details of a 
+story. Culture and the arts and industries came in for a share of 
+attention; but here Mrs. Carpenter's knowledge reached not far. Far 
+enough to excite Rotha's curiosity very much, which of itself was one 
+good thing. That indeed may be said to have been one general result and 
+fruit of this peculiar method of instruction. 
+
+A grammar was not among Mrs. Carpenter's few possessions, nor found on 
+the shelves of the book-stall above-mentioned. Here too she sought to 
+make memory supply the place of printed words. Rollin served as a text-
+book again. Rotha learned the parts of speech, and their distinctions and 
+inflexions; also, as far as her mother could recollect them, the rules of 
+syntax. Against all this branch of study she revolted, as unintelligible. 
+Writing compositions went better; but for the mechanical part of this 
+exercise Mrs. Carpenter had no leisure. She did set Rotha a copy now and 
+then; but writing and arithmetic for the most part got the go-by. What 
+Mrs. Carpenter did she must do with her fingers plying the needle and her 
+eyes on her work. 
+
+It helped them both, all this learning and teaching; reading and talking. 
+It saved their life from being a dead monotony, and their minds from 
+vegetating; and diverted them from sorrowful regrets and recollections. 
+Life was quite active and stirring in the little rooms where they lived. 
+Nevertheless, their physical nature did not thrive so well as the mental. 
+Rotha was growing fast, and shooting up slender and pale, living too 
+housed a life; and her mother began to lose freshness and to grow thin 
+with too constant application. As the winter passed away, and warm 
+weather opened the buds of the trees which in some places graced the 
+city, these human plants seemed to wither more and more. 
+
+"O mother," said Rotha, standing at the window one day in the late 
+spring, "I think the city is just horrid!" 
+
+"Never mind, my child. We have a comfortable home, and a great deal to be 
+thankful for." 
+
+"If I could only see the butterflies in the fields again!" sighed Rotha. 
+Her mother echoed the sigh, but this time said nothing. 
+
+"And I would like a good big tumbler of real milk, and some strawberries, 
+and some of your bread and butter, mother." 
+
+"Yes, my child." 
+
+"Mother, how comes it that aunt Serena is rich, and you and I are so 
+poor?" 
+
+"You have asked me that before." 
+
+"But you didn't tell me." 
+
+"I told you, it was in consequence of the different marriages we made." 
+
+"Yes, I know. But you were not poor before you married father, were you?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then that is what I mean. What is become of it? Where is your part?" 
+
+"Nowhere, dear." 
+
+"What became of it then, mother?" 
+
+"I never had it, Rotha. You had better get your book and read. That would 
+be wiser than asking useless questions." 
+
+"But why didn't you have it, mother? Did aunt Serena--did your sister--
+get it all?" 
+
+"Get your book, Rotha." 
+
+"Mother, please tell me. I shall know the answer if you do not tell me." 
+
+"Your aunt had it all," Mrs. Carpenter said very quietly. 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"Your grandfather thought there were good reasons." 
+
+"_Were_ there, mother?" 
+
+"I do not think so. But let it be, Rotha, and never mention this subject 
+to me again. Different people have different ways of looking at the same 
+thing; and people are often very honestly mistaken. You must not judge 
+others by yourself." 
+
+"Mother, I think that was very unjust," said Rotha, in immediate 
+disregard of this precept. 
+
+"You must not think it was meant so." 
+
+"But, mother, if a wrong thing is honestly meant, does that make it 
+right?" 
+
+"There is but one rule of right and wrong; it is God's rule." 
+
+"Then what difference does it make, whether it was 'honestly meant' or 
+no?" 
+
+"A good deal, I should say. Don't you think it does?" 
+
+"I do not believe aunt Serena means it honestly, though. If she was a 
+good woman, she wouldn't keep what belongs to you. She must _know_ it is 
+wrong!" 
+
+"Rotha, you are paining me," said Mrs. Carpenter, the tears springing to 
+her eyes. "This is very foolish talk, and very improper. Get your book." 
+
+"I don't wonder you don't want to go and see her!" said Rotha indignantly 
+as she obeyed the order. "O mother! if I could just once roll in the 
+grass again!" 
+
+At this moment came a cry from the street-- 
+
+"Straw--berr_ees!_" 
+
+"What's that?" exclaimed Rotha springing to the window. "Mother, it's a 
+woman with a basket full of something red. Strawberries! it's 
+strawberries!" 
+
+The accent of this word went to the mother's heart. 
+
+"It's early yet," she said. "They will be very dear. By and by they will 
+be plenty and cheaper." 
+
+"Strawberries!" repeated Rotha, following the woman with her eyes. 
+"Mother, I think I do hate New York. The sight of those strawberries 
+makes me wild. I want Carlo, and the ducks, and my old pussy cat, and the 
+garden; and--Oh, I want father!" 
+
+The natural conclusion to this burst was a passion of weeping. Mrs. 
+Carpenter was fain to lay down her work, and put her arms round the 
+child, and shed some tears with her; though even as they fell she was 
+trying to soothe Rotha into patience and self-command. Two virtues of 
+which as yet the girl knew nothing, except that her mother was a very 
+lovely and constant exemplification of them. Nobody ever expected either 
+from Rotha; although this was the first violent expression of grief and 
+longing that her mother had seen since their removal to New York, and it 
+took her by surprise. Rotha had seemed to acquiesce with tolerable ease 
+in the new conditions of things; and this was Mrs. Carpenter's first 
+notification that under all the outside calm there lay a power of wish 
+and pain. They wept together for a while, the mother and child, which was 
+a sort of relief to both of them. 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, as she dried her tears and struggled to prevent 
+more coming,--"I could bear it, only that I don't see any end to it." 
+
+"Well, my child? what then?" said the mother tenderly. 
+
+"I don't feel as if I could bear this always." 
+
+"There might be much worse, Rotha." 
+
+"That don't make this one bit better, mother. It makes it harder." 
+
+"We must trust God." 
+
+"For what? I don't see." 
+
+"Trust him, that he will keep his promises. I do." 
+
+"What promises?" 
+
+"He has said, that none of them that trust in him shall be desolate." 
+
+"But 'not desolate'! That is not enough," said. Rotha. "I want more than 
+that. I want to be happy; and I want to be comfortable." 
+
+"Are you not comfortable, my child?" 
+
+"No, mother," Rotha said with a sob. 
+
+"What do you want?" Mrs. Carpenter spoke with a gentle soft accent, which 
+half soothed, half reproached Rotha, though she did not mean any 
+reproach. Rotha, nevertheless went on. 
+
+"I want nearly everything, mother! everything that we haven't got." 
+
+"It would not make you happy, if you had it." 
+
+"Why not? Why wouldn't it?" 
+
+"Because nothing of that sort can. There is only one thing that makes 
+people happy." 
+
+"I know; you mean religion. But I am not religious. And if I _was_ happy, 
+mother, I should want those other things too." 
+
+"If you were happy--you would be happy," Mrs. Carpenter said with a 
+slight smile. 
+
+"That would not hinder my wanting other things. I should want, as I do 
+now, nice dresses, and a nice house, and books, and not to have to cook 
+and wash dishes, and to take a ride sometimes and a walk sometimes--not a 
+walk to market--I want all that, mother." 
+
+"I would give it you if I could, Rotha. If I had it and did not give it 
+to you, you would know that I had some very good reason." 
+
+"I might think you were mistaken," said Rotha. 
+
+"We cannot think that of the only wise God," Mrs. Carpenter said with 
+that same faint, sweet smile again; "so we must fall back upon the 
+other alternative." 
+
+Rotha was silenced. 
+
+"We know that he loves us, dear; and 'they that trust in the Lord shall 
+not want any good thing.' As soon as it would be good for us, if that 
+time ever comes, we shall have it. As for me, if you were only one of 
+those that trust in him, I should hardly have a wish left." 
+
+Rotha dried her tears and went at her work. But the summer, as the days 
+passed, was a trial to both of them. Accustomed to sweet country air and 
+free motion about the farm, the closeness, the heat, the impurities, and 
+the confinement of the city were extremely hard to bear. They made it 
+also very difficult to work. Often it seemed to Mrs. Carpenter, unused to 
+such a sedentary life and close bending over her needle, that she must 
+stop and wait till it grew cooler, or till she herself felt a little 
+refreshed. But the necessities of living drove her on, as they drive so 
+many, pitilessly. She could not intermit her work. Rents were due just 
+the same in summer as in winter, and meat and bread were no cheaper. She 
+grew very thin and pale; and Rotha too, though in a far less degree, 
+shewed the wilting and withering effect of the life they led. Rarely a 
+walk could be had; the streets were hot and disagreeable; and Mrs. 
+Carpenter could but now and then dare to spend twenty cents for car hire 
+to take her and Rotha to the Park and back again. The heats of July were 
+very hard to bear; the heats of August were more oppressive still; and 
+when September came with its enervating moist, muggy, warm days, Mrs. 
+Carpenter could scarcely keep her place and her work at her window. All 
+day she could not. She was obliged to stop and lie by. Appetite failed, 
+meals were not enticing; and on the whole, Mrs. Marble was not at all 
+satisfied with the condition of either of her lodgers. 
+
+The cooler weather and then the frosts wrought some amendment. Yet all 
+the autumn did not put them back where the spring had found them; and 
+late in November Mrs. Carpenter took a cold which she could not 
+immediately get rid of. A bad cough set in; strength rather failed than 
+grew; and the thin hands which were so unceasingly busy with their work, 
+became more and more transparently thin. Mrs. Carpenter needed rest; she 
+knew it; and the thought came to her that it might be duty, and even it 
+might be necessity, to apply to her sister for help. Surely it could not 
+be refused? 
+
+She was often busy with this thought. 
+
+One day she had undertaken a longer walk than usual, to carry home some 
+articles of fine sewing that she had finished. She would not send Rotha 
+so far alone, but she took her along for company and for the air and 
+exercise. Her way led her into the finer built part of the city. Coming 
+down Broadway, she was stopped a minute by a little crowd on the 
+sidewalk, just as a carriage drew up and a lady with a young girl stepped 
+out of it and went into Tiffany's; crossing the path of Mrs. Carpenter 
+and Rotha. The lady she recognized as her own sister. 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, as they presently went on their way again, "isn't 
+that a handsome carriage?" 
+
+"Very." 
+
+"What is the coachman dressed so for?" 
+
+"That is what they call a livery." 
+
+"Well, what _is_ it? He has top boots and a gold band round his hat. What 
+for? I see a great many coachmen and footmen dressed up so or some other 
+way. What is the use of it?" 
+
+"No use, that I know." 
+
+"Then what is it for?" 
+
+"I suppose they think it looks well." 
+
+"So it does. But how rich people must be, mother, when their servants can 
+dress handsomer than we ever could. And their own dresses! Did you see 
+the train of that lady's dress?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Beautiful black silk, ever so much of it, sweeping over the sidewalk. 
+She did not even lift it up, as if she cared whether it went into the 
+dirt or not." 
+
+"I suppose she did not care," said Mrs. Carpenter mechanically, like a 
+person who is not giving much thought to her answers. 
+
+"Then she must be _very_ rich indeed. I suppose, mother, her train would 
+make you a whole nice dress." 
+
+"Hardly so much of it as that," said Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"No, no; I mean the cost of it. Mother, I wonder if it is _right_, for  
+that woman to trail so much silk on the ground, and you not to be able to  
+get yourself one good dress?" 
+
+"It makes no difference in my finances, whether she trails it or not." 
+
+"No, but it ought." 
+
+"How should it?" 
+
+Rotha worked awhile at this problem in silence. 
+
+"Mother, if nobody used what he didn't want, don't you think there would 
+be enough for the people who do want? You know what I mean?" 
+
+"I know what you mean. But how should the surplus get to the people who 
+want it?" 
+
+"Why!--that's very simple." 
+
+"Not so simple as you think." 
+
+"Mother, that is the way people did in the second chapter of Acts, that 
+we were reading yesterday. Nobody said that anything he had was his own." 
+
+"That was when everybody was full of the love of Christ. I grant you, 
+Rotha, that makes things easy. My child, let us take care we act on that 
+principle." 
+
+"We have nothing to give," said Rotha. "Mother, how that girl was dressed 
+too, that came out of that same carriage. Did you see her?" 
+
+"Hardly." 
+
+"She was about as old as I am, I guess. Mother, she had a feather in her 
+hat and a beautiful little muff, and a silk frock too, though there was 
+no train to it. Her silk was red--dark red," Rotha added with a sigh. 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter had been struck and moved, as well as her daughter, by the 
+appearance of the figures in question, though, as she said, she had 
+scarce seen more than one of them. But her thoughts were in a different 
+channel. 
+
+When she got home, contrary to all her wont, Mrs. Carpenter sat down and 
+put her head in her hands, instead of going to work. She said she was a 
+little tired, which was very true; but the real reason was a depression 
+and at the same time a perturbation of mind which would not let her work. 
+She had been several times lately engaged with the thought, that it might 
+be better, that it might be her duty, to make herself known to her 
+sister. She felt that her strength lately had been decreasing; it had 
+been with much difficulty that she accomplished her full tale of work; 
+help, even a little, would be very grateful, and a friend for Rotha might 
+be of the greatest importance. It was over with those thoughts. That one 
+glimpse of her sister as she swept past, had shewn her the utter futility 
+of such an appeal as she had thought of making. There was something in 
+the whole air and style of the rich woman which convinced Mrs. Carpenter 
+that she would not patiently hear of poor relations in her neighbourhood; 
+and that help given, even if she gave it, would be so given that it would 
+be easier to do without it than to accept it. She was thrown back upon 
+herself; and the check and the disappointment shewed how much, secretly 
+she had been staying herself upon this hope which had failed her. 
+
+She said nothing to her daughter, and Rotha never knew what that 
+encounter had been. But a few days later, finding herself still not 
+gaining strength, and catching at any thread of hope or help, Mrs. 
+Carpenter took another long walk and delivered at its place of address 
+the letter which her English guest had left her. She hardly expected ever 
+to hear anything from it again; and in fact it was long before she did 
+hear either of the letter or of its writer. 
+
+The months of winter went somewhat painfully along. Mrs. Carpenter's 
+health did not mend, and the constant sewing became more and more 
+difficult to bear. Mrs. Carpenter now more frequently went out with her 
+work herself; leaving Rotha to make up the lost time by doing some of the 
+plainer seams, for which she was quite competent. 
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. 
+
+
+A VISITER. 
+
+
+One cold afternoon in the latter part of January, a stranger came to Mrs. 
+Marble's door and begged for a few minutes' interview. He did not make it 
+longer; but after a very brief conversation on religious matters, and 
+giving her a tract or two, inquired if there was anybody else in the 
+house? 
+
+"Lodgers," said Mrs. Marble. "They've got the second floor. A woman and a 
+girl." 
+
+"What sort of people?" 
+
+"Well, I should say they were an uncommon sort. Your sort, I guess. 
+Religious. I mean the mother is. I reckon the little one haint anything 
+o' that kind about her." 
+
+"Then they pay their rent, I suppose?" 
+
+"As regular as clockwork. 'Taint always easy, I know; but it comes up to 
+the day. I don't believe much in the sort o' religion that don't pay 
+debts." 
+
+"Nor I; but sometimes, you know, the paying is not only difficult but 
+impossible. Why is it difficult in this case?" 
+
+"Don't ask _me!_ Because another sort of religious folk, that go to church 
+regular enough and say their prayers, won't pay honest wages for honest 
+work. How is a woman to live, that can't get more than a third or a 
+quarter the value o' what she does? So they _don't_ live; they die; and 
+that's how it's goin' to be here." 
+
+A tear was glittering in Mrs. Marble's honest eyes, while at the same 
+time she bit off her words as if they had been snap gingerbread. 
+
+"Is it so bad as that?" asked the visiter. 
+
+"Well, I don' know if you ought to call it, 'bad,'" said Mrs. Marble with 
+a compound expression. "When livin' aint livin' no longer, then dyin' 
+aint exactly dyin'. 'Taint the worst thing, anyhow; if it warnt for the 
+folk left behind. If I was as ready as she is, I wouldn't mind goin', I 
+guess. I s'pose she thinks of her child some." 
+
+"Would they receive a visit from me?" 
+
+"I don' know; but they don't have many. So long as they've been here, and 
+that's more'n a year now, there aint a livin' soul as has called to ask 
+after 'em. I guess they'd receive most anybody that come with a friend's 
+face. Shall I ask 'em?"
+
+"Not _that_, but if they will see me. I shall be much obliged." 
+
+Mrs. Marble laid down her work and tripped up stairs. 
+
+"Rotha," she said putting her head inside the door, "here's somebody to 
+see you." 
+
+The girl started up and a colour came into her face, as she eagerly 
+asked, "Who?" 
+
+"I don't know him from Adam. He's a sort of a missionary; they come round 
+once in a while; and he wants to see you." 
+
+"Mother's gone out," said Rotha, her colour fading as quick as it had 
+risen. 
+
+"May he come and see you? He's a nice lookin' feller." 
+
+"I don't care," said Rotha. "I don't want to see any missionary." 
+
+"O well! it won't hurt you to see this one, I guess." 
+
+A few minutes after came a tap at the door, and Rotha with a mingling of 
+unwillingness and curiosity, opened it. What she saw was not exactly what 
+she had expected; curiosity grew and unwillingness abated. She asked the 
+stranger in with tolerable civility. He _was_ nice looking, she confessed 
+to herself, and very nicely dressed! not at all the rubbishy exterior 
+which Rotha somehow associated with her idea of missionaries. He came in 
+and sat down, quite like an ordinary man; which was soothing. 
+
+"Mother is out," Rotha announced shortly. 
+
+"It is so much the kinder of you to let me come in." 
+
+"I was not thinking of kindness," said Rotha. 
+
+"No? Of what then? 
+
+"Nothing in particular. You do not want kindness." 
+
+"I beg your pardon. Everybody wants it." 
+
+"Not kindness _from_ everybody then." 
+
+"I do." 
+
+"But some people can do without it." 
+
+"Can they? What sort of people?" 
+
+"Why, a great many people. Those that have all they want already." 
+
+"I never saw any of that sort of people," said the stranger gravely. 
+"Pray, did you?" 
+
+"I thought I had." 
+
+"And you thought I was one of them?" 
+
+"I believe so." 
+
+"You were mistaken in me. Probably you were mistaken also in the other 
+instances. Perhaps you were thinking of the people who have all that 
+money can buy?" 
+
+"Perhaps," Rotha assented. 
+
+"Do you think money can buy all things?" 
+
+"No," said Rotha, beginning to recover her usual composure; "but the 
+people who have all that money can buy, can do without the other things." 
+
+"What do you mean by the 'other things'?" 
+
+Rotha did not answer. 
+
+"I suppose kindness is one of them, as we started from that." 
+
+Rotha was still silent. 
+
+"Do you think you could afford to do without kindness?" 
+
+"If I had money enough," Rotha said bluntly. 
+
+"And what would you buy with money, that would be better?" 
+
+"O plenty!" said Rotha. "Yes, indeed! I would stop mother's working; and 
+I would buy our old home, and we would go away from this place and never 
+come back to it. I would have somebody to do the work that I do, too; and 
+I would have a garden, and plenty of flowers, and plenty of everything." 
+
+"And live without friends?" 
+
+"We always did," said Rotha. "We never had friends. O friends!--everybody 
+in the village and in the country was a friend; but you know what I mean; 
+nobody that we cared for." 
+
+"Then you have no friends here in New York?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"I should think you would have stayed where, as you say, everybody was a 
+friend." 
+
+"Yes, but we couldn't." 
+
+"You said, you would if you could stop your mother's working. Do you 
+think she would like that?" 
+
+"O she's tired to death!" said Rotha; and her eyes reddened in a way that 
+shewed there were at least two sides to her character. "She is not strong 
+at all, and she wants rest. Of course she would like it. Not to have to 
+do any more than she likes, I mean." 
+
+"Then perhaps she would not choose to take some work I was thinking to 
+offer her. Or perhaps you would not take it?" he added smiling. 
+
+"We _must_ take it," said Rotha, "if we can get it. What is it?" 
+
+"A set of shirts. A dozen." 
+
+"Mother gets seventy five cents a piece, if they are tucked and 
+stitched." 
+
+"That is not my price, however. I like my work particularly done, and I 
+give two dollars a piece." 
+
+"Two dollars for one shirt?" inquired Rotha. 
+
+"That is my meaning. Do you think your mother will take them?" 
+
+For all answer the girl clapped her two hands together. 
+
+"Then you are not a master tailor?" she asked. 
+
+"No." 
+
+"I thought maybe you were. I don't like them. What are you, please?" 
+
+"If I should propose myself as a friend, would you allow it?" 
+
+Is this a "kindness"? was the suspicion that instantly darted into 
+Rotha's mind. The visiter saw it in her face, and could have smiled; took 
+care to do no such thing. 
+
+"That is a question for mother to answer," she said coolly. 
+
+"When it is put to her. I put the question to you." 
+
+"Do you mean, that you are talking of being a friend to _me?_" 
+
+"Is that too bold a proposition?" 
+
+"No--but it cannot be true." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"You cannot want me for a friend. You do not know me a bit." 
+
+"Pardon me. And my proposal was, that I should be a friend to _you_." 
+
+"I always thought there were two sides to a friendship." 
+
+"True; and in time, perhaps, when you come to know me as well as I know 
+you, perhaps you will be my friend as well." 
+
+"How should you know me?" said Rotha quickly. 
+
+"People's thoughts and habits of feeling have a way of writing themselves 
+somehow in their faces, and voices, and movements. Did you know that?" 
+
+"No--" Rotha said doubtfully. 
+
+"They do." 
+
+"But you don't know me." 
+
+"Will you put it to the proof? But do you like to hear the truth spoken 
+about yourself?" 
+
+"I don't know. I never tried." 
+
+"Shall I try you? I think I see before me a person who likes to have her 
+own way--and has it." 
+
+"You are wrong there," said Rotha. "If I had my own way, I should not be 
+doing what I am doing; no indeed! I should be going to school." 
+
+"I did not mean that your will could get the better of all circumstances; 
+only of the will of other people. How is that?" 
+
+"I suppose everybody likes to have his own way," said Rotha in defence. 
+
+"Probably; but not every one gets it. Then, when upon occasion your will 
+is crossed, whether by persons or circumstances, you do not take it very 
+patiently." 
+
+"Does anybody?" 
+
+"Some people. But on these occasions you are apt to shew your displeasure 
+impatiently--sometimes violently." 
+
+"How do you know?" said Rotha wonderingly. "You cannot see that in my 
+face _now?_" 
+
+And she began curiously to examine the face opposite to her, to see if it 
+too had any disclosures to make. He smiled. 
+
+"Another thing,--" he went on. "You have never yet learned to care for 
+others more than for yourself." 
+
+"Does anybody?" said Rotha. 
+
+"How is it with your mother?" 
+
+"Mother?-- But then, mother and I are very different" 
+
+"Did I not intimate that?" 
+
+"But I mean I am naturally different from her. It is not only because she 
+is a Christian." 
+
+"Why are you not a Christian too?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated. Her interlocutor was certainly a great stranger; and as 
+certainly she had not found it possible to read his face; 
+notwithstanding, two effects had resulted from the interview thus far; 
+she believed in him, and he was somewhat imposing to her. Dress and 
+manner might have a little to do with this; poor Rotha had rarely in her 
+short life spoken to any one who had the polish of manner that belongs to 
+good breeding and the habit of society; but that was not the whole. She 
+felt the security and the grace with which every word was said, and she 
+trusted his face. At the same time she rebelled against the slight awe he 
+inspired, and was a little afraid of some lurking "kindness" under all 
+this extraordinary interest and affability. Her answer was delayed and 
+then came somewhat defiantly. 
+
+"I never wanted to be a Christian." 
+
+"That answer has the merit of truth," said her visiter calmly. "You have 
+mentioned the precise reason that keeps people out of the kingdom of 
+heaven. 'Ye will not come unto me, that ye might have life,' the Lord 
+said to some of them when he was upon earth. 'When they shall see him, 
+there is no beauty that they should desire him.'" 
+
+"Well, I cannot help that," said Rotha. 
+
+"No,--" said her visiter slowly, "you cannot help that; but it does not 
+excuse you." 
+
+"Why, how can I be a Christian, when I _dont want to?_" 
+
+"How can you do anything else that you do not want to do? Duty remains 
+duty, does it not?" 
+
+"But religion is not outside work." 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Mother says, it is the love of God. How can I make myself love him?" 
+
+"Poor child!" said her visiter. "When you are in earnest about that 
+question it will not be difficult to find the answer." He rose up. "Then 
+I may send the shirts I spoke of?" 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha; "but I don't know about the price. Mother does not 
+want anything but the proper pay; and she does all her work 
+particularly." 
+
+"Are you afraid I shall give her too much?" 
+
+"She does not want too much." 
+
+"I will arrange that with her. Stay,--we have not been introduced to each 
+other. You may call me Mr. Digby; what may I call you?" 
+
+"Rotha Carpenter." 
+
+"Good morning, Rotha," said the gentleman, offering his hand. Rotha shyly 
+took it, and he went away. 
+
+Half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Carpenter came home. She came slowly up the 
+short flight of stairs, and sat down by her fireside as if she was tired. 
+She was pale, and she coughed now and then. 
+
+"Mother," began Rotha, full of the new event, "somebody has been here 
+since you have been away." 
+
+"A messenger from Mr. Farquharson? I shall have the things done to-
+morrow, I hope." 
+
+"No messenger at all, and no tailor, nor any such horrid person. Mother, 
+what is a 'gentleman'?" 
+
+"What makes you ask?" 
+
+"Because Mrs. Marble said this man was a gentleman. He's a missionary. Do 
+you know what a 'city missionary' means, mother?" 
+
+"Yes, in general." 
+
+"The same as a foreign missionary, only he does not go out of the 
+country?" 
+
+"He does his work in the city." 
+
+"But there are no heathen in New York." 
+
+"There are worse." 
+
+"Worse? what can be worse?" 
+
+"It is worse to see the light and refuse it, than never to have had the 
+choice." 
+
+"Then I should think it would be better not to send missionaries to the 
+heathen." 
+
+"Rotha, take my bonnet and cloak, dear, and put them away; and make me 
+some tea, will you?" 
+
+"Why mother, it is not tea-time yet." 
+
+"No matter; I am tired, and cold." 
+
+"But you didn't tell me what a gentleman is?" pursued Rotha, beginning 
+now to bustle about and do as she was told. 
+
+"Wait till I have had some tea. How much tea is left, Rotha?" 
+
+"Well, I guess, enough to last almost a week," said the girl, peering 
+into the box which did duty for a tea-caddy. 
+
+"I must manage to get some more," said the mother. "I could hardly get 
+along without my cup of tea." 
+
+"Mother, here has been somebody who wants you to make shirts for him at 
+two dollars a piece." 
+
+"Two dollars a piece!" Mrs. Carpenter echoed. "I could afford to get tea 
+then. Who was that, Rotha? and what sort of shirts does he want made for 
+such a price?" 
+
+"I don't know! he said he wanted them very particularly made, and I told 
+him that was the way you did everything. Now mother dear, the kettle will 
+boil in two minutes." 
+
+"Who is this person?" 
+
+"I told you, he is a city missionary. His name is Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Digby,"--said Mrs. Carpenter. "I do not know him." 
+
+"Of course you don't. But you will be glad of the shirts, won't you?" 
+
+"Very glad, and thankful." 
+
+"But is two dollars a proper price?" inquired Rotha a little jealously. 
+
+"It is an uncommon price." 
+
+"What could make him offer an uncommon price?" 
+
+"I don't know. It is not the way of the world, so perhaps he is not one 
+of the world." 
+
+"He's a Christian, you mean?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Do Christians always do the right thing?" 
+
+"Real Christians do, when they know what the right thing is. I am too 
+tired to talk, Rotha." 
+
+Rotha bestirred herself and set the little table. Not very much went on 
+it, besides the cups and plates; but there was a loaf of bread, and Rotha 
+made a slice of toast; and Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea as if she found 
+it refreshing. 
+
+"I wish I had a good tumbler of milk," sighed Rotha; "real milk, not like 
+this. And I wish you had some Medwayville cream, mother. I think, if I 
+ever get back into the country again, I shall go wild." 
+
+"I sometimes think you are a little of that here," said Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"Not wild with joy, mother." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter sipped her tea, and stretched out her feet towards the 
+small stove, and seemed to be taking some comfort. But her face was thin 
+and worn, the hands were very thin; a person with more experience than 
+her young daughter would have been ill content with her appearance. 
+
+"Mother, now can you tell me my question? What do you mean by a 
+'gentleman.'" 
+
+"Perhaps not just what Mrs. Marble means by it." 
+
+"Well, I'll tell you. This person was very well dressed, but clothes do 
+not make it, do they, mother?" 
+
+"Certainly not." 
+
+"He has got a nice face, and he seemed to know always just what to do and 
+to say; I can't tell you what I mean exactly; but I should think, to look 
+at him and hear him, that he knew everything and had seen all the world. 
+Of course he hasn't and doesn't; but that is the sort of feeling I have 
+when I look at him." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter smiled. 
+
+"Did you never see anybody before of whom you thought so?" 
+
+"Never. I never did," said Rotha. "The people who come here on business, 
+don't know the least bit how to behave; and the people at dear old 
+Medwayville did not. O they were kind and good as they could be, some of 
+them; but mother, they could not make a bow to save their lives, and they 
+would stand and sit all sorts of ways; and they wouldn't know when they 
+had done talking, nor how to do anything nicely." 
+
+"Perhaps this man was stiff," said Mrs. Carpenter amused. 
+
+"He was not stiff in the least; but mother, what is a gentleman?" 
+
+"I do not know how to tell you, Rotha. Your description sounds very much 
+like one." 
+
+A day or two after, Mr. Digby came again, and had an interview with Mrs. 
+Carpenter. This time he paid no attention to Rotha, and I think the 
+little girl was somewhat disappointed. The next day he came again and 
+brought with him the bundle of shirts. He inquired now very kindly into 
+Mrs. Carpenter's state of health, and offered to send his own physician 
+to see her. But she refused; and the manner of her refusal persuaded Mr. 
+Digby that she was aware of her own condition and believed no medicine 
+would be of avail. He was much of the same opinion himself; and indeed 
+was inclined to suspect that there was more need of good food than of 
+drugs in this case. More difficult at the same time to administer. 
+
+A few days passed, and Mr. Digby again came. 
+
+He found Mrs. Carpenter steady at her work, but looking very worn and 
+pale. Rotha was just putting on the small tea kettle. Mr. Digby sat down 
+and made kind inquiries. The answers were with the sweet patient 
+composure which he saw was habitual with Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"How is your appetite?" he asked. 
+
+"I suppose I am not enough in the open air and stirring about, to have it 
+very good." 
+
+"Have you much strength for 'stirring about'?" 
+
+"Not much." 
+
+"People cannot have strength without eating. Rotha, what time do you give 
+your mother her dinner?" 
+
+"Now," said Rotha. "I put the kettle on just as you came in." 
+
+"I saw you did. But what is the connection, may I ask, between dinner and 
+the tea kettle?" 
+
+"Rotha makes me a cup of tea," said Mrs. Carpenter smiling. "I can hardly 
+get along without that." 
+
+"Ah!--Mrs. Carpenter, I have had a busy morning and am--which I am sorry 
+you are not--_hungry_. May I take a cup of tea with you?" 
+
+"Certainly!--I should be very glad. Rotha, set a cup for Mr. Digby, dear. 
+But tea is not much to a hungry man," she went on; "and I am afraid there 
+is little in the house but bread and butter." 
+
+"That will do capitally. If you'll furnish the bread and butter, I will 
+see what I can get for my part. If you'll excuse the liberty, Mrs. 
+Carpenter?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter would excuse, I think, whatever he might take a fancy to 
+do. She had seen him now several times, and he had quite won her heart. 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, as soon as their visiter had gone out, "what is he 
+going to do?" 
+
+"I do not know. Get something for dinner, he said." 
+
+"Do you like him to do that?" 
+
+"Do what?" 
+
+"Bring us dinner." 
+
+"Don't be foolish, Rotha." 
+
+"Mother, I think he is doing what he calls a 'kindness.'" 
+
+"Have you any objection?" 
+
+"Not to his doing it for other people; but for you and me-- Mother, we 
+have not come to receiving charity yet." 
+
+"Rotha!" exclaimed her mother. "My child, what are you thinking of?"
+
+"Having kindnesses done to us, mother; and I don't like it. It is not Mr. 
+Digby's business, what we have for dinner!" 
+
+"I told him we had not much but bread." 
+
+"Why did you tell him?" 
+
+"He would have found it out, Rotha, when he came to sit down to the 
+table." 
+
+"He had no business to ask to do that."
+
+"I think you are ungrateful." 
+
+"Mother, I don't want to be grateful. Not to him." 
+
+"Why not to him, or to anybody, my child, that deserves it of you?" 
+
+"_He_ don't!"--said Rotha, as she finished setting the table, rather in 
+dudgeon. "What do you suppose he is going to bring?" 
+
+"Rotha, what will ever become of you in this world, with that spirit?" 
+
+"What spirit?" 
+
+"Pride, I should say." 
+
+"Isn't pride a good thing?" 
+
+"Not that ever I heard of, or you either," Mrs. Carpenter said with a 
+sigh. 
+
+"Mother, I don't think you have enough pride." 
+
+"A little is too much. It makes people fall into the condemnation of the 
+devil. And you are mistaken in thinking there is anything fine in it. 
+Don't shew that feeling to Mr. Digby, I beg of you." 
+
+Rotha did not exactly pout, for that was not her way; but she looked 
+dissatisfied. Presently she heard a sound below, and opened the door. 
+
+"He's coming up stairs," she said softly, "and a boy with him bringing 
+something. Mother!--" 
+
+She had no chance to say more. Mr. Digby came in, followed by a boy with 
+a basket. The basket was set down and the boy disappeared. 
+
+"Mrs. Carpenter," said the gentleman, "I could not find anything in this 
+neighbourhood better than oysters. Do you like them?" 
+
+"Oysters!" said Mrs. Carpenter. "It is very long since I have seen any. 
+Yes, I like them." 
+
+"Then the next question is, how do you like them? Saw? or roasted? We can 
+roast them here, cannot we?" 
+
+"I have not seen a roast oyster since I was a girl," said Mrs. Carpenter. 
+Her visiter could hear in the tone of her voice that the sight would be 
+very welcome. As for Rotha, displeasure was lost in curiosity. The 
+oysters were already nicely washed; that Mr. Digby had had done by the 
+same boy that brought the basket; it only remained to put them on the 
+fire and take them off; and both operations he was quite equal to. Rotha 
+looked on in silent astonishment, seeing the oyster shells open, and the 
+juice sputter on the hot iron, and perceiving the very acceptable 
+fragrance that came from them. Mr. Digby admonished her presently to make 
+the tea; and then they had a merry meal. Absolutely merry; for their 
+visitor, he could hardly be called their guest, spiced his ministrations 
+with so pleasant a manner that nothing but cheerfulness could keep its 
+ground before him. At the first taste of the oysters, it is true, some 
+associations seemed to come over Mrs. Carpenter which threatened to make 
+a sudden stop to her dinner. She sat back in her chair, and perhaps was 
+swallowing old troubles and heartburnings over again, or perhaps 
+recalling involuntarily a time before troubles began. The oysters seemed 
+to choke her; and she said she wanted no more. But Mr. Digby guessed what 
+was the matter; and was so tenderly kind and judiciously persuasive, that 
+Mrs. Carpenter could not withstand him; and then, Rotha looked on in new 
+amazement to see how the oysters went down and how manifestly they were 
+enjoyed. She herself declined to touch them; they did not look attractive 
+to her. 
+
+"Rotha," said Mr. Digby, as he opened a fine, fat oyster, "the only way 
+to know things is, to submit to learn." 
+
+"I needn't learn to like oysters, I suppose, need I?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"It might be useful some day." 
+
+"I don't see how it should. We never had oysters before, and perhaps we 
+never shall again." 
+
+"You might go a missionary to some South Sea island, and be obliged at 
+times to live upon oysters." 
+
+"I am not going to be a missionary." 
+
+"That is more than you know." 
+
+"But I know what I like, and what I think." 
+
+"At present. Perhaps you do. You do not know whether you like oysters, 
+however, for you have not tried." 
+
+"Your sphere of knowledge will be small, Rotha," said her mother, "if you 
+refuse to enlarge it." 
+
+Stung a little, Rotha made up her mind to try an oyster, to which her 
+objections were twofold. Nevertheless, she was obliged to confess, she 
+liked it; and the meal, as I said, went merrily on; Rotha from that time 
+doing her fall share. Mrs. Carpenter was plainly refreshed and comforted, 
+by the social as well as the material food she received. 
+
+"How good he is!" she exclaimed when their friend was gone. 
+
+"So are the oysters," said Rotha; "but I don't like him to bring them. I 
+do not think I like Mr. Digby much, anyhow." 
+
+"You surprise me. And it is not a little ungrateful." 
+
+"I don't want to be grateful to him. And mother, I _don't_ like him to 
+bring oysters here!" 
+
+"Why shouldn't he, if he likes? I am sorry to see such pride in you, 
+Rotha. It is _very_ foolish, my child." 
+
+"Mother, it looks as if he knew we were poor." 
+
+"He knows it, of course. Am I not making his shirts?" 
+
+Rotha was silent, clearing away the dishes and oyster shells with a good 
+deal of decision and dissatisfaction revealed in her movements. 
+
+"Everybody knows it, my child." 
+
+"I do not mind everybody. I just mind him. He is different. Why is he 
+different, mother?" 
+
+"I suppose the difference you mean is, that he is a gentleman." 
+
+"And what are we?" said Rotha, suddenly standing still to put the 
+question. 
+
+"We are respectable people," said her mother smiling. 
+
+"Not gentlemen, of course; but what do you call us?" 
+
+"If I could call you a Christian, Rotha, I should not care for anything 
+else; at least I should not be concerned about it. Everything else would 
+be right." 
+
+"Being a Christian would not make any difference in what I am talking 
+about." 
+
+"I think it would; but I cannot talk to you about it, Ask Mr. Digby the 
+next time he comes." 
+
+"Ask _him!_" cried Rotha. "I guess I will! What makes you think he is 
+coming again, mother?" 
+
+"It would be like him." 
+
+
+CHAPTER V. 
+
+
+PRIVATE TUITION. 
+
+
+More days passed however, than either of them expected, before Mr. Digby 
+came again. They were days of stern cold winter weather, in which it was 
+sometimes difficult to keep their little rooms comfortable without 
+burning more coal than Mrs. Carpenter thought she could afford. Rotha ran 
+along the streets to the corner shop where she bought tea and sugar, not 
+quite so well wrapped up but that she found a quick pace useful to 
+protect her from the cold; and Mrs. Carpenter wrought at her sewing 
+sometimes with stiffened fingers. 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, one day, "_I_ think it would be better to do without 
+tea and have a little more fire." 
+
+"I do not know how to get along without tea," Mrs. Carpenter said with a 
+sigh. 
+
+"But you are getting along without almost everything else." 
+
+"We do very well yet," answered the mother patiently. 
+
+"Do we?" said Rotha. "If this is what you call very well-- Mother, you 
+cannot live upon tea." 
+
+"I feel as if I could not live without it." 
+
+"Has Mr. Digby given you any money yet?" 
+
+"The shirts are only just finished." 
+
+"And what are you going to do now? But he'll pay you a good many dollars, 
+won't he, mother? Twenty four, for twelve shirts. But there is eight to 
+be paid for rent, I know, and that leaves only sixteen. And he can afford 
+to pay the whole twenty four, just for a dozen shirts! Mother, I don't 
+think some people have a _right_ to be so rich, while others are so poor." 
+
+"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'"--Mrs. Carpenter answered. 
+
+"Why does he?" 
+
+"Sometimes, I think, he wishes to teach his children to depend on him." 
+
+"Couldn't they do it if they were rich?" 
+
+"There is great danger they would not." 
+
+"You would, mother." 
+
+"Perhaps not. But I have always enough, Rotha." 
+
+"Enough!" echoed Rotha. "Enough! when you haven't had a good dinner 
+since-- Mother, there he is again, I do believe!" 
+
+And she had hardly time to remove the empty tea cup and, alas! empty 
+plates, which testified to their meagre fare, when the knock came and Mr. 
+Digby shewed himself. He explained that he had been out of town; made 
+careful inquiries as to Mrs. Carpenter's health; paid for the shirts; and 
+finally turned to Rotha. 
+
+"How is my friend here doing?" 
+
+"We always go on just the same way," said Rotha. But he could see that 
+the girl was thin, and pale; and that just at an age when she was growing 
+fast and needing abundant food, she was not getting it. 
+
+"Ask Mr. Digby your question, Rotha," her mother said. 
+
+"I do not want to ask him any questions," the girl answered defiantly. 
+But Mrs. Carpenter went on. 
+
+"Rotha wants to know what a gentleman is; and I was not able to discuss 
+the point satisfactorily with her. I told her to ask you." 
+
+Rotha did not ask, however, and there was silence. 
+
+"Rotha is fond of asking questions," Mr. Digby observed. 
+
+"What makes you think so?" she retorted. 
+
+He smiled. "It is a very good habit--provided of course that the 
+questions are properly put." 
+
+"I like to ask mother questions," Rotha said, drawing in a little. 
+
+"I have no doubt you would like to ask me questions, if you once got into 
+the way of it. Habit is everything." 
+
+"Not quite everything, in this," said Rotha. "There must be something 
+before the habit." 
+
+"Yes. There must be a beginning." 
+
+"I meant something else." 
+
+"Did you? May I ask, what did you mean?" 
+
+"I mean a good deal," said Rotha. "Before one could get a habit like 
+that, one must know that the person could answer the questions; and 
+besides, that he would like to have them asked." 
+
+"In my case I will pledge myself for the second qualification; about the 
+first you must learn by experience. Suppose you try." 
+
+His manner was so pleasant and well bred, and Rotha felt that she had 
+gone so near the edge of politeness, she found it best for this time to 
+comply. 
+
+"I asked mother one day what is the meaning of a 'gentleman'; and I 
+suppose she was too tired to talk to me, for she said I had better ask 
+you." 
+
+"O he did me honour." 
+
+"Well, what is it then, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"I should say, it is the counterpart to a 'lady.'" 
+
+"But isn't everybody that is grown up, a 'lady'?--every woman, I mean?" 
+
+"No more than every grown up man is a gentleman." 
+
+Rotha stood looking at him, and the young man on his part regarded her 
+with more attention than usual. He was suddenly touched with compassion 
+for the girl. She stood, half doubtful, half proud, dimly conscious of 
+her enormous ignorance, and with an inward monition of a whole world of 
+knowledge to be acquired, yet beyond her reach; at the same time her look 
+shewed capacity enough both to understand and to feel. Rotha was now 
+nearly fourteen, with mental powers just opening and personal gifts just 
+beginning to dawn. The child's complexion told of poor feeding and want 
+of air and exercise; it was sallow, and her features were sharp; but her 
+hair was beautiful in its lustrous, dark abundance; the eyes shewed the 
+fire of native passion and intelligence; the mouth was finely cut and 
+expressed half a dozen things in as many minutes. "Poor child!" thought 
+the visiter; "what is to become of her, with all this latent power and 
+possibility?" 
+
+"A gentleman, Rotha," he said aloud, "may be defined as a person who in 
+all manner of little things keeps the golden rule--does to everybody as 
+he would be done by; and knows how." 
+
+"In little things? Not in great things?" 
+
+"One may do it in great things, and not be a gentleman in manner; though 
+certainly in heart." 
+
+"Then it is manner?" 
+
+"Very much." 
+
+"And a lady the same way?" 
+
+"Of course." 
+
+"What sort of little things?" said Rotha curiously. 
+
+"A lady in the first place will be always careful and delicate about her 
+own person and dress; it does not depend upon what she wears, but how she 
+wears it; a lady might wear patches, but never could be untidy. Then, in 
+all her moving, speaking, and acting, she will be gentle, quiet, and 
+polite. And in her behaviour to others, she will give everybody the 
+respect that is due, and never put herself forward. 'In honour preferring 
+one another,' is the Bible rule, and it is the law of good breeding. And 
+the Bible says, 'Honour all men;' and, 'Be courteous.'--Have I spoken 
+according to your mind, Mrs. Carpenter?" 
+
+"Beautifully," said the silent, pale seamstress, never stopping her 
+needle. "Better than I could have done it. Now you know, Rotha." 
+
+Rotha stood considering, uneasy. 
+
+"What is the next question?" said Mr. Digby smiling. 
+
+"I was thinking--" said Rotha. "Mustn't one know a good deal, to do all 
+that?" 
+
+"To do what, for instance?" 
+
+"To give everybody the respect that is due; it is not the same to 
+everybody, is it?" 
+
+"No, certainly." 
+
+"How can one know?" 
+
+"There _is_ a good deal to be learned in this world, before one can hold 
+the balance scales to weigh out to each one exactly what belongs to him," 
+Mr. Digby admitted. 
+
+"That is one of my troubles," said Mrs. Carpenter looking up. "I cannot 
+give my child an education. I do a little at home; it is better than 
+nothing; but I feel that my power grows less and less; and Rotha's needs 
+are more and more." 
+
+"What do you know, Rotha?" said Mr. Digby. 
+
+"I don't know much of anything!" said the girl, an eloquent flush coming 
+into her pale face. It touched him. 
+
+"A little of what, then?" said their visiter kindly. 
+
+"You would not say it was anything." 
+
+"She knows a little history," Mrs. Carpenter put in. 
+
+"Have you any acquaintance with Alexander of Macedon, Rotha?" 
+
+"The Great?  asked Rotha. 
+
+"He is called so." 
+
+"Yes, I know about him." 
+
+"Think he deserved the title?" 
+
+"Yes, I suppose he did." 
+
+"What for?" 
+
+"He was such a clever man." 
+
+"Well, I have no doubt he was," Mr. Digby returned, keeping a perfectly 
+grave face with some difficulty; "a clever man; but how did he shew it?" 
+
+Rotha paused, and a faint tinge, of excitement this time, rose again in 
+her cheeks, and her eye waked up with the mental stir. "He had such grand 
+plans," she answered. 
+
+"Ah? yes. Which do you mean?" 
+
+"For civilizing people; for bringing the different nations to know each 
+other and be friends with each other; so that trade could be carried on, 
+and knowledge and arts and civilization could spread to all; that his 
+empire could be one great whole." 
+
+"On the whole you approve of Alexander. After all, what use was he to the 
+world?" 
+
+"Why a good deal," said Rotha. "Don't you think so? His successors 
+carried on his plans; at least some of them did; and the Greek language 
+was spread through Asia, and the Jews encouraged to settle in Egyptian 
+and Greek cities; and so the way was prepared for the spread of the 
+gospel when it came." 
+
+"Mrs. Carpenter," said Mr. Digby, "your manner of teaching history is 
+very satisfactory!" 
+
+"I have done what I could," said the mother, "but we had very few books 
+to work with." 
+
+"We had none," said Rotha, "except Rollin's Ancient History, and 
+Plutarch's Lives." 
+
+"One good book, well used, is worth a hundred under other circumstances. 
+Then you do not know much of modern history, Rotha?" 
+
+"Nothing at all; except what mother has told me." 
+
+"How about grammar?" 
+
+"I have taught her grammar," said Mrs. Carpenter; "and geography. She 
+knows both pretty well. But I found, with my work, I could not teach her 
+arithmetic; and I had not a good book for it. Rotha can do nothing with 
+numbers." 
+
+Mr. Digby gave the girl a simple question in mental arithmetic; and then 
+another, and another. Rotha's brow grew intent; the colour in her cheeks 
+brightened; she was grappling, it was plain, with the difficulties 
+suggested to her, wrestling with them, conquering them, with the sort of 
+zeal which conquers all difficulties not insurmountable. 
+
+"May I give Rotha lessons in Latin?" Mr. Digby asked, turning quietly to 
+Rotha's mother. 
+
+"Latin!" Mrs. Carpenter exclaimed, and her cheeks too flushed slightly. 
+
+"I should enjoy it. It is likely that important business will bring me 
+frequently into this part of the city; so I could do it as well as not." 
+
+"But it would be so much trouble--unless you are fond of teaching--" 
+
+"I am fond of teaching--when I find somebody that can learn." 
+
+"You are very kind!--I should be very glad--Poor Rotha, I have been 
+unable to do for her what I wished--" 
+
+"I think you have done admirably, from the slight specimen I have had. 
+How much time can she give to study?" 
+
+"O she has time enough. She is much more idle than I like to have her." 
+
+"Then that is arranged. I am going to send you a few raw oysters, Mrs. 
+Carpenter; and I wish you would eat them at all times of day, whenever 
+you feel like it. I knew a very slender lady once, who grew to very ample 
+proportions by following such a regimen. Try what they will do for you." 
+
+A grateful, silent look thanked him, and he took his departure. Rotha, 
+who had been standing silent and cloudy, now burst forth. 
+
+"Mother!--I do not want him to teach me!" 
+
+"Why not, my child? I think he is very kind.' 
+
+"Kind! I don't want to be taught out of kindness; and I _don't_ want 
+_him_ to teach me, mother!" 
+
+"What's the matter?" for Rotha was flushed and fierce. 
+
+"I can learn without him. It is none of his business, whether I learn or 
+not. And if I shouldn't say something just right, and he should find 
+fault, I should be so angry I shouldn't know what to do!" 
+
+"You talk as if you were angry now." 
+
+"Well I am! Why did you say yes, mother?" 
+
+"Would you have had me say no?" 
+
+"Yes! I don't want to learn Latin anyhow. What's the use of my learning 
+Latin? And of him,--O mother, mother!" 
+
+And Rotha burst into impatient and impotent tears. 
+
+"Why not of Mr. Digby?" said her mother soothingly. 
+
+"O he is so--I can't tell!--he's so uppish." 
+
+"He is not _uppish_ at all. I am ashamed of you, Rotha." 
+
+"Well, nothing puts him out. He is just always the same; and he thinks 
+everything must be as he says. I don't like him to come here teaching 
+me." 
+
+"What folly is this? He is a gentleman, that's all. Do you dislike him 
+for being a gentleman?" 
+
+"I'm not a lady"--sobbed Rotha. 
+
+"What has that to do with it?" 
+
+"Mother, I wish I could be a lady!" 
+
+"My child, Mr. Digby told you how." 
+
+"No, he didn't. He told me _what_ it was; he didn't tell me how I could  
+get all that." 
+
+"You can follow the Bible roles, at any rate, Rotha; and they go a good 
+way." 
+
+"No, I can't, mother. I could if I were a Christian, I suppose; but I am 
+not I can't 'honour all men'; I don't know how; and I can't prefer others 
+before myself I prefer myself But if I could, that wouldn't make me a 
+lady." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter did not know what to do with this passion, the cause of 
+which she was at a loss to understand. It was very real; Rotha sobbed; 
+and her mother was at a loss how to comfort her. What dim, far-off 
+recognition was this, of powers and possibilities in life--or in herself
+--of which the girl had hitherto no experience and no knowledge? It was 
+quite just Mrs. Carpenter, herself refined and essentially lady-like, 
+knew very well that her little girl was not growing up to be a lady; she 
+had laid that off, along with several other subjects of care, as beyond 
+her reach to deal with; but Rotha's appeal smote a tender spot in her 
+heart, and she was puzzled how to answer her. Perhaps it was just as well 
+that she took refuge in her usual silence and did not try any further. 
+
+As Mr. Digby was going through the little passage way to the front door, 
+another door opened and Mrs. Marble's head was put out. 
+
+"Good morning!" she said. "You're a friend of those folks up stairs, aint 
+you?" 
+
+"Yes, certainly." 
+
+"Well, what do you think of her?" she said, lowering her voice. 
+
+"I think you are a happy woman, to have such lodgers, Mrs. Marble." 
+
+"I guess I know as much as that," said the mantua-maker, with her 
+pleasant, arch smile. "I meant something else. _I_ think, she's a sick 
+woman." 
+
+Mr. Digby did not commit himself.
+
+"I'm worried to death about her," Mrs. Marble went on. "Her cough's bad, 
+and it's growin' worse; and she aint fit to be workin' this minute. And 
+what's goin' to become of her?" 
+
+"The Lord takes care of his children; and she is one." 
+
+"If there is such a thing!" said the mantua-maker, a quick tear dimming 
+her eye. "But you see, I have my own work, and I can't leave it to do 
+much for her; and she won't let me, neither; and I am thinkin' about it 
+day and night. She aint fit to work, this minute. And there's the child; 
+and they haven't a living soul to care for them, as I see, in all the 
+world. They never have a letter, and they never get a visit, except 
+your'n." 
+
+"Rent paid?" asked the gentleman low. 
+
+"Always! never miss. But I'm thinkin'--how do they live? That child's 
+grown thin--she's like a piece o' wiggin'; she'll hold up when there's 
+nothin' to her." 
+
+Mr. Digby could not help laughing. 
+
+"I thought, if you can't help, nobody can. What's to become of them if 
+she gets worse? That child can't do for her." 
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Marble; you are but touching what I have thought of 
+myself. I will see what can be done." 
+
+"And don't be long about it," said the mantua-maker with a nod of her 
+head as she closed the door. 
+
+Perhaps it was owing to Mrs. Marble's suggestions that Mr. Digby made his 
+next visit the day but one next after; perhaps they were the cause that 
+he did not come sooner! At any rate, in two days he came again; and 
+brought with him not only a Latin grammar, but a paper of grapes for Mrs. 
+Carpenter. At the grammar Rotha's soul rebelled; but what displeasure 
+could stand against those beautiful grapes and the sight of her mother 
+eating them? They were not very good, Mr. Digby said; he would bring 
+better next time; though to the sick woman they were ambrosia, and to 
+Rotha an unknown, most exquisite dainty. Seeing her delighted, wondering 
+eyes, Mr. Digby with a smile broke off part of a bunch and gave to her. 
+
+"It shall not rob your mother," he said observing that she hesitated. "I 
+will bring her some more." 
+
+Rotha tasted. 
+
+"O mother!" she exclaimed in ecstasy,--"I should think these would make 
+you well right off!" 
+
+Mr. Digby opened the Latin grammar. I think he wanted an excuse for 
+veiling his eyes just then. And Rotha, mollified, when she had finished 
+her grapes, submitted patiently to receive her first lesson and to be 
+told what her teacher expected her to do before he came again. 
+
+"By the way," said he as he was about going,--"have you any more room 
+than you need, Mrs. Carpenter?" 
+
+"Room? no. We have this floor--" said Mrs. Carpenter bewilderedly. 
+
+"You have not one room that you could let? I know a very respectable 
+person, an elderly woman, who I think would be comfortable here, if you 
+would allow her to come. She could pay well for the accommodation." 
+
+"What would be 'well'?" said Mrs. Carpenter, looking up. 
+
+"According to the arrangement, of course. For a room without a fire, she 
+would pay four dollars a month; with fire, I should say, twelve." 
+
+"That would be a great help to me," said Mrs. Carpenter, considering. 
+
+"I know the person, I have known her a great while. I think I can promise 
+that she would not in any way annoy you." 
+
+"She brings her own furniture?" 
+
+"Of course." 
+
+After a little more turning the matter over in her mind, Mrs. Carpenter 
+gave an unqualified assent to the proposal; and her visiter took his 
+leave. 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, "what room are you going to give her?" 
+
+"There is but one; our bed-room." 
+
+"Then where shall we sleep?" 
+
+"Here." 
+
+"Here! Where we do everything!--" 
+
+"It is not so pleasant; but it will pay our rent, Rotha. And I should 
+like a little more warmth at night, now the weather is so severe." 
+
+"O mother, mother! We have got down to two rooms, and now we are come 
+down to one!" 
+
+"Hush, my child. I am thankful." 
+
+"Thankful!" 
+
+"Yes, for the means to pay my rent." 
+
+"You might have had means to pay your rent, and kept your two rooms," 
+said Rotha; thinking, like a great many other people, that she could 
+improve upon Providence. 
+
+"How do you like Latin?" 
+
+"If you mean, how I like _Sermo Sermonis_, I don't like it at all. And it 
+is just ridiculous for Mr. Digby to be giving me lessons." 
+
+The new lodger moved in the very next week. She was a portly, 
+comfortable-looking, kindly-natured woman, whom Mrs. Carpenter liked from 
+the first. She established herself quietly in her quarters and almost as 
+soon began to shew herself neighbourly and helpful. One day Mrs. 
+Carpenter's cough was particularly troublesome. Mrs. Cord came in and 
+suggested a palliative which she had known often to work comfortingly. 
+She procured it and prepared it herself, and then administered it, and 
+begged permission to cook Mrs. Carpenter's dinner; and shook up the 
+pillow at her back, and set the rocking chair at an inclined angle which 
+gave support and relief. When she had done all she could, she went away; 
+but she came in again as soon as there was fresh occasion for her 
+services, and rendered them with a hearty good will which made them 
+doubly acceptable, and with a ready skill and power of resources which 
+would have roused in any sophisticated mind the suspicion that Mrs. Cord 
+was a trained nurse. Mrs. Carpenter suspected no such thing; she only 
+felt the blessed benefit, and told Mr. Digby what a boon the new lodger 
+had become to her. 
+
+So the winter, the latter part of it, passed in rather more comfort to 
+the invalid. She did not work quite so steadily, and in good truth she 
+would have been unable; she was free of anxieties about debt, for the 
+rent was sure; and of other things they bought only what they could pay 
+for. The fare might so have been meagre sometimes; were it not that 
+supplies seemed to come in, irregularly but opportunely, in such very 
+pertinent and apt ways that all sorts of gaps in the housekeeping were 
+filled up. Mr. Digby kept their larder stocked with oysters, for one 
+thing. Then he would bring a bit of particularly nice salmon he had 
+found; or fresh eggs that he got from an old woman down town near one of 
+the ferries, whom he said he could trust. Or he brought some new tea for 
+Mrs. Carpenter to try; sometimes a sweetbread, or a fresh lobster, from 
+the market. Then it was remarkable how often Mr. Digby was tempted by the 
+sight of game; and came with prairie chickens, quails, partridges and 
+ducks, to tempt, as he said, Mrs. Carpenter's appetite. And at last he 
+brought her wine. There had grown up between the two, by this time, a 
+relation of great kindness and even affection. Ever since one day Mrs. 
+Carpenter had been attacked by a terrible fit of coughing when he was 
+there; and the young man had waited upon her and ministered to her in a 
+way that Rotha had neither strength for nor skill, and also with a 
+tenderness which she could not have surpassed. And Rotha could be tender 
+where her mother was concerned. Ever since that day Mr. Digby had 
+assumed, and been allowed, something like a son's place in the little 
+family; and Mrs. Carpenter only smiled at him when he appeared with new 
+tokens of his thoughtfulness and care. 
+
+Rotha did not accept him quite so easily. She was somewhat jealous of his 
+favour and of the authority he exercised; for without making the fact in 
+any way obtrusive, a fact it was, that Mr. Digby did what he pleased. It 
+pleased Mrs. Carpenter too; it did not quite please Rotha. 
+
+Yet in the matter of the lessons it was as much a fact as anywhere else. 
+Mr. Digby had it quite his own way. To Mrs. Carpenter this 'way' seemed a 
+marvel of kindness, and her gratitude was unbounded. A feeling which 
+Rotha's heart did not at all share. She got her lessons, it is true; she 
+did what was required of her; it soon amused Mrs. Carpenter to see with 
+what punctilious care she did it; for in the abstract Rotha was not fond 
+of application. She was one of those who love to walk in at the doors of 
+knowledge, but do not at all enjoy forging the keys with which the locks 
+must be opened. And forging keys was the work at which she was now kept 
+busy. Rotha always knew her tasks, but she came to her recitations with a 
+sort of reserved coldness, as if inwardly resenting or rebelling, which 
+there is no doubt she did. 
+
+"Mr. Digby, what is the good of my knowing Latin?" she ventured to ask 
+one day. 
+
+"You know a little about farming, do you not, Rotha?" was the counter 
+question. 
+
+"More than a little bit, I guess." 
+
+"Do you? Then you know perhaps what is the use of ploughing the ground?" 
+
+"To make it soft. What ground are you ploughing with Latin, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"The ground of your mind; to get it into working order." 
+
+This intimation incensed Rotha. She was too vexed to speak. All this 
+trouble just to get her mind into working order? 
+
+"Is that all Latin is good for?" she asked at length. 
+
+"By no means. But if it were--that is no small benefit. Not only to get 
+the ground in working order, but to develope the good qualities of it; as 
+for instance, the power of concentration, the power of attention, the 
+power of discernment." 
+
+"I can concentrate my attention when I have a mind to," said Rotha. 
+
+"That is well. I am going to give you something else to do which will 
+practise you in that." 
+
+"What, Mr. Digby?" With all her impatience Rotha was careful to observe 
+the forms of politeness with her teacher. He silently handed her an 
+arithmetic. 
+
+"Oh!--" said the girl, drawing out the word"--I have done sums, Mr. 
+Digby." 
+
+"How far?" 
+
+It turned out that Rotha's progress in that walk of learning had been 
+limited to a very few steps. And even in those few steps, Mr. Digby's 
+tests and questions gave her a half hour of sharp work; so sharp as to 
+bar other thoughts for the time. Rotha shewed in this half hour 
+uumistakeable capacity for the science of numbers; nevertheless, when her 
+teacher went away leaving her a good lesson in arithmetic to study along 
+with her Latin grammar, Rotha spoke herself dissatisfied. 
+
+"Am I to learn just whatever Mr. Digby chooses to give me?" she asked. 
+
+"I thought you liked learning, Rotha?" 
+
+"Yes, mother; so I do. I like learning well enough; I don't like him to 
+say what I shall learn." 
+
+"Why not? Mr. Digby is very kind, Rotha!" 
+
+"He may mean it for kindness. I don't know what he means it for." 
+
+"It is nothing but pure goodness," said the mother with a grateful sigh. 
+
+"Well, is he to give me everything to learn that he takes into his head?" 
+
+"Rotha, a teacher could not be kinder or more patient than Mr. Digby is 
+with you." 
+
+"I don't try his patience, mother." 
+
+It was true enough; she did not. She had often tried her mother's; with 
+Mr. Digby Rotha was punctual, thorough, prompt and docile. Whether it 
+were pride or a mingling of something better,--and Rotha did love 
+learning,--she never gave occasion for a point of blame. It was not 
+certainly that Mr. Digby was harsh or stern, or used a manner calculated 
+to make anybody fear him; unless indeed it were the perfectness of good 
+breeding which he always shewed, here in the poor sempstress's room, and 
+in his lessons to the sempstress's child. Rotha had never seen the like 
+in anybody before; and that more than ought else probably wrought in her 
+such a practical awe of him. Mrs. Carpenter was even half amused to 
+observe how Rotha unconsciously in his presence was adopting certain 
+points of his manner; she was quiet; she moved with moderate steps; she 
+spoke in low tones; she did not fly out in impatient or angular words or 
+gestures, as was her way often enough at other times. Yet her mother 
+knew, and wondered why, Rotha rebelled in secret against the whole thing. 
+For herself, she was growing into a love for Mr. Digby which was almost 
+like that of a mother for a son; as indeed his manner towards her was 
+much like that of a son towards his mother. It was not the benefits 
+conferred and received; it was a closer bond which drew them together, 
+and a deeper relation. They looked into each other's faces, and saw 
+there, each in the other, what each recognized as the signature of a 
+handwriting that they loved; the stamp of a likeness that was to them 
+both the fairest of all earthly things. Then came the good offices 
+rendered and accepted; the frequent familiar intercourse; the purely 
+human conditions of acquaintanceship and friendship; and it was no matter 
+of surprise if by and by the care on the one part and the dependence on 
+the other grew to be a thing most natural and most sweet. 
+
+So it came about, that by degrees the look of things changed in Mrs. 
+Carpenter's small dwelling place. As the cold of the winter began to give 
+way to the harshness of spring, and March winds blew high, the gaseous 
+fumes from the little anthracite coal stove provoked Mrs. Carpenter's 
+cough sadly. "She was coughing all day," Mrs. Cord told their friend in 
+private; "whenever the wind blew and the gas came into the room." Mr. 
+Digby took his measures. The little cooking stove was removed; a little 
+disused grate behind it was opened; and presently a gentle fire of 
+Liverpool coal was burning there. The atmosphere of the room as well as 
+the physiognomy of it was entirely changed; and Mrs. Carpenter hung over 
+the fire and spread out her hands to it with an expression of delight on 
+her wasted face which it was touching to see. Mr. Digby saw it, and 
+perhaps to divert the feeling which rose in him, began to find fault with 
+something else. 
+
+"That's a very uncomfortable chair you are sitting in!" he said with a 
+strong expression of disapproval. 
+
+"O it does very well indeed," answered Mrs. Carpenter. "I want nothing, I 
+think, having this delightful fire." 
+
+"How do you rest when you are tired?" 
+
+"I lean back. Or I lie down sometimes." 
+
+"Humph! Beds are very well at night. I do not think they are at all 
+satisfactory by day." 
+
+"Why what would you have?" said Mrs. Carpenter, smiling at him. 
+
+"I'll see." 
+
+It was the next day only after this that Rotha, having finished her work 
+for her teacher and nothing else at the moment calling for attention, was 
+standing at the window looking out into the narrow street. The region was 
+poor, but not squalid; nevertheless it greatly stirred Rotha's disgust. 
+If New York is ever specially disagreeable, it finds the occasion in a 
+certain description of March weather; and this was such an occasion. It 
+was very cold; the fire in the grate was well made up and burning 
+beautifully and the room was pleasant enough; but outside there were 
+gusts that were almost little whirlwinds coursing up and down every 
+street, carrying with them columns and clouds of dust. The dust 
+accordingly lay piled up on one side of the way, swept off from the rest 
+of the street; not lying there peacefully, but caught up again from time 
+to time, whirled through the air, shaken out upon everybody and 
+everything in its way, and finally swept to one side and deposited again. 
+
+"It's the most horrid weather, mother, you can think of!" Rotha reported 
+from her post of observation. "I shouldn't think anybody would be out; 
+but I suppose they can't help it. A good many people are going about, 
+anyhow. Some of them are so poorly dressed, mother! there was a woman 
+went by just now, carrying a basket; I should say she had very little on 
+indeed under her gown; the wind just took it and wrapped it round her, 
+and she looked as slim as a post." 
+
+"Poor creature!" said Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+"Mother, we never saw people like that in Medwayville." 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Why are they here, and not there?" 
+
+"You must ask Mr. Digby." 
+
+"I don't want to ask Mr. Digby!--There are two boys; ragged;--and 
+barefooted. I don't know what they are out for; they have nothing to do; 
+they are just playing round an ash-barrel. I should think they'd be at 
+home." 
+
+"Such people's home is often worse than the streets." 
+
+"But you don't know how it blows to-day. I should think, mother," said 
+Rotha slowly, "New York must want a great many good people in it." 
+
+"There are a great many good people in it." 
+
+"What are they doing, then?" 
+
+"Looking out for Number One, mostly," Mrs. Cord answered, who happened to 
+be in the room. 
+
+"But it wants people rich enough to look out for Number One, and for 
+Number Two as well." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter sighed. She knew there were more sides to the problem than 
+the simple "one and two" which appeared to Rotha. 
+
+"There comes a coal cart, mother; that has to go, I suppose, for somebody 
+wants it. I should hate to drive a coal cart! Mother, who wants it here? 
+It is backing down upon our sidewalk." 
+
+"Mrs. Marble, I suppose." 
+
+"No, she don't; she has got her coal all in; and this isn't her coal at 
+all; it is in big lumps some of it, like what came for the grate, and it 
+isn't shiny like the stove coal. It must be for you, I guess." 
+
+Rotha ran down to see, and came back with the receipt for her mother to 
+sign. Mrs. Carpenter signed with a trembling hand, and Rotha flew away 
+again. 
+
+"It is a whole cart-load, mother," she said coming back. 
+
+"There is one good rich man in New York," said Mrs. Carpenter 
+tremulously. 
+
+"Do you think he is rich?" 
+
+"I fancy so." 
+
+"He hasn't spent so very much on us, has he?" asked Rotha consideringly. 
+
+"It seems much to me. More than our share, I am afraid." 
+
+"Our share of what?" 
+
+"His kindness." 
+
+"Who has the other shares?" 
+
+"I cannot tell. Other people he knows, that are in need of it." 
+
+"Mother, we are not in _need_ of it, are we? We could get along without 
+oysters, I suppose. But what I am thinking of is, if he gives other 
+people as good a share of his time as he gives us, he cannot live at home 
+much. Where _does_ Mr. Digby live, Mrs. Cord?" 
+
+"I don't know as I can say, Rotha. It is a hotel somewheres, I believe." 
+
+"I should not think anybody would live in a hotel," said Rotha, 
+remembering her own and her mother's experience of the "North River." 
+"Now here comes another cart the carts have to go in all sorts of times; 
+but O how the dust blows about! This cart is carrying something--I can't 
+see what it's all wrapped up." 
+
+"My dear Rotha," said her mother, "I am not interested to know what the 
+carts in the street are doing. Are you?" 
+
+"This one is stopping, mother. It is stopping _here!_" 
+
+"Well, my dear, what if it is. It is no business of ours." 
+
+"The other cart was our business, though; how do you know, mother? It has 
+stopped here, and the man is taking the thing off." 
+
+Mrs. Cord came to the window to look, and then went down stairs. Rotha, 
+seeing that the object of her interest, whatever it were, had disappeared 
+within doors, presently followed her. In the little bit of a hall below 
+stood a large something which completely filled it up; and on one side 
+and on the other, Mrs. Marble and Mrs. Cord were taking off the wrappings 
+in which it was enfolded. 
+
+"Well, I declare!" said the former, when they had done. "Aint that 
+elegant!" 
+
+"Just like him," said Mrs. Cord. "I guessed this was coming, or something 
+like it." 
+
+"What is it?" asked Rotha. 
+
+"How much does a thing like that cost, now?" Mrs. Marble went on. "Oh see 
+the dust on it! There's a half bushel or less. Here--wait till I get my 
+brush.--How is it ever to go up stairs? that's what I'm lookin' at." 
+
+Help had to be called in; and meantime Rotha rushed up stairs and 
+informed her mother that a chair was come for her that was like nothing 
+she had ever seen in her life; "soft all over," as Rotha expressed it; 
+"back and sides and all soft as a pillow, and yet harder than a pillow; 
+like as if it were on springs everywhere;" which was no doubt the truth 
+of the case. "It's like getting into a nest, mother; I sat down in it; 
+there's no hard place anywhere; there's no wood to it, that you can see." 
+
+When a little later the chair made its appearance, and Mrs. Carpenter 
+sank down into its springy depths, it is a pity that Mr. Digby could not 
+have heard the low long-drawn 'Oh!--' of satisfaction and relief and 
+wonder together, which came from her lips. Rotha stood and looked at her. 
+Mrs. Carpenter was resting, in a very abandonment of rest; but in the 
+abandonment of the moment shewing, as she did not use to shew it, the 
+great enervation and prostration of her system. Her head, leaning back on 
+the soft support it found, her hands laid exhaustedly on one side and on 
+the other, the motionless pose of her whole person, struck Rotha with 
+some strange new consciousness. 
+
+"Is it good?" she asked shortly. 
+
+"Very!" The word was almost a sigh. 
+
+"What makes you so weak to-day?" 
+
+"I am not weaker than usual." 
+
+"You don't always look like that." 
+
+"She's never had anything like that to rest in before," Mrs. Cord 
+suggested. "A bed aint like one o' them chairs, for supportin' one 
+everywhere alike. You let her rest, Rotha. Will you have an oyster, 
+dear?" 
+
+Rotha sat down at the corner of the fireplace and stared at her mother; 
+taking the oyster, and yet not relinquishing that air of helpless 
+lassitude. She was not sewing either; and had not been sewing, Rotha 
+remembered, except by snatches, for several days past. Rotha sat and 
+gazed at her, an anxious shadow falling upon her features. 
+
+"You needn't look like that at her," said the good woman who was 
+preparing Mrs. Carpenter's glass of wine; "she'll be rested now in a 
+little, and feel nicely. She's been a wantin' this, or something o' this 
+sort; but there aint nothing better than one o' them spring chairs, for 
+resting your back and your head and every inch of you at once. Now she's 
+got her oyster and somethin' else, and she'll pick up, you'll see." 
+
+"How good it is you came to live here," said the sick woman. "I do not 
+know what we should do without you. You seem to understand just how 
+everything ought to be done." 
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, "do you think I couldn't take care of you just as 
+well? Didn't I, before Mrs. Cord came?" 
+
+"You haven't had quite so much experience, you see," put in the latter. 
+
+"Didn't I, mother?" the girl said passionately. 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter answered only by opening her arms; and Rotha coming into 
+them, sat down lightly upon her mother's lap and hid her head on her 
+bosom. A shadow of, she knew not what, had fallen across her, and she was 
+very still. Mrs. Carpenter folded her arms close about her child; and so 
+they sat for a good while. Mother and daughter, each had her own 
+thoughts; but those of the one were dim and confused as ever thoughts 
+could be. The other's were sharp and clear. Rotha had an uneasy sense 
+that her mother's strength was not gaining but losing; an uneasy 
+impatience of her lassitude and powerlessness, which yet she could not at 
+all read. Mrs. Carpenter read it well. 
+
+She knew of a surety that her days were numbered; and not only so, but 
+that the number of them was running out. Many cares she had not, in view 
+of this fact; but one importunate, overwhelming, intolerable, were it not 
+that the mother's faith was fixed where faith is never disappointed. Even 
+so, she was human; and the question, what would be the fate of her little 
+daughter when she herself was gone, pressed hard and pressed constantly, 
+and found no solution. So the two were sitting, in each other's arms, 
+mute and thoughtful, when Mr. Digby came in. 
+
+Rotha did not stir, and he came up to them, bent down by the side of the 
+chair and took Mrs. Carpenter's hand. If he put the usual question, Mrs. 
+Carpenter did not answer it; her eyes met his silently. There was a power 
+of grateful love and also of grave foreboding in her quiet face; one of 
+those looks which from an habitually self-contained spirit come with so 
+much power on any one capable of understanding them. The young man's eyes 
+fell from her to Rotha; the two faces were very near each other; and for 
+the first time Rotha's defiance gave place to a little bit of liking. She 
+had not seen her mother's look; but she had watched Mr. Digby's eyes as 
+they answered it, in their ear nest, intent expression, and then as the 
+eyes came to her she felt the warm ray of kindness and sympathy which 
+beamed from them. A moment it was, but Rotha was Mr. Digby's opponent no 
+more from that time. 
+
+"You seem to be having a pleasant rest," he remarked in his usual calm 
+way. "I hope you have got all your work done for me?" 
+
+"I never do rest till my work is done," said the girl. 
+
+"That is a very good plan. Will you prove the fact on the present 
+occasion?" 
+
+Rotha unwillingly left her place. 
+
+"Mr. Digby, what sort of a chair is this?" 
+
+"A spring chair." 
+
+"It is a very good thing." 
+
+"I am glad it meets your approbation." 
+
+"It meets mother's too. Do you see how she rests in it?" 
+
+"Does she rest?" asked the young man, rather of Mrs. Carpenter than of 
+her daughter. 
+
+"All the body can," she answered with a faint smile. 
+
+"'Underneath are the everlasting arms'--" he said. 
+
+But that word caused a sudden gush of tears on the sick woman's part; she 
+hid her face; and Mr. Digby called off Rotha at once to her recitations. 
+He kept her very busy at them for some time; Latin and arithmetic and 
+grammar came under review; and then he proceeded to put a pen in her hand 
+and give her a dictation lesson; criticised her handwriting, set her a 
+copy, and fully engrossed Rotha's eyes and mind. 
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. 
+
+
+A LEGACY. 
+
+
+"Mother," said Rotha, when their visiter was again gone and her copy was 
+done and she had returned to her mother's side, "I never knew before to-
+day that Mr. Digby has handsome eyes." 
+
+"How did you find it out to-day?" 
+
+"I had a good look at them, and they looked at me so." 
+
+"How?" 
+
+"I don't know--as if they meant a good deal, and good. Don't you think he 
+has handsome eyes, mother?" 
+
+"I always knew that. He is a very fine-looking man altogether." 
+
+"Is he? I suppose he is. Only he likes to have his own way." 
+
+"I wonder if somebody else doesn't, that I know?" 
+
+"That's the very thing, mother. If I didn't, I suppose I shouldn't care. 
+But when Mr. Digby says anything, he always looks as if he expected it to 
+be just so, and everybody to mind him." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter could not help laughing, albeit she was by no means in a 
+laughing mood. Her laugh was followed by a sigh. 
+
+"What makes you draw a long breath, mother?" 
+
+"I wish you could govern that temper of yours, my child." 
+
+"Why, mother? Haven't I as good a right to my own way as Mr. Digby, or 
+anybody?" 
+
+"Few people can have their own way in the world; and a woman least of 
+all." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"She generally has to mind the will of somebody else." 
+
+"But that isn't fair." 
+
+"It is the way things are." 
+
+"Mother, it may be the way with some people; but _I_ have got nobody to 
+mind?" 
+
+"Your mother?--" 
+
+"O yes; but that isn't it. You are a woman. There is no man I must mind." 
+
+"If you ever grow up and marry somebody, there will be." 
+
+"I would _never_ marry anybody I had to mind!" said the girl  
+energetically.
+
+"You are the very person that would do it," said the mother; putting her 
+hand fondly upon Rotha's cheek. "My little daughter!--If only I knew that 
+you were willing to obey the Lord Jesus Christ, I could be easy about 
+you." 
+
+"And aren't, you easy about me?" 
+
+"No," said the mother sadly. 
+
+"Would you be easy if I was a Christian?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter nodded. There was a pause. 
+
+"I would like to be a Christian, mother, if it would make you feel easy; 
+but--somehow--I don't want to." 
+
+"I know that." 
+
+"How do you know that?" 
+
+"Because you hold off. If you were once willing, the thing would be 
+done." 
+
+There was silence again; till Rotha suddenly broke it by asking, 
+
+"Mother, can I help my will?" 
+
+"What do you mean?" 
+
+"Why! If I don't want to be a Christian, can I make myself want to?" 
+
+"That seems to me a foolish question," said her mother. "Suppose you do 
+not want to do something I tell you to do; need that hinder your 
+obeying?" 
+
+"But this is different." 
+
+"I do not see how it is different." 
+
+"What is being a Christian, then?" 
+
+"You know, Rotha." 
+
+"But tell me, mother. I don't know if I know." 
+
+"You ought to know. A Christian is one who loves and serves the Lord 
+Jesus." 
+
+"And then he can't do what he has a mind to," said Rotha. 
+
+"Yes, he can; unless it is something wrong." 
+
+"Well, he can't do _what he has a mind to;_ he must always be asking." 
+
+"That is not hard, if one loves the Lord." 
+
+"But I don't love him, mother." 
+
+"No," said Mrs. Carpenter sadly. 
+
+"Can I make myself love him?" 
+
+"No; but that is foolish talk." 
+
+"I don't see why it is foolish, I am sure. I wish I did love him, if it 
+would make you feel better." 
+
+"I should not have a care left!" said Mrs. Carpenter, with a sort of 
+breath of longing. 
+
+"Why not, mother?" 
+
+"Get the Bible and read the 121st psalm,--slowly." 
+
+Rotha obeyed. 
+
+"'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My 
+help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth'"--
+
+"There! if you were one of the Lord's dear children, you would say that; 
+that would be true of you. Now go on, and see what the Lord says to it; 
+see what would follow." 
+
+Rotha went on. 
+
+"'He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not 
+slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor 
+sleep.'--_Israel_, mother." 
+
+"The true Israel are the Lord's true children, of any nation." 
+
+"Are they? Well--'The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy 
+right hand; the sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. 
+The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul. 
+The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time 
+forth, and even for evermore. Praise ye the Lord.'" 
+
+"Would anybody be well kept that was kept so?" Mrs. Carpenter broke 
+forth, with the tears running down her face. "O my little Rotha! my 
+little daughter! if I knew you in that care, how blessed I should be!" 
+
+The tears streamed, and Mrs. Carpenter in vain tried to wipe them dry. 
+Rotha looked on, troubled, and a little conscience-stricken. 
+
+"Mother," she began, "don't he take care of anybody except Christians?" 
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Carpenter; "he takes care of the children of Christians; 
+and so I have faith that he will take care of you; but it is not just so. 
+If you will not come to him now, he may take painful ways to bring you; 
+if you will not trust him now, he may cut away everything else you trust 
+to, till you flee to him for help. But I wish you would take the easier 
+way." 
+
+"But can I help my will?" said Rotha again, holding fast to that tough 
+argument. "What can I do?" 
+
+"I cannot tell. You had better ask Mr. Digby. I am not able for any more 
+questions just now." 
+
+"Mother. I'll bring you your milk," said Rotha, rather glad of a 
+diversion. "Mother, do you think Mr. Digby can answer all sorts of 
+questions?" 
+
+"Better than I can." 
+
+She brought her mother the glass of milk and the biscuit and sat watching 
+her while she took them. She noticed the thin hands, the exhausted look, 
+the weary attitude, the pale face. What state of things was this? Her 
+mother eating biscuit and oysters got with another person's money; doing 
+no work, or next to none; living in lodgings, but apparently without the 
+prospect of earning the means to pay her rent; too feeble to do much but 
+rest in that spring chair. 
+
+"Mother," Rotha began, with a lurking, unrecognized feeling of anxiety--
+"I wish you would make haste and get well!" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter was eating biscuit, and made no reply. 
+
+"Don't you think you _are_ a little better?" 
+
+"Not exactly to-day." 
+
+"What _would_ do you good?" 
+
+"Nothing that you could give me, darling. I am very comfortable. I wonder 
+to see myself so supplied with everything I can possibly want. Look at 
+this chair! It is almost better than all the rest." 
+
+"That and the fire." 
+
+"Yes; the blessed fire! It is so good!" 
+
+"But I wish you'd get well, mother!" Rotha said with a half sigh. 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter made no answer. 
+
+"I don't see how we are going to do, if you don't get well soon," Rotha 
+went on with a kind of impatient uneasiness. "What shall we do for money, 
+mother? there's the rent and everything." 
+
+"You forget what you have just been reading, my child. Do you think the 
+words mean nothing?--'The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon 
+thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by 
+night.'" 
+
+"But that don't pay rent," said Rotha. 
+
+"You think the Lord can do great things, and cannot do little things. I 
+can trust him for all." 
+
+"Then why cannot you trust him for me?" 
+
+"I do." 
+
+"Then why are you troubled?" 
+
+"Because here your self-will comes in; and you may have to go through 
+hard times before it is broken." 
+
+"Broken? My self-will broken?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"I do not want to be a creature without a will. I do not like such 
+creatures." 
+
+"You must talk to Mr. Digby, Rotha. I am too tired." 
+
+"I won't tire you any more, mother dear! But I don't see why I should 
+talk to Mr. Digby." 
+
+And for a few moments Rotha was silent. Then she broke out again. 
+
+"Mother, don't you think if you could get back to Medwayville you would 
+be well again?" 
+
+"I shall never go back to Medwayville," the sick woman said faintly. 
+
+"But if you could get into the country somewhere? out of this horrid dust 
+and these mean little streets. O mother, think of the great fields of 
+grass, and the trees, and the flowers!" 
+
+"Darling, I am very well here. Suppose you take the poker and punch that 
+lump of coal, so that it may blaze up a little." 
+
+Rotha punched the lump of coal, and sat watching the brilliant jets of 
+flame that leapt from it, sending a gentle illumination all through the 
+room; revolving in her mind whether it might be possible by and by to get 
+her mother among the sights and sounds of the country again. 
+
+As the spring advanced however, though the desirableness of such a move 
+might be more apparent, the difficulty of it as evidently increased. The 
+close, stifling air of the city, when the warm days came, was hard to 
+bear for the sick woman, and hard in two ways for Rotha. But Mrs. 
+Carpenter's strength failed more and more. There was no question now of 
+her sewing; she did not attempt it. She sat all day in her spring easy 
+chair, by the window or before the fire as the day happened to be, now 
+and then turning over the leaves of her Bible which always lay open 
+before her. And now Mr. Digby when he came would often take the book and 
+read to her; and even talks of some length would grow up out of the 
+reading; talks that seemed delightful to both the parties concerned, 
+though Rotha could not understand much of it. Little by little the room 
+had entirely changed its character, and no longer seemed to be a part of 
+Mrs. Marble's domain. A fluffy rug lay under Mrs. Carpenter's feet; a 
+pretty lamp stood on the table; a screen of Japanese manufacture, 
+endlessly interesting to Rotha, stood between the weary eyes and the 
+fire, when there was a fire; and Mrs. Carpenter herself was enveloped in 
+a warm, soft fleecy shawl. As the warm weather came on indeed, this had 
+to give place to something lighter. Then Mr. Digby brought fruit; early 
+fruit, and foreign fruit; then a little India tea caddy of very nice tea 
+stood on the table; tea such as in all her life Mrs. Carpenter had never 
+drunk till now. She had long ceased to make any objection to whatever Mr. 
+Digby pleased to do; taking it all as simply and as graciously as a 
+child. Much more than her own child. However, Rotha was mollified towards 
+their benefactor from that day above mentioned; and if she looked on 
+wonderingly, and even a little jealously, at his unresisted assuming of 
+the direction of their affairs, she no more openly rebelled. 
+
+Mr. Digby, it may be remarked, kept her so persistently busy, that she 
+had small time to disturb herself with any sort of speculations. Lessons 
+were lively. History was added to Latin and arithmetic; Rotha had a good 
+deal to read, and troublesome sums to manage; and finally every remnant 
+of spare leisure was filled up by a demand for writing. Mr. Digby did not 
+frighten her by talking of compositions, but he desired her to prepare 
+now an abstract of the history of the crusades, now of the Stuart 
+dynasty, now of the American revolution; and now again of the rise of the 
+art of printing, or the use and manufacture of gunpowder. 
+
+Studying out these subjects, pondering them, writing and writing over her 
+sketches, Rotha was both very busy and very happy; and then the handing 
+over her papers to Mr. Digby, and his reading them, and his strictures 
+upon them, were a matter of intense interest and delight; for though 
+Rotha trembled with excitement she was still more thrilled with pleasure. 
+For she was just at the age when the mind begins to open to a rapturous 
+consciousness of its powers, and at the same time of the wonderful riches 
+of the fields open to the exercise of them. In her happy ignorance, in 
+her blessed inexperience, Rotha did not see what the days were doing with 
+her mother; and if occasionally a flash of unwelcome perception would 
+invade her mind, with the unbounded presumption of her young years she 
+shut her eyes and refused to believe in it. But all the while Mrs. 
+Carpenter was growing feebler and wasting to more of a shadow. Rotha 
+still comforted herself that she had "a nice colour in her cheeks." 
+
+It came to be the latter end of June. Windows were open; what would have 
+been delicious summer air came in laden with the mingled odours of street 
+mud and street dust, garbage, the scents of butcher stalls and grocery 
+shops, and far worse, the indefinable atmospheric tokens of poor living 
+and uncleanness. Now and then a whiff of more energy brought a reminder 
+not quite perverted of the places where flowers grow and cows pasture and 
+birds sing. It only served to make the next breath more heavy and 
+disappointing. Mrs. Carpenter sat by the window to get all the freshness 
+she could; albeit with the air came also the sounds from without; the 
+creak or the rattle of wheels on the pavement, the undistinguishable 
+words of a rough voice here and there, the shrill cry of the strawberry 
+seller, the confused, mixed, inarticulate din of the great city all 
+around. A sultry heaviness seemed to rest upon everything, disheartening 
+and depressing to anybody whose physical powers were not strong or his 
+nerves not well strung for the work and struggle of life. There was a 
+pump over the way; and from time to time the creak of its handle was to 
+be heard, and then the helpless drip and splash of the last runnings of 
+the water falling into the gutter, after the applicant had gone away with 
+his or her pail. It mocked Mrs. Carpenter's ear with the recollection of 
+running brooks, and of a certain cool deep well into which the bucket 
+used to go down from the end of a long pole and come up sparkling with 
+drops of the clear water.----
+
+"Well, how do you do?" said the alert voice of Mrs. Marble by her side. 
+"Sort o' close, aint it?" 
+
+"Rather." 
+
+"The city aint a place for Christians to live in, when it gets to this 
+time; anyhow, not for Christians that aint good and strong. I'd like to 
+put you out to pasture somewheres." 
+
+"She won't go," said Rotha longingly. 
+
+"I am, very comfortable here," said the invalid faintly. 
+
+"Comfortable! well, I feel as if you ought to be top of a mountain 
+somewheres; out o' this. _I'd_ like to; but I guess I'm a fixtur. Mr.  
+Digby I'd find ways and means, I'll engage," she said, eyeing the sick  
+woman with kindly interest and concern, who however only shook her head. 
+
+"Could you eat your strawberries?" she asked presently. 
+
+"A few of them. They were very nice." 
+
+"I never see such berries. They must have been raised somewhere in 
+Gulliver's Brobdignay; and Gulliver don't send 'em round in these parts. 
+I thought, maybe you'd pay 'em the compliment to eat 'em; but when 
+appetite's gone, it's no use to have big strawberries. That's what I 
+thought a breath of hilly air somewheres would do for you."
+
+And Mrs. Marble presently went away, shaking her head, just as Mr. Digby 
+came in; exchanging a look with him as she passed. Mr. Digby came up to 
+the window, and greeted Mrs. Carpenter with the gentle affectionate 
+reverence he always shewed her. 
+
+"No stronger to-day?" said he. 
+
+"She won't go into the country, Mr. Digby," said Rotha. 
+
+"You may go and get a walk at least, my child," Mrs. Carpenter said. "Ask 
+Mrs. Cord to be so kind as to take you. Now while Mr. Digby is here, I 
+shall not be alone. Can you stay half an hour?" she asked him suddenly. 
+
+He gave ready assent; and Rotha, weary of her cooped-up life, eagerly 
+sought Mrs. Cord and went off for her walk. Mrs. Carpenter and Mr. Digby 
+were left alone. 
+
+"I am _not_ stronger," the former began as the house door closed. "I am 
+losing strength, I think, every day. I wanted to speak to you; and it had 
+better be done at once." 
+
+She paused, and he waited. The trickle of the water from the pump came to 
+her ear again, stirring memories oddly. 
+
+"You asked me the other day, whether I had no friends in the city. I told 
+you I had not. I told you the truth, but not the whole truth. Before 
+Rotha I could not say all I wished. I have a sister living in New York." 
+
+"A sister!" Mr. Digby echoed the word in great surprise. "She knows of 
+your being here?" 
+
+"She does not." 
+
+"Surely she ought to know." 
+
+"No, I think not. I told you the truth the other day. I have not a 
+friend, here or elsewhere. Not what you call a friend. Only you." 
+
+"But your _sister?_ How is that possible?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter sighed. "I had better tell you all about it, and then you 
+will know how to understand me. Perhaps. I can hardly understand it 
+myself." 
+
+There was a pause again. The sick woman was evidently looking back in 
+thought over days and years and the visions of what had been in them. Her 
+gentle, quiet eyes had grown intent, and over her brows there was a fold 
+in her forehead that Mr. Digby had never seen there before. But there was 
+no trembling of the mouth. That was steady and grave and firm. 
+
+"There were two of us," she said at last. "My father had but us two, how 
+long it is ago!--" 
+
+She was silent again with her thoughts, and Mr. Digby again waited. It 
+was a patient face he was looking at; a gentle face; not a face that 
+spoke of any experience that could be called bitter, yet the patient 
+lines told of something endured or something resigned; it might be both. 
+The last two years of experience, with a sister in the same city, must 
+needs furnish occasion. But Mrs. Carpenter's brow was quiet, except for 
+that one fold in it. Yet she seemed to have forgotten what she had meant 
+to say, and only after a while pulled herself up, as it were, and began 
+again. 
+
+"It is not so long as it seems, I suppose, for I am not very old; but it 
+seems long. We two were girls together at home, and my father was living; 
+and I knew nothing about the world." 
+
+"Was that here? in New York?" Mr. Digby asked, by way of helping her on. 
+
+"O no. I knew nothing about New York. I had never been here. No; our home 
+was not far from Tanfield; up in this state, near the Connecticut border. 
+We lived a little out of the town, and had a nice place. My father was 
+very well off indeed. I wanted for nothing in those days." She sighed. 
+
+"The world is a strange place, Mr. Digby! I cannot comprehend, even now, 
+how things should have gone as they did. We lived as happy as anybody; 
+until a gentleman, a young lawyer of New York, began to make visits at 
+our house. He paid particular attention to me at first; but it was of no 
+use; I had learned to know Mr. Carpenter, and nobody else could be 
+anything to me. He was a thriving lawyer; a rising young man, people 
+said; and my father would have had me marry him; but I could not. So then 
+he courted my sister. O the splash of that water from the pump over 
+there! it keeps me thinking to-day of the well behind our house--where it 
+stood on a smooth green plat of grass--and of the trickle of the water 
+from the buckets as they were drawn up. Just because the day is so warm, 
+I think of those buckets of well water. The well was sixty feet deep, and 
+the water was clear and cold and beautiful--I never saw such water 
+anywhere else; and when the bucket came slowly up, with the moss on its 
+sides glittering with the wet, there was refreshment in the very look of 
+it. Tanfield seems to me a hundred thousand miles away from Jane Street; 
+and those times about a thousand years ago. I wonder, how will all our 
+life seem when we look back upon it from the other side?" 
+
+"Very much as objects seen under a microscope, I fancy." 
+
+"Do you? Why?" 
+
+"In the clear understanding of details, and in the new perception of the 
+relative bearing and importance of parts." 
+
+"Yes, I suppose so. Things are very mixed and confused as we see them 
+here. Take what I am telling you, for instance; it is incredible, only 
+that it is true." 
+
+"You have not told me much yet," said her friend gently. 
+
+"No. The gentleman I spoke of, the lawyer, he married my sister. And 
+then, when I would have married Mr. Carpenter, my sister set herself 
+against it, and she talked over my father into her views, and they both 
+opposed it all they could." 
+
+"Did they give any reasons for their opposition?" 
+
+"O yes. Mr. Carpenter was only a farmer, they said; not my equal, and not 
+very well off. I am sure in all real qualities he was much my superior; 
+but just in the matter of society it was more or less true. He did not 
+mix in society much, and did not care for it; but he had education and 
+cultivation a great deal more than many that do; he had read and he had 
+thought, and he could talk too, and well, to one or two alone. But they 
+wanted me to marry a rich man. I think half the trouble in the world 
+comes about money." 
+
+"'The love of money is the root of all evil,' the Bible says." 
+
+"I believe it. There was nothing else to be said against Mr. Carpenter, 
+but that he had not money; if he had had it, nobody would have found out 
+that he wanted cultivation, or anything else. But he was a poor man. And 
+when I married him, my father cut me off from all share in the 
+inheritance of his property." 
+
+"It all fell to your sister?" 
+
+"Yes. All. The place, the old place, and all. She had everything." 
+
+"And kept it." 
+
+"O yes. Of course. She is a rich woman. Her husband has prospered in his 
+business; and they are _very_ well off now. They have only one child,  
+too."
+
+Mrs. Carpenter was silent, and Mr. Digby paused a minute or two before he 
+spoke again. 
+
+"Still, my dear friend, do you not think your sister would shew herself 
+your sister, if she knew where you are and how you are? Do you not think 
+it would be right and kind to let her know?" 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. "No," she said, "it would be no comfort to 
+me; and you are mistaken if you think it would be any satisfaction to 
+her. She is a rich woman. She keeps her carriage, and she has her 
+liveried servants, and she lives in style. She would not like to come 
+here to see me." 
+
+"I cannot conceive it," said Mr. Digby. "I think you must unconsciously 
+be doing her wrong." 
+
+"I tried her," said Mrs. Carpenter. "I will not try her again. When my 
+husband got into difficulties, and his health was giving way, and he was 
+driven a little too hard, I wrote to my sister in New York to ask her to 
+give us some help; knowing that she was abundantly able to do it, without 
+hurting herself. She sent me for answer--" Mrs. Carpenter stopped; the 
+words seemed to choke her; her lip quivered; and when she began to speak 
+again her voice was a little hoarse. 
+
+"She wrote me, that if my husband _died_, she would have no objection to  
+my going back to the old place, and getting along there as well as I  
+could; Rotha and I." 
+
+One or two sore, sorrowful tears forced their way out of the speaker's 
+eyes; but she said no more. And Mr. Digby did not know what further to 
+counsel, and was also silent. The silence lasted some little time, while 
+a strawberry seller was making the street ring with her cries of 
+"Straw....berr_ees_," and the hot air wafted in the odours from near and 
+far, and the water trickled from the pump nose again. At last Mrs. 
+Carpenter began again, with some difficulty and effort; not bodily 
+however, but mental. 
+
+"You have been so exceedingly kind to me, to us, Mr. Digby, I--" 
+
+"Hush," he said. "Do not speak of that. You have done far more for me 
+than I ever can do for you?" 
+
+"I? No. I have done nothing." 
+
+"You saved my father's life." 
+
+"Your father's life? You are under some mistake. I never knew a Mr. Digby 
+till I knew you I never even heard the name." 
+
+"You knew a Mr. Southwode," said he smiling.
+
+"Southwode? Southwode! The English gentleman! But you are not his son?" 
+
+"I am his son. I am Digby-Southwode. I took my mother's name for certain 
+business reasons." 
+
+"And you are his son! How wonderful! That strange gentleman's son!--But I 
+did not do so much for your father, Mr. Southwode. You have done 
+_everything_ for me." 
+
+"I wish I could do more," said he shortly. 
+
+"I am ashamed to ask,--and yet, I was going to ask you to do something 
+more--a last service--for me. It is too much to ask." 
+
+"I am sure it is not that," he said with great gentleness. "Let me know 
+what you wish." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter hesitated. "Rotha does not know,"--she said then. "She has 
+no idea--" 
+
+"Of what?" 
+
+"She has no idea that I am going to leave her." 
+
+"I am afraid that is true." 
+
+"And it will be soon Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Perhaps not; but what is it you wish of me?" 
+
+"Tell her--" whispered Mrs. Carpenter. 
+
+The young man might feel startled, or possibly an inevitable strong 
+objection to the service demanded of him. He made no answer; and Mrs. 
+Carpenter soon went on. 
+
+"It is wrong to ask it, and yet whom shall I ask? I would not have her 
+learn it from any of the people in the house; though they are kind, they 
+are not discreet; and Rotha would in any case come straight to me; and 
+I--cannot bear it. She is a passionate child; violent in her feelings 
+and in the expression of them. I have been thinking about it day and 
+night lately, and I _cannot_ get my courage up to face the first storm of 
+her distress. My poor child! she is not very fitted to go through the 
+world alone." 
+
+"What are your plans for her?" 
+
+"I am unable to form any." 
+
+"But you must tell me what steps you wish me to take in her behalf--if 
+there is no one whom you could better trust." 
+
+"There is no one whom I can trust at all. Except only my Father in 
+heaven. I trust him, or I should die before my time. I thought my heart 
+_would_ break, a while ago; now I have got over that. Do you know He has 
+said, 'Leave thy fatherless children to me'?" 
+
+Yet now the mother's tears were falling like rain. 
+
+"I will do the very best I can," said the young man at her side; "but I 
+wish you would give me some hints, or directions, at least." 
+
+"How can I? There lie but two things before me;--that Mrs. Cord should 
+bring her up and make a sempstress of her; or that Mrs. Marble should 
+teach her to be a mantua-maker; and I am so foolish, I cannot bear the 
+thought of either thing; even if they would do it, which I do not know." 
+
+"Make your mind easy. She shall be neither the one thing nor the other. 
+Rotha has far too good abilities for that. I will not give her to Mrs. 
+Cord's or Mrs. Marble's oversight. But what _would_ you wish?" 
+
+"I do not know. I must leave you to judge. You can judge much better than 
+I. I have no knowledge of the world, or of what is possible. Mrs. Marble 
+tells me there are free schools here--" 
+
+"Of course she shall go to school. I will see that she does. And I will 
+see that she is under some woman's care who can take proper care of her. 
+Do not let yourself be troubled on that score. I promise you, you need 
+not. I will take as good care of her as if she were a little sister of my 
+own." 
+
+There was silence at first, the silence of a heart too full to find 
+words. Mrs. Carpenter sat with her head a little bowed. 
+
+"You will lose nothing by it," she said huskily after a few minutes. 
+"There is a promise somewhere--" 
+
+But with that she broke down and cried. 
+
+"I don't know what you will do with her!" she said; "nor what anybody 
+will do with her, except her mother. She is a wayward child; passionate; 
+strong, and also weak, on the side of her affections. She has never 
+learned yet to submit her will, though for love she is capable of great 
+devotion. She has shewed it to me this past winter." 
+
+"Is there any other sort of devotion that is worth much?" asked the young 
+man. 
+
+"Duty?--" 
+
+"Surely the devotion of love is better." 
+
+"Yes--. But duty ought to be recognized for what it is." 
+
+"Nay, I think it ought to be recognized for a pleasure. Here she comes.--
+Well, Rotha, was the walk pleasant?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Indeed? Why not?" 
+
+"How could it be, Mr. Digby? Not a bit of good air, nor anything pleasant 
+to see; just all hot and dirty." 
+
+"I thought you said there were some flowers in front of some of the 
+shops?" her mother said. 
+
+"Yes, mother; but they looked melancholy." 
+
+"Did they?" said Mr. Digby smiling. "Suppose you go with me to-morrow, 
+and I will take you to the Park." 
+
+"O! will you?" said Rotha with suddenly opening eyes. "Can you?" 
+
+"If Mrs. Carpenter permits." 
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. 
+
+
+MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 
+
+
+The next day being again warm, Mr. Digby did not come for Rotha till the 
+afternoon was far advanced. They took then one of the street cars, which 
+would bring them to the Park entrance. The way was long and the drive 
+slow. It was also silent, of necessity; and both parties had leisure for 
+thoughts, as well as material enough. 
+
+Rotha was at first divided between the pleasure of seeing things, and a 
+somewhat uneasy reflection upon her own appearance. She was not in 
+general a self-conscious child; very much the reverse; but to-day she was 
+with Mr. Digby, and she had an exalted idea of the requirements of 
+everything even remotely connected with him. She was going in his 
+company; under his charge; how did she look? She was not satisfied on 
+that point. Mr. Digby himself was always so nice and perfect in his 
+dress, she said to herself; she ought to be very nice to go with him. 
+Truly she had put on the best she had; a white cambrick frock; it was 
+clean and white; but Rotha had none but her everyday brown straw hat, and 
+she knew _that_ was not "smart"; and her dress, she pondered it as she  
+went along, she was sure it was very old-fashioned indeed. Certainly it  
+was not made like the dresses of other girls of her own age, whom she saw  
+in the car or on the sidewalk. Theirs were ruffled; hers was plain; theirs 
+generally stood out in an imposing manner; while her own clung in slim 
+folds around her slim little person. She concluded that she could not be 
+in any degree what Mrs. Marble called "stylish." The exact meaning of 
+that word indeed Rotha could not define; undefinedly she felt it to be 
+something vastly desirable. She decided in her own mind that Mr. Digby 
+was stylish; which it is true proved that the young girl had a nice 
+feeling for things; since the fact, which was undoubted, was entirely 
+unaccompanied by anything in matter or manner of wearing which could take 
+the vulgar eye. Would he dislike going in public, she wondered, with a 
+little figure like herself? She hoped not, she thought not; but thought 
+it with a curious independence, which I am afraid was really born of 
+pride though it took the semblance of good sense. 
+
+Gradually the interest of other figures made Rotha forget her own. They 
+came out from the poor part of the city where she dwelt; streets grew 
+wide and shops lofty and imposing; equipages drove along, outstripping 
+the slow-going car; and in them, what ladies, and what gentlemen, and 
+what little girls now and then! This was the wonderful New York, at which 
+she had now and then had a peep; this was something five hundred miles 
+removed from Jane Street. What sort of human beings were these? and what 
+sort of life did they live? and did money make all the difference, or was 
+there some more intrinsic and essential distinction between them and 
+their fellows in Abingdon Square? At any rate, how very, very much better 
+off they were! 
+
+Mr. Digby's musings had much less to do with the surface of things. I 
+doubt indeed if he saw ought that was before his eyes, all the way to the 
+Park. Not even Rotha herself; and yet she was the main subject of his 
+cogitations. He was feeling that his kindness to Mrs. Carpenter had 
+brought him into difficulties. The very occasion for this journey to the 
+Park was bad enough; so disagreeable in fact that he did not like to look 
+at it, and hardly had looked at it until now; he was going as a man goes 
+into battle; and a rain of bullets, he thought, would have been easier to 
+face. How he should accomplish his task he had as yet no idea. But 
+supposing it done; and supposing all the trouble past for which he had to 
+prepare Rotha; what then? What was he to do with the charge he had 
+assumed? He, a young man without a family, with no proper home in the 
+country of his abode, what was he to do with the care of a girl like 
+Rotha? how should he manage it? If she had been a little child it would 
+have been a more simple affair; but fourteen years old is not at all far 
+removed from seventeen, and eighteen. Where should _her_ home be? and her 
+future sphere of life? and where was the promised womanly protection 
+under which he was to place her? He gave a glance at the girl. She was 
+good material to work upon, that was one alleviation of his task; he had 
+had some practical proof of it, and now, more carefully than ever before, 
+he looked for the outward signs and tokens in feature and expression. And 
+as Rotha had once declared that Mr. Digby's eyes were handsome, he now 
+privately returned the compliment to hers. Yes, this child, who had an 
+awkward appearance as to her figure--he did not know then that the effect 
+was due to her dress--she had undoubtedly fine eyes. Poor complexion, he 
+said to himself after a second glance, but good eyes. And not merely in 
+shape and hue; they were full of speculation, full of thought, full of 
+the possibilities of passion and feeling. There was character in them; 
+and so there was in the well formed, well closed mouth. _There_ was 
+refinement too; the lines were not those of an uncultured, low-
+conditioned nature; they were fine and beautiful. It had never occurred 
+to Mr. Digby before to think how Rotha promised to be in the matter of 
+looks; although he had many a time caught the gleam of intelligent fire 
+in the course of her recitations and his lesson giving, and once or twice 
+had seen that passion of one kind or another was at work. He read now 
+very plainly that his charge, to go back to the old philosophy of human 
+nature which reckoned man to be composed of the four elements, had a 
+great deal of the fire and the air in her composition, with little of the 
+heaviness of the earth, and as little as possible of the lymphatic 
+quality. It made his task the more interesting, and in so far lightened 
+it; but it made it at the same time vastly more difficult. Here was a 
+sensitive, quick, passionate, independent nature to deal with; how ever 
+should he deal with it? And how ever was he to execute his purpose to-
+day? the purpose with which he had brought her, poor child, to this walk 
+in the Park. Was it not rather cruel, to begin a time of great pain with 
+a taste of exquisite pleasure? Mr. Digby hardly knew what he would do, 
+when he left the car with his charge and entered the Park. 
+
+They went in at the great Fifth Avenue entrance; and for a few minutes he 
+was engaged in piloting himself and her through the crowd of coming and 
+going carriages; but when they reached quiet going and a secure footpath, 
+he looked at her. It smote him. Such an expression of awakened delight 
+was in her face; such keen curiosity, such simplicity and fulness of 
+enjoyment. Rotha was at a self-conscious age, but she had forgotten 
+herself; two years old is not more free from self-recollection. They 
+walked along slowly, the girl reviewing everything in the lively show 
+before her; lips parting sometimes for a smile, but with no leisure for a 
+word. Her companion watched her. They walked on and on; turned now hither 
+and now thither; Rotha remained in a maze, only mechanically following 
+where she was led. 
+
+It was a fine afternoon, and all the world was out. Carriages, riders, 
+foot travellers; everywhere crowds of people. Where was Mr. Digby going 
+to make the communication he had come here to make? He doubted about it 
+now, but if he spoke, where should it be? Not in this crowd, where any 
+minute some acquaintance might see him and speak to him. With some 
+trouble he sought out a resting place for Rotha from whence she could 
+have a good view of one angle of a much travelled drive, and at the same 
+time both of them were in a sort hid away from observation. Here they sat 
+down; but if Rotha's feet might rest, her companion's mind was further 
+and further from any such point of comfort. They had exchanged hardly any 
+words since they set out; and now the difficulty of beginning what he had 
+to say seemed greater than ever. There was a long silence. Rotha broke 
+it; she did not know that it had been long. 
+
+"Mr. Digby--there are a great many things I do not understand." 
+
+"My case too, Rotha." 
+
+"Yes, but you understand a great many things that I don't." 
+
+"What is troubling you now, with a sense of ignorance?" 
+
+"I see in a great many carriages two gentlemen dressed just alike, 
+sitting together; they are on the back seat always, and they always have 
+their arms folded, just alike; what are they?" 
+
+"Not gentlemen, Rotha; they are footmen, or grooms." 
+
+"What's the difference?" 
+
+"Between footmen and grooms?" 
+
+"No, no; between a gentleman and a man that isn't a gentleman?" 
+
+"You asked me that once before, didn't you?" 
+
+"Yes; but I don't make it out." 
+
+"Why do you try?" 
+
+"Why Mr. Digby, I like to understand things." 
+
+"Quite right, too, Rotha. Well--the difference is more in the feelings 
+and manners than in anything else." 
+
+"Not in the dress?" 
+
+"Certainly not. Though it is not like a gentleman to be improperly 
+dressed." 
+
+"What is 'improperly dressed.'" 
+
+"Not nice and neat." 
+
+"Nice and neat--_clean_ and neat, you mean?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Then a gentleman may have poor clothes on?" 
+
+"Of course." 
+
+"Can anybody be _poor_ and be a gentleman?" 
+
+"Not _anybody_, but a gentleman may be poor, certainly, without ceasing  
+to be a gentleman." 
+
+"But if he was poor to begin with--could he be a gentleman then?" 
+
+"Yes, Rotha," said her friend smiling at her; "money has nothing to do 
+with the matter. Except only, that without money it is difficult for a 
+boy to be trained in the habits and education of a gentleman." 
+
+"Education?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"You said, 'feeling and manners.'" 
+
+"Well, yes. But you can see for yourself, that without education it would 
+be hardly possible that manners should be exactly what they ought to be. 
+A gentleman should give to everybody just that sort of attention and 
+respect which is due; just the right words and the right tone and the 
+fitting manner; how can he, if he does not understand his own position in 
+the world and that of other people? and why the one and the other are 
+what they are." 
+
+"Then I don't see how poor people can be ladies and gentlemen," said 
+Rotha discontentedly. 
+
+"Being poor has nothing to do with it, except so far." 
+
+"But that's far enough, Mr. Digby." 
+
+He heard the disappointed ambition in the tone of the girl's words. 
+
+"Rotha," he said kindly, "whoever will follow the Bible rules of good 
+manners, will be sure to be right, as far as that goes." 
+
+"Can one follow them without being a Christian?" 
+
+"Well no, hardly. You see, the very root of them is love to one's 
+neighbour; and one cannot have that, truly and universally, without 
+loving Christ first." 
+
+"Then are all gentlemen Christians?" 
+
+The young man laughed a little at her pertinacity. 
+
+"What are you so much concerned about it, Rotha?" 
+
+"I was just thinking."--
+
+And apparently she had a good deal of thinking to do; for she was quite 
+silent for some time. And Mr. Digby on his part went back to his problem, 
+how was he to tell Rotha what he had promised to tell her? From their 
+somewhat elevated and withdrawn position, the moving scene before them 
+was most bright and gay. An endless procession of equipages--beautiful 
+carriages, stately horses, pompous attendants, luxurious pleasure-takers; 
+one after another, and twos and threes following each other, a continuous 
+stream; carriages of all sorts, landaus, Victorias, clarences, phaetons, 
+barouches, close coaches, dog carts, carryalls, gigs, buggies. Now and 
+then a country affair, with occupants to match; now a plain wagon with a 
+family of children having a good time; now an old gentleman and his wife 
+taking a sober airing; then a couple of ladies half lost in the depths of 
+their cushions, and not having at all a good time, to judge by their 
+looks; and then a young man with nobody but himself and a pair of fast 
+trotting horses, which had, and needed, all his attention; and then a 
+whirl of the general thing, fine carriages, fine ladies, fine gentlemen, 
+fine servants and fine horses; in all varieties of combination. It was 
+very pretty; it was very gay; the young foliage of early summer was not 
+yet discouraged and dulled by the heat and the dust; the air was almost 
+country sweet, and flowers were brilliant in one of the plantations 
+within sight. How the world went by!-- 
+
+Mr. Digby had half forgotten it and everything else, in his musings, when 
+he was aroused, and well nigh startled, by a question from Rotha. 
+
+"Mr. Digby--can I help my will?" 
+
+He looked down at her. "What do you mean, Rotha?" 
+
+"I mean, can I help my will? I asked mother one day, and she said I had 
+better ask you." 
+
+Rotha's eyes came up to his face with their query; and whatever it might 
+import, he saw that she was in earnest. Grave and intent the girl's fine 
+dark eyes were, and came up to his eyes with a kind of power of search. 
+
+"I do not think I understand you." 
+
+"Yes, you do. If I do not like something--do not want to be something--
+can I help my will?" 
+
+"What do you not want to be?" said Mr. Digby, waiving this severe 
+question in mental philosophy. 
+
+"Must I tell you?" 
+
+"Not if you don't like; but I think it might help me to get at your 
+difficulty, and so to get at the answer you want." 
+
+"Mr. Digby, can a person want to do something, and yet not be willing?" 
+
+"Yes," said he, in growing surprise. 
+
+"Then, can he _help_ not being willing?" 
+
+"What is the case in hand, Rotha? I am wholly in the dark. I do not know 
+what you would be at." 
+
+To come nearer to the point was not Rotha's wish and had not been her 
+purpose; she hesitated. However, the subject was one which exercised her, 
+and the opportunity of discussing her difficulty with Mr. Digby was very 
+tempting. She hesitated, but she could not let the chance go. 
+
+"Mother wishes I would be a Christian," she said low and slowly. "And I 
+wish I could, to please her; but I do not want to. Can I help my will? 
+and I am not willing." 
+
+There was a mixture of defiance and desire in this speech which instantly 
+roused the somewhat careless attention of the young man beside her. 
+Anything that touched the decision of any mortal in the great question of 
+everlasting life, awoke his sympathies always to fullest exercise. It was 
+not his way, however, to shew what he felt; and he answered her with the 
+same deliberate calm as hitherto. Nobody would have guessed the quickened 
+pulses with which he spoke. 
+
+"Why do you not want to be a Christian, Rotha?" 
+
+"I do not know," she answered slowly. "I suppose, I want to be free." 
+
+"Go on a little bit, and tell me what you mean by being 'free.'" 
+
+"Why--I mean, I suppose,--I _know_ I mean, that I want to do what I like." 
+
+"You are taking the wrong way for that." 
+
+"Why, I could not do what I liked if I was a Christian, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"A Christian, on the contrary, is the only person in this world, so far 
+as I know, who can do what he likes." 
+
+"Why, do you?" said Rotha, looking at him. 
+
+"Yes," said he smiling. "Always." 
+
+"But I thought--" 
+
+"You thought a Christian was a sort of a slave." 
+
+"Yes. Or a servant. A servant he is; and a servant is not free. He has 
+laws to mind." 
+
+"And you think, by refusing the service you get rid of the laws? That's a 
+mistake. The laws are over you and binding on you, just the same, whether 
+you accept them or not; and you have got to meet the consequences of not 
+obeying them. Did you never think of that?" 
+
+"But it is different if I _promised_ to obey them," said Rotha. 
+
+"How different?" 
+
+"If I promised, I must do it." 
+
+"If you do not promise you must take the consequences of not doing it. 
+You cannot get from under the law." 
+
+"But how can you do whatever you like, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"There comes in your other mistake," said he. "I can, because I am free. 
+It is you who are the slave." 
+
+"I? How, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"You said just now, you wished you could be a Christian, but you could 
+not. Are you free to do what you wish?" 
+
+"But can I help my will?" 
+
+The gentleman took out of his pocket a slim little New Testament which 
+always went about with him, and put it into Rotha's hands open at a 
+certain place, bidding her read. 
+
+"'Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in 
+my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, 
+and the truth shall make you free.'" 
+
+Rotha stopped and looked up at her companion. 
+
+"Go on," he bade her; and she read further. 
+
+"'They answered him, We be Abraham's seed, and were never in bondage to 
+any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free? 
+
+"'Jesus answered them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whosoever 
+committeth sin is the servant of sin. And the servant abideth not in the 
+house forever: but the Son abideth ever. If the Son therefore shall make 
+you free, ye shall be free indeed.'" 
+
+Rotha looked at the words, after she had done reading. 
+
+"Mr. Digby," she said then again, "can I help my will?" 
+
+"No," said he, "for you are a poor bond-slave. But see what is written 
+there. What you cannot do, Christ can." 
+
+"Why don't he do it, then?" she said defiantly. 
+
+"You have not asked him, or wished him to do it." 
+
+"But why shouldn't he do it without my asking, or wishing, if he can?" 
+
+"It is not his way. He says, 'Ask, and ye shall receive'; but he promises 
+nothing to those who do not apply to him. And the application must be in 
+good earnest too, Rotha; not the form of the thing, but the truth. 
+'Blessed are they that _hunger and thirst_ after righteousness; for they 
+shall be filled.'" 
+
+"Then, if I asked him, could he change my will?" 
+
+"He says, he can make you free. It was one thing he came to do; to 
+deliver people from the bondage of sin and the power of Satan." 
+
+"The power of Satan!" said Rotha. "I am not under _his_ power!" 
+
+"Certainly you are. There are only two parties in the world; two 
+kingdoms; those who do not belong to the one, belong to the other." 
+
+"But Mr. Digby," said Rotha, now much exercised, "I hate the devil as 
+much as you do." 
+
+"Don't help, Rotha. 'From the power of Satan to God,' is the turn people 
+take when they become Christians." 
+
+"What makes you think I am under his power?" 
+
+"Because I see you are not under the rule of Christ. And because I see 
+you are doing precisely what Satan would have you do." 
+
+"What?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Refusing the Lord Jesus Christ, or putting off accepting him." 
+
+Rotha was silent. Her breast was heaving, her breath coming thick and 
+short. Mr. Digby's conclusions were very disagreeable to her; but what 
+could she say? 
+
+"I can't help my will," she said doggedly. 
+
+"You see you are not honest with yourself. You have just learned that 
+there is a remedy for that difficulty." 
+
+"But Mr. Digby," said Rotha, "how is it that you can do what you like?" 
+
+He smiled down at her, a pleasant, frank smile, which witnessed to the 
+truth of his words and wrought more with Rotha than the words themselves; 
+while the eyes that she admired rested on her with grave penetration. 
+
+"There is an old promise the Lord gave his people a great while ago; that 
+in the new covenant which he would make with them in Christ, he would 
+write all his laws in their hearts. He has done that for me." 
+
+"You mean--" said Rotha. 
+
+"Yes, go on, and say what you think I mean." 
+
+"You mean,--that what you like to do, is just what God likes you to do." 
+
+"And never anything else, Rotha," he said gravely. 
+
+"Well, Mr. Digby," said Rotha slowly, "after all, you have given up 
+yourself." 
+
+"And very glad to be rid of that personage." 
+
+"But I don't want to give up myself." 
+
+"I see." 
+
+And there followed a long silence. Mr. Digby did not wish to add anything 
+to his words, and Rotha could not to hers; and they both sat in 
+meditation, until the girl's lighter humour got away from the troublesome 
+subject altogether. Watching her, Mr. Digby saw the pleased play of 
+feature which testified to her being again absorbed in the scene before 
+her; her eye was alive, her lip moved with a coming and going smile. 
+
+"It amuses you, does it not?" he said. 
+
+"O yes!" Rotha exclaimed with a long breath. "I wish mother could see 
+it." 
+
+"She can," said Mr. Digby. "We will have a carriage and take her out. I 
+don't know why I never thought, of it before." 
+
+"A carriage? For mother? And bring her here?" said Rotha breathless. 
+
+"Yes, to-morrow, if the day is good. It will refresh her. And meanwhile, 
+Rotha, I am afraid we must leave this scene of enchantment." 
+
+Rotha had changed colour with excitement and delight; now she rose up 
+with another deep sigh. 
+
+"There are more people than ever," she remarked; "more carriages. Mr. 
+Digby, I should think they would be perfectly happy?" 
+
+"What makes you think they are not?" said he amused. 
+
+"They don't look so." 
+
+"They are accustomed to it. They come every day or two." 
+
+"Does that make it less pleasant?" 
+
+"It takes off the novelty, you know. Most pleasures are less pleasant 
+when the novelty is gone." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+Mr. Digby smiled again. "You never found it so?" he said. 
+
+"No. I remember when we were at Medwayville, everything I liked to do, I 
+liked it more the more I did it." 
+
+"You are of a happy temperament. What did you use to like to do there?" 
+
+"O a load of things!" said Rotha sighing. "I liked our old dog, and my 
+kittens; and riding about; and I liked very much going to the hay field 
+and getting into the cart with father and riding home. And then--" 
+
+But Rotha's words stopped suddenly, and her companion looking down at her 
+saw that her eyes were brimming full of tears, and her face flushed with 
+the emotion which almost mastered her. A little kind pressure of the hand 
+he held was all the answer he made; and then they made their way through 
+the crowd and got into the cars to go home. 
+
+He had not discharged his commission; how could he? Things had taken a 
+turn which made it almost impossible. It must be done another day. Poor 
+child! The young man's mind was filled with sympathy and compassion, as 
+he looked at Rotha sitting beside him and noted how her aspect had 
+changed and brightened; just with this afternoon's pleasure and the new 
+thoughts and mental stir and hope to which it had given rise. Poor child! 
+what lay before her, that she dreamed not of, yet must face and meet 
+inevitably. That in the near future; and beyond--what? No friend but 
+himself in all the world; and how was he to take care of her? The young 
+man felt a little pity for himself by the way. Truly, a girl of this 
+sort, brimfull of mental capacity and emotional sensitiveness, was a 
+troublesome legacy for a young man situated as he was. However, his own 
+trouble got not much regard on the present occasion; for his heart was 
+burdened with the sorrow and the tribulation coming upon these two, the 
+mother and daughter. And these were but two, in a world full of the like 
+and of far worse. He remembered how once, in the sight of the tears and 
+sorrowing hearts around him and in view of the great flood of human 
+miseries of which they were but instances and reminders, "Jesus wept;" 
+and the heart of his servant melted in like compassion. But he shewed 
+none of it, when he came with Rotha into her mother's presence again; he 
+was calm and composed as always. 
+
+"Mrs. Carpenter," he said, as he found himself for a moment alone with 
+her, Rotha having run off to change her dress,--"you did not tell me your 
+sister's name. I think I ought to know it." 
+
+"Her name?" said Mrs. Carpenter starting and hesitating. What did he want 
+to know her sister's name for? But Mr. Digby did not look as if he cared 
+about knowing it; he had asked the question indifferently, and his face 
+of careless calm reassured her. She answered him at last. 
+
+"Her name is Busby." 
+
+It was characteristic of Mr. Digby that his features revealed no 
+quickening of interest at this; for he was acquainted with a Mrs. Busby, 
+who was also the wife of a lawyer in the city. But he shewed neither 
+surprise nor curiosity; he merely said in the same unconcerned manner and 
+tone, 
+
+"There may be more Mrs. Busby's than one. What is her husband's name?" 
+
+"I forget--It begins with 'A.' I know; but I can't think of it. I can 
+think of nothing but the name of that old New York baker they used to 
+speak of--Arcularius." 
+
+"Will Archibald do?" 
+
+"That is it!" 
+
+Mr. Digby could hardly believe his ears. Mrs. Archibald Busby was very 
+well known to him, and he was a welcome and tolerably frequent visiter at 
+her house. Was it possible? he thought; was it possible? Could that woman 
+be the sister of this? and such a sister? Nothing in her or in her house 
+that he had seen, looked like it. He made neither remark nor suggestion 
+however, but took quiet leave, after his wont, and went away; after 
+arranging that a carriage should come the next day to take Mrs. Carpenter 
+to the Park. 
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. 
+
+
+STATEN ISLAND. 
+
+
+Mr. Digby had a great many thoughts during the next few days; some of 
+which almost went to make Mrs. Carpenter in the wrong. The Mrs. Busby he 
+knew was so very unexceptionable a lady; how could she be the black sheep 
+of the story he had heard? Mrs. Carpenter might labour under a mistake, 
+might she not? Yet facts are said to be stubborn things, and some facts 
+were hard for the truth of the story. Mr. Digby was puzzled. He would 
+perhaps have gone promptly to Mrs. Busby's home, to make observations 
+with a keenness he had never thought worth while when there; but Mrs. 
+Busby and all her family were out of town, spending the hot months at a 
+watering place, or at several watering places. Meanwhile Mr. Digby had 
+his unfulfilled commission to attend to. 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter went driving to the Park now every pleasant day; to the 
+great admiration of Mrs. Marble, the wonderful refreshment of the sick 
+woman herself, and the extravagant delight and pride of Rotha. She said 
+she was sure her mother would get well now. But her mother's eye, as she 
+said it, went to Mr. Digby's, with a warning admonition that he must 
+neither be deceived nor lose time. He understood. 
+
+"I am going down to Staten Island to-morrow," he remarked. "Would you 
+like to go with me, Rotha?" 
+
+"Staten Island?" she repeated. 
+
+"Yes. It is about an hour's sail from New York, or nearly; across the 
+bay. You can become acquainted with the famous bay of New York." 
+
+"Is it famous?" 
+
+"For its beauty." 
+
+"Oh I should like to go very much, Mr. Digby, if it was as ugly as it 
+could be!" 
+
+"Then when your mother comes from the Park in the morning, we will go." 
+
+Rotha was full of delight. But her mother, she thought, was very sober 
+during that morning's drive; she tried in vain to brighten her up. Again 
+and again Mrs. Carpenter's eyes rested on her with a lingering, tender 
+sorrowfulness, which was not their wont. 
+
+"Mother, is anything the matter?" she asked at length. 
+
+"I am thinking of you, my child." 
+
+"Then don't think of me! What about me?" 
+
+"I am grieved that a shadow should ever come over your gay spirits. Yet I 
+am foolish." 
+
+"What makes you think of shadows? I am going to be always as gay as I am 
+to-day." 
+
+"That is impossible." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"It is not the way of this world." 
+
+"Does trouble come to everybody?" 
+
+"Yes. At some time." 
+
+"Well, mother dear, you can just wait till it comes. There is no shadow 
+over me now, at any rate. If you were only well, I should be happy 
+enough." 
+
+"I shall never be well, my child." 
+
+"O you say that just because a shadow has come over you. I wish I knew 
+where it comes from; I would scare it away. Mother, mother, look, look!--
+see that little carriage with the little horses, and the children 
+driving! Oh--!" 
+
+Rotha's expression of intense admiration is not to be given on paper. 
+
+"Shetland ponies, those are," said her mother. 
+
+"What are Shetland ponies?" 
+
+"Ponies that come from Shetland." 
+
+"And do they never grow any bigger?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"How jolly!" 
+
+"Rotha, that is a boy's word, I think." 
+
+"If it is good for a boy, why isn't it good for me?" 
+
+"I do not know that it is good for a boy. But a lady is bound to be more 
+particular in what she says and does." 
+
+"More than a gentleman?" 
+
+"In some ways, yes." 
+
+"I don't understand in what ways. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, 
+whether one is a boy or a girl." 
+
+Mrs. Carpenter sighed. What would bring just notions, who would teach 
+proper ways, to her inquisitive child when she should be left motherless? 
+Rotha perceived the deep concern which gathered in her mother's eyes 
+again; and anew endeavoured by lively talk to chase it away. In vain. 
+Mrs. Carpenter came home tired and exhausted. 
+
+"I think she was worrying about something," Rotha said, when soon after 
+she and her friend were on their way to Whitehall. "She does, now and 
+then." 
+
+Mr. Digby made no answer; and Rotha's next keen question was, 
+
+"You look as if you knew what she was worrying about, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"I think I do." 
+
+"Couldn't I know what it was?" 
+
+"Perhaps. But you must wait." 
+
+It was easy to wait. Even the omnibus ride to Whitehall was charming to 
+Rotha's inexperienced eyes; and when she was on board the ferry boat and 
+away from the quays and the city, and the lively waters of the bay were 
+rolling up all around her, the girl's enjoyment grew intense. She had 
+never seen such an extent of water before, she had no idea of the real 
+look of the waves; a hundred thousand questions came crowding and surging 
+up in her mind, like the broken billows down below her. In her mind; they 
+got no further; merely to have them rise was a delight; she would find 
+the answer to them some day. For the present it was enough to watch the 
+changing forms and varying colours of the water, and to drink in the 
+fresh breeze which brought life and strength with it from the sea. Yet 
+now and then a question was too urgent and must be satisfied. 
+
+"Mr. Digby, nobody could paint water, could they?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"How could they? It is all changing, every instant; it won't stand still 
+to be drawn." 
+
+"Most things can be done, if one is only in earnest enough." 
+
+"But how can this?" 
+
+"Not without a great deal of study and pains. A man must watch the play 
+of the waves and the shapes they take, and the colours of the different 
+parts in any given sort of weather, until he has got them by heart; and 
+then he can put the lines and the colours on the canvas. If he has the 
+gift to do it, that is." 
+
+"What has the weather to do with it? Different colours?" 
+
+"Certainly. The lights and shadows vary with every change of the sky; and 
+the colours vary." 
+
+"Then a person must be very much in earnest," said Rotha, "ever to get it 
+all." 
+
+"There is no doing great things in any line without being very much in 
+earnest. The start isn't the thing; it is the steady pull that tries." 
+
+"Can you draw, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"Yes, a little." 
+
+Again Rotha was all absorbed in what lay before and around her; getting 
+unconscious education through her eyes, as they received for the first 
+time the images of so many new things. To the people on board she gave 
+scarcely any heed at all. 
+
+Arrived at Brighton, Mr. Digby's first care was to give his charge and 
+himself some refreshment. He took Rotha to a hotel and ordered a simple 
+dinner. Then he desired to have a little wagon harnessed up, and putting 
+the delighted girl into it, he drove to the sea shore and let her feast 
+her eyes on the incoming waves and breaking surf. He himself was full of 
+one thought, waiting for the moment when he could say to her what he had 
+to say; but he was forced to wait a good while. He had made a mistake, he 
+found, in choosing this precise direction for their drive. Rotha's 
+overwhelming pleasure and entranced absorption for some time could not be 
+broken in upon. She was too utterly happy to notice how different was her 
+friend's absorption from her own; unless with a vague, passing 
+perception, which she could not dwell upon. 
+
+At last her friend asked her if she would like a run upon the sand, the 
+tide being then out. He drove up to a straggling bit of fence, tied his 
+horse, and lifted Rotha out; who immediately ran down to the narrow beach 
+and as near to the water as she dared; there stood still and looked. 
+There was but a gentle surf that day, with the ebb tide; but to Rotha it 
+was a scene of unparalleled might and majesty. She was drinking in 
+pleasure, as one can at fourteen, with all the young susceptibilities 
+fully alive and strong. Mr. Digby could not interrupt her. He threw 
+himself down 011 a dry piece of sand, and waited; watching her, and 
+watching with a sad sort of pleasure the everlasting rise and breaking of 
+those curling billows. Things spiritual and material get very mixed up in 
+such a mood; and anon the ocean became to Mr. Digby somehow identified 
+with the sea of trouble the tides of which do overflow all this world. 
+The breaking waves were but the constantly occurring and recurring bursts 
+of misfortune and disaster which overtake everybody. Here it is, there it 
+is, it is here again, it is always somewhere; ay, far as the eye can 
+reach. Here is this child, now,--
+
+"Mr. Digby, you are tired--you don't like it--you are just waiting for 
+me," Rotha said suddenly, with delicate good feeling, coming to his side. 
+
+"I do like it, always. I am not tired, thank you, Rotha." 
+
+"But you are not taking pleasure in it now," she said gently. 
+
+"No. I was thinking, how full the world is of trouble." 
+
+"Why should you think that just now? You had better think, how full it is 
+of pleasure. It's as full--it seems to me as full--as the very sea 
+itself." 
+
+"Does your life have so much pleasure?" 
+
+"To-day--" said the girl, with a rapt look out to sea. 
+
+"And yet Rotha, it is for you I am troubled." 
+
+"For me!" she said with a surprised look at him. 
+
+"Yes. Suppose you sit down here for a few minutes, and let me talk to 
+you." 
+
+"I don't want to talk about trouble just now," she said; sitting down 
+however as he bade her. 
+
+"I am very sorry to talk about it now, or at any time; but I must. Can 
+you bear trouble, Rotha?" 
+
+There was something tender and grave and sympathizing in his look and 
+tone, which somehow made the girl's heart beat quicker. That there was 
+real gravity of tidings beneath such a manner, she felt intuitively; 
+though she strove not to believe it. 
+
+"I don't know,--" she said in answer to his question. "I _have_ borne it." 
+
+"This is more than you have borne yet." 
+
+"I had a father, once, Mr. Digby,--" she said with a curious self-
+restraint that did not lack dignity. 
+
+How could he answer her? He did not find words. And instead, there came 
+over him such a rush of tenderness in view of what was surely to fall 
+upon the girl, in the present and in the future, that for a moment he was 
+unmanned. To hide the corresponding rush of water to his eyes, Mr. Digby 
+was fain to bow his face in the hand which rested on his knees. Neither 
+the action nor the cause of it escaped Rotha's shrewdness and awakened 
+sense of fear, but it silenced her at the same time; and it was not till 
+a little interval had passed, though before Mr. Digby had lifted up his 
+head, that the silence became intolerable to her. She heard the sea and 
+saw the breakers no more, or only with a feeling of impatience. 
+
+"Well," she said at last, in a changed voice, hard, and dry,--"why don't 
+you tell me what it is?" If she was impolite, she did not mean it, and 
+her friend knew she did not mean it. 
+
+"I hardly can, Rotha," he answered sorrowfully. 
+
+"I know what you mean," she said, "but it isn't true. You think so, but 
+it isn't true." 
+
+"What are you speaking of?" 
+
+"You know. I know what you mean; you are speaking of--mother!" The word 
+came out with difficulty and only by stern determination. "It is not 
+true, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"What is not true, Rotha?" 
+
+"You know. It is not true!" she repeated vehemently. 
+
+"But Rotha, my child, what if it were true?" 
+
+"You know it couldn't be true," she said, fixing on him a pair of eyes 
+almost wild in their intensity. "It couldn't be true. What would become 
+of me?" 
+
+"I will take care of you, always." 
+
+"You!" she retorted, with a scorn supreme and only matched by the pain 
+with which she spoke. "What are you? It _couldn't_ be, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Listen to me, child. Rotha, I have come here to talk to you about it." 
+He saw how full the girl's eyes were growing, of tears just swelling and 
+ready to burst forth; and he stopped. But she impatiently dashed them 
+right and left. 
+
+"I don't want to talk about it. It's no use, here or anywhere else. I 
+would like to go home." 
+
+"Not yet. Before you go home I want you to be quite composed, and to have 
+good command of yourself, so that you may not distress your mother. She 
+cannot bear it. Therefore she asked me to tell you, because she dreaded 
+to see your suffering. Can you bear it and hide it, Rotha, bravely, for 
+her sake?" 
+
+"_She_ asked you to tell me?" cried the girl; and Mr. Digby never forgot 
+the face of wild agony with which she looked at him. He answered quietly, 
+"Yes;" though his heart was bleeding for her. 
+
+"She thinks--" 
+
+"She knows how it must be. It is nothing new, or strange, or sorrowful, 
+to her,--except only for you. But in her love for you, she greatly dreads 
+to see your sorrow. Do you think, Rotha, for her sake, you can bear up 
+bravely, and be quiet, and not shew what you feel? For her sake?" 
+
+He doubted if the girl rightly heard him. She looked at him, indeed, 
+while he spoke, as if listening; but her face was white, or rather livid, 
+and her eyes seemed to be gazing into despair. 
+
+"I do not think it can be, Mr. Digby," she said. "She don't look like it. 
+And what would become of me? 
+
+"I will take faithful care of you, Rotha, as long as you live, and I 
+live." 
+
+"You are nothing!" she said contemptuously. But then followed a cry which 
+curdled Mr. Digby's blood. It was not a piercing shriek, yet it was a 
+prolonged cry, pointed and sharpened with pain and heavy with despair. 
+One such wail, and the girl dropped her face in her hands and sat 
+motionless. Her companion would rather have seen sobs and tears; he did 
+not know what to do with her. The soft beat and wash of the waves sounded 
+drearily in the silence. Mr. Digby waited. Nothing but time, he knew, can 
+cover the roughness of life's rough places with its moss and lichen of 
+patience and memory. Comfort was not to be spoken of, not here. He 
+comprehended now why Mrs. Carpenter had shrank from telling the tidings 
+herself. But the day was wearing away; they must go home; the burden, 
+however heavy, must be lifted and carried.---- 
+
+"Rotha--my child--" he said after a long interval. 
+
+No answer. 
+
+"Rotha, my child, cannot you look up and speak to me? Rotha--my poor 
+little Rotha--it is very heavy for you! But won't you make it as light as 
+you can for your mother?" 
+
+The child writhed away from under the hand he had gently laid on her 
+shoulder; but uttered no sound. 
+
+"Rotha--we must go home presently. Do you know, your mother will be very 
+anxious to see you. She is expecting us now, I dare say." 
+
+It came then, the burst of tears which he had dreaded and yet half longed 
+for. The girl turned a little more from him and flung herself down on the 
+sand, and there wept as he had never seen anybody weep before. With all 
+the passion of an intense nature, and all the self abandonment of an 
+ungoverned nature, sobbing such sobs as shook her whole frame, and with 
+loud weeping which could not be restrained into silence. Better it should 
+not be, Mr. Digby thought; better she should be allowed to exhaust 
+herself so that very fatigue should induce quiet. But to the sitter-by it 
+was unspeakably painful; a scene never to be recalled without a profound 
+prayer, like Noah's, I fancy, after the deluge, that the like might never 
+come again. 
+
+And happily, nature did exhaust herself; and just because the passion of 
+sobs and tears was so violent, it did yield after a time, as strength 
+gave way. But it lasted fearfully long. However, at last Rotha grew 
+quieter, and then still; and not till then Mr. Digby spoke again. He 
+spoke as if all this had been an interlude not noticed by him. 
+
+"Rotha, my child, can you gather up your courage and be quiet and be 
+brave now?" 
+
+She hesitated, and then in a smothered voice said, "I'm not brave." 
+
+"I think you can be." 
+
+"I wish--I could die," she said slowly. 
+
+"But what we have to do, is to live and act for others. Yes, it would 
+often seem a great deal easier to die; but we have something to do in the 
+world. You have something to do. Your mother's comfort, and even the 
+prolonging of her stay with us, may depend on your quietness and self-
+command. For love of her, can you be strong and do it?" 
+
+"I am not strong--" said Rotha, as she had spoken before. 
+
+"Love makes people strong. And Jesus will help the weak, if they trust 
+him, to do anything they have to do." 
+
+"You know I am not a Christian," Rotha answered in the same matter-of-
+fact way. 
+
+"Suppose you do not let that be true after to-day." 
+
+There was another silence. 
+
+"I am ready to go, Mr. Digby," Rotha said. 
+
+"And you will be a woman, and wise, and quiet?" 
+
+"I don't know!" 
+
+Mr. Digby thought it was not best to press matters further. He put Rotha 
+into the wagon again and drove back to the hotel. Quiet she was, at any 
+rate, now; he did not even see any more tears; but alas, of all the 
+things in the world which she had been so glad to look at on the way 
+down, she saw nothing on the way back. Driving or sailing, it was all the 
+same; only when Mr. Digby put her into the omnibus at Whitehall he saw a 
+flash of something like terror which crossed her face and left it 
+blanched. But that was all. 
+
+He went into the invalid's room at Mrs. Marble's with trepidation. Rotha 
+however was merely less effusive and more hasty than usual in her 
+greetings to her mother, and after a kiss or two turned away "to get her 
+things off," as she said. And when Mrs. Cord unluckily asked her in 
+passing, if she had had a pleasant day? Rotha choked, but managed to get 
+out that it had been "as good as it could be." What she went through in 
+the little hall room which served for closet and wardrobe, no one knew; 
+but Mr. Digby, who stayed purposely till she came back again, was 
+reassured to see that she was perfectly quiet, and that she set about her 
+wonted duties in a grave, collected way, more grave than usual, but quite 
+as methodical. He went away sighing, at the same time with a relieved 
+heart. One of the hard things he had had to do in his life, was over. 
+
+Mr. Digby however, as he walked homeward to his hotel, saw the 
+difficulties yet in store for him. How in the world was he to perform his 
+promise of taking care of this wildfire girl? Her aunt surely, would be 
+the fittest person to be intrusted with her. If he only knew what sort of 
+person Mrs. Busby really was, and how much of Mrs. Carpenter's story 
+might have two sides to it? The lady was not in the city, or he would 
+have been tempted to go and see her at once, for the purpose of studying 
+her and gathering information. Nothing of the kind was possible at 
+present; and he could only hope that Mrs. Carpenter's frail life would be 
+prolonged until her sister's return to New York would lift, or might 
+lift, one difficulty out of his path. 
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. 
+
+
+FORT WASHINGTON. 
+
+
+No such hope was to be realized. With all that care and kindness could 
+do, the sick woman failed more and more. The great heats weakened her. 
+The drives in the Park were refreshing, but alas, fatiguing, and 
+sometimes had to be relinquished; and this happened again and again. 
+Rotha behaved unexceptionably; was devoted to the service of her mother; 
+untiring, and unselfish, and quiet; "another girl," Mrs. Cord said. Poor 
+child! she was another girl in more ways than one; her fiery brightness 
+of spirits was over, her cheeks grew thin, her eyes had dark rings round 
+them, and their brown depths were heavy with a shadow darker yet. 
+Energetic she was, as ever, but in a more staid and womanly way; the 
+gladness of her doings was gone. Still, Mrs. Carpenter never saw her 
+weep. In the evenings, or in the twilight, when there was nothing 
+particular to be done, the child would nestle close to her mother, lay 
+her head in her lap or rest it against her knee, and sit quiet. Still, at 
+least, if not quiet; Mrs. Carpenter did sometimes fancy that she felt the 
+drawing of a convulsive breath; but if she spoke then to Rotha, Rotha 
+would answer with a specially calm and clear voice; and her mother did 
+not get at her sorrow, if it were that which moved her. And Mrs. 
+Carpenter was too weak now to try. 
+
+Mr. Digby came as usual, constantly. It was known to none beside himself, 
+that he staid in town through the hot July and August days for this 
+purpose solely. He saw that his sick friend grew weaker every day, yet he 
+did not expect after all that the end would come so soon as it did. He 
+had yet a lingering notion of bringing the sisters together, when Mrs. 
+Busby should return. He was thinking of this one August afternoon as he 
+approached the house. Mrs. Marble met him in the hall. 
+
+"Well, Mr. Digby,--it's all up now!" 
+
+The gentleman paused on his way to the stairs and looked his inquiry. 
+
+"She aint there. Warn't she a good woman, though!" And Mrs. Marble's face 
+was all quivering, and some big tears fell from the full eyes. 
+
+"_Was?_" said Mr. Digby. "You do not mean--" 
+
+"She's gone. Yes, she's gone. And I guess she's gone to the good land; 
+and I guess she aint sorry to be free; but--_I_'m sorry!" 
+
+For a few minutes the kind little woman hid her face in her apron, and 
+sadly blotched with tears the apron was when she took it down. 
+
+"It's all over," she repeated. "At two o'clock last night, she just 
+slipped off, with no trouble at all. And the house does feel as lonely as 
+if fifty people had gone out of it. I never see the like o' the way I 
+miss her. I'd got to depend on her living up there, and it was good to 
+think of it; there warn't no _noise_, more'n if nobody had been up there; 
+but if I aint good myself and I don't think I be--I do love to have good 
+folks round. She _was_ good. I never see a better. It's been a blessin'  
+to the house ever since she come into it; and I always said so. An' she's 
+gone!" 
+
+"Where is Rotha?" 
+
+"Rotha! she's up there. I guess wild horses wouldn't get her away. I 
+tried; I tried to get her to come down and have some breakfast with me; 
+but la! she thinks she can live on air; or I suppose she don't think 
+about it." 
+
+"How is she?" 
+
+"Queer. She is always a queer child. I can't make her out. And I wanted 
+to consult you about her, sir; what's to be done with Rotha? who'll take 
+care of her? She's just an age to want care. She'll be as wild as a hawk 
+if she's let loose to manage herself." 
+
+"I thought she was very quiet." 
+
+"Maybe, up stairs. But just let anybody touch her down here, in a way she 
+don't like, and you'd see the sparks fly! If you want to know how, just 
+take and knock a firebrand against the chimney back." 
+
+"Who would touch her, here?" asked the gentleman. 
+
+"La! nobody, except with a question maybe, or a bit of advice. I 
+shouldn't like to take hold of her any other way. I never did see a more 
+masterful piece of human nature, of fourteen years old or any other age. 
+She aint a bad child at all; I'm not meaning that; but her mother let her 
+have her own way, and I guess she couldn't help it. It'll be worse for 
+Rotha now, for the world aint like that spring chair you had fetched for 
+her poor mother. You've been an angel of mercy in that room, sure 
+enough." 
+
+Mr. Digby passed the good woman and began to ascend the stairs. 
+
+"I wanted to ask you about Rotha," Mrs. Marble persisted, speaking up 
+over the bannisters, "because, if that was the best, I would take her 
+myself and bring her up to my business. I don't know who is to manage 
+things now, or settle anything." 
+
+"I will," said Mr. Digby. "Thank you, Mrs. Marble; I will see you again." 
+
+"'Thank you, Mrs. Marble, I don't want you,' that means," said the little 
+woman as she retreated to her own apartments. "There's somebody else a 
+little bit masterful, I expect. Well, it's all right for the men, I 
+s'pose, at least if they take a good turn; any way, we can't help it; but 
+for a girl that aint fifteen yet,--it aint so agreeable. And poor child! 
+who'll have patience with her now?" 
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Digby went up stairs and softly opened the door of the 
+sitting room. For some time ago, since Mrs. Carpenter became more feeble, 
+he had insisted on her having her old sleeping apartment again, other 
+quarters being found or made for Mrs. Cord in the house. Mrs. Cord had 
+naturally assumed the duties of her profession, which was that of a 
+nurse; for the sake of which, knowing that they would be needed, Mr. 
+Digby had first introduced her here. 
+
+At the window of the sitting room, looking out into the street, Rotha was 
+sitting listlessly. No one else was in the room. She turned her head when 
+she heard Mr. Digby's footsteps, and the face he saw then smote his 
+heart. It was such a changed face; wan and pale, with the rings round the 
+eyes that come of excessive weeping, and a blank, dull expression in the 
+eyes themselves which was worse yet. She did not move, nor give any 
+gesture of greeting, but looked at the young man entering as if neither 
+he nor anything else in the world concerned her. 
+
+Mr. Digby felt then, what everybody with a heart has felt at one time or 
+another, that the office of comforter is the most difficult in the world. 
+In one thing at least he imitated Job's friends; he was silent. He came 
+close up to the girl and stood there, looking down at her. But she turned 
+her wan face away from him and looked out of the window again. She 
+looked, but he was sure she saw nothing. He did not venture to touch her; 
+he saw that she was not open to the least token of tenderness; such a 
+token would surely turn her apathetic calm into irritation. Perhaps even 
+his standing there had some such effect; for after a little while, Rotha 
+said, 
+
+"Won't you sit down, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+He sat down, and waited. However, people do not live in these days to be 
+several hundred years old; and proportionately, seven days of silence 
+would be more of that sort of sympathy than can be shewn since Job's 
+time. Yet what to say, Mr. Digby was profoundly doubtful. Finding nothing 
+that would do, of his own, he took his little Testament from his pocket, 
+and turning the leaves aimlessly came upon the eleventh chapter of the 
+Gospel of John. He began at the beginning and read slowly and quietly on 
+till he came to the words, 
+
+'"Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother 
+had not died. But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, 
+God will give it thee. 
+
+"'Jesus said unto her, Thy brother shall rise again.'--" 
+
+"Please don't, Mr. Digby!" said Rotha, who after a few verses had buried 
+her face in her hands. 
+
+"Don't what?" 
+
+"Don't read any more." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"I know how it goes on. I know what he did. But he will not do that--
+here." 
+
+"Yes, he will. Not immediately, but by and by." 
+
+"I don't care for by and by." 
+
+"Yes you do, Rotha. By and by the Lord Jesus will come again; and when he 
+comes he will send his angels to gather up and bring to him all his 
+people who are then living, scattered about in the world, and at the same 
+time all his people who once lived and have died shall be raised up. Then 
+will come your dear mother, with the rest, in beauty and glory." 
+
+"But," said Rotha, bursting out into violent sobs, "I don't know where I 
+shall be!"-- 
+
+The paroxysm of tears and sobs that followed, startled Mr. Digby; it was 
+so extreme in its passion beyond anything he had ever seen in his life; 
+even beyond her passion on the sea shore. It seemed as if the girl must 
+almost strangle in her convulsive oppression of breath. He tried soothing 
+words, and he tried authority; and both were as vain as the recoil of 
+waves from a rock. The passion spent itself by degrees, and was succeeded 
+by a more gentle, persistent rain of tears which fell quietly. 
+
+"Rotha," said Mr. Digby gravely, "that is not right." 
+
+"Very likely," she answered. "How are you going to help it?" 
+
+"I cannot; but you can." 
+
+"I _can't!_" she exclaimed, with almost a cry. "When it comes, I must." 
+
+"No, my child; you must learn self-command." 
+
+"How can I?" she said doggedly. 
+
+"By making it your rule, that you will always do what is _right_--not 
+what you like." 
+
+"It never was my rule." 
+
+"Perhaps. But do you mean that it never shall be?" 
+
+There followed a long silence, during which Rotha's tears gradually 
+stilled; but she said nothing, and Mr. Digby let her alone. After this 
+time, she rose and came to him and laid one hand half timidly, half 
+confidingly, upon his shoulder. 
+
+"Mr. Digby," she said softly, "because I am so wicked, will you get tired 
+and forsake me?" 
+
+"Never!" he answered heartily, putting his arm round the forlorn child 
+and drawing her a little nearer. And Rotha, in her forlornness and in the 
+gentle mood that had come over her, laid her head down on his shoulder, 
+or rather in his neck, nestling to him. It was an unconscious, mute 
+appeal to his kindness and _for_ his kindness; it was a very unconscious 
+testimony of Rotha's trust and dependence on him; it was very child-like, 
+but coming from this girl who was so nearly not a child, it moved the 
+young man strangely. He had no sisters; the feeling of Rotha's silky, 
+thick locks against the side of his face and the clinging appeal of her 
+hand and head on his shoulder, gave him an entirely new sensation. All 
+that was manly in him stirred to meet the appeal, and at the same time 
+Rotha took a suddenly different place in his thoughts and regards. He was 
+glad Mrs. Cord was not there to see; but if she had been, I think he 
+would have done just the same. He drew the girl close to him, and laid 
+his other hand tenderly upon those waving, thick, dark locks of hair. 
+
+"I will never forsake you, Rotha. I will never be tired. You shall be 
+like my own little sister; for your mother left you in my charge, and you 
+belong to me now, and to nobody else in the world." 
+
+She accepted it quietly, making no response at all; her violent passion 
+had been succeeded by a gentle, subdued mood. Favourable for saying 
+several things and making sundry arrangements; only that just then was 
+not the time that would do. Both of them remained still and silent, Mr. 
+Digby thinking this among other things; poor Rotha was hardly thinking at 
+all, any more than a shipwrecked man just flung ashore by the waves, and 
+clinging to the rock that has saved him from sweeping out to sea again, 
+lie blesses the rock, maybe, but it is no time for considering anything. 
+The one idea is to hold fast; and Rotha mentally did it, with an 
+intensity of trust and clinging that her protector never guessed at. 
+
+"Then I must do what you say, now?" she remarked after a while. 
+
+"I suppose so," he answered, much struck by this tone of docility. 
+
+"I will try, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Will you trust me too, Rotha?" 
+
+"For what?" 
+
+"I mean, will you trust me that what I do for you, or want you to do, is 
+the best thing to be done?" 
+
+Rotha lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. 
+
+"What do you want me to do?" she asked. 
+
+"Nothing, to-day; by and by, perhaps many things. My question was 
+general." 
+
+"Whether I will trust that what you say is the best?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Mr. Digby, mightn't you be mistaken?" 
+
+"Rotha, might not you? And would it not be more likely?" 
+
+Rotha began to reflect that in her past life she had not been wont to 
+give such unbounded trust to anybody; not even to her father, and not 
+certainly to her mother. She had sometimes thought them mistaken; how 
+could she help that? and how could she help it in any other case, if 
+circumstances warranted it? But with the thought of her mother, tears 
+rose again, and she did not speak. Just then Mrs. Cord came in. 
+
+"O I am glad you are there, sir!" she began. "I wanted to speak to you, 
+if you please." 
+
+Mr. Digby unclosed his arm from about Rotha, and she withdrew quietly to 
+her former station by the window. The other two went into the adjoining 
+room, and there Mrs. Cord received instruction and information as to 
+various points of the arrangements for the next few days. 
+
+"And what will I do with Rotha, sir?" she asked finally. 
+
+"Do with her? In what respect?" 
+
+"She won't eat, sir." 
+
+"She will, I fancy, the next time it is proposed to her." 
+
+"She's very hard to manage," said Mrs. Cord, shaking her head. "She will 
+have her own way, always." 
+
+"Wel--let her have it." 
+
+"But other people won't, sir; and I think it's bad for her. She's had it, 
+pretty much, all along; but now--she don't care for what I say, no more'n 
+if I was a post! Nor Mrs. Marble, nor anybody. And is Mrs. Marble going 
+to take her, sir?" 
+
+"Not at all. Her mother left her in my care." 
+
+"Oh!--" said the good woman, with a rather prolonged accent of 
+mystification and disapprobation; wondering, no doubt, what disposal Mr. 
+Digby could make of her, better than with Mrs. Marble; but not venturing 
+to ask. 
+
+"Nothing can be done, till after the funeral," the young man went on. 
+"Take all the care of her you can until then. By the way, if you can give 
+me something to eat, I will lunch here. If you have nothing in the house, 
+I can get something in a few minutes." 
+
+Mrs. Cord was very much surprised; however, she assured Mr. Digby that 
+there was ample supply in the house, and went on, still with a mystified 
+and dissatisfied feeling, to prepare and produce it. She knew how, and 
+very nicely an impromptu meal was spread in a few minutes. Mr. Digby 
+meanwhile went out and got some fruit; and then he and Rotha sat down 
+together. Rotha was utterly gentle and docile; did what he bade her and 
+took what he gave her; indeed it was plain the poor child was in sore 
+need of food, which she had had thus far no heart to eat. Mr. Digby 
+prolonged the meal as much as he could, that he might spend the more time 
+with her; and when he went away, asked her to lie down and go to sleep. 
+
+Those must be heavy days, he knew, till the funeral was over. What then? 
+It was a question. Mrs. Busby would not be in town perhaps before the end 
+of September; and here it was the middle of August. Near two months of 
+hot weather to intervene. What should he do? He would willingly be out of 
+the city himself; and for Rotha, the spending all these weeks in her 
+mother's old rooms, in August weather, and with Mrs. Cord and Mrs. Marble 
+for companions, did not seem expedient. It would be good for neither body 
+nor mind. But he could not take her to any place of public resort; that 
+would not be expedient either. He pondered and pondered, and was very 
+busy for the next two or three days. 
+
+The result of which activity was, that he took rooms in a pleasant house 
+at Washington Heights, overlooking the river, and removed Rotha there, 
+with Mrs. Cord to look after her. But as he himself also took up his 
+abode in the house, Mrs. Cord's supervision was confined to strictly 
+secondary matters. He had his meals in company with Rotha, and was with 
+her most of the time, and was the sole authority to which she was obliged 
+to refer. 
+
+It was an infinite blessing to the child, whose heart was very sore, and 
+who stood in need of very judicious handling. And somewhat to Mr. Digby's 
+surprise, it was not a bore to himself. The pleasure of ministering is 
+always a pleasure, especially when the need is very great; it is also a 
+pleasure to excite and to receive affection; and he presently saw, with 
+some astonishment, that he was doing this also. Certainly it was not a 
+thing in the circumstances to be astonished at; and it moved Mr. Digby 
+so, simply because he was so far from thinking of himself in his present 
+plan of action. All the pleasanter perhaps it was, when he saw that the 
+forlorn girl was hanging upon him all the dependence of a very trusting 
+nature, and giving to him all the wealth of a passionate power of loving. 
+This came by degrees. 
+
+At first, in a strange place and with new surroundings and utterly 
+changed life, the girl was exceedingly forlorn. The days passed in 
+alternations of violent outbreaks of grief and fits of seeming apathy, 
+which I suppose were simply nature's reaction from overstrain and 
+exhaustion. The violence she rarely shewed in Mr. Digby's presence; Rotha 
+was taking her first lessons in self-command; nevertheless he saw the 
+work that was going on, knew it must be, for a time, and wisely abstained 
+from interference with it. "There is a time to weep"; and he knew it was 
+now; comfort would be mockery. He was satisfied that Rotha should have so 
+much diversion from her sorrow as his presence occasioned; that she 
+should be obliged to meet him at meals, and to behave then with a certain 
+degree of outward calm, and the necessary attention to little matters; 
+all useful in a sort of slow, unnoticed way. Otherwise for a few days he 
+let her alone. But then he began to give her things to do. Lessons were 
+taken up again, by degrees multiplied, until Rotha's time was well filled 
+with occupation. It went very hard at first. Rotha even ventured on a 
+little passive rebellion; even declared she could not study. Mr. Digby 
+shewed her that she could; helped her, led her on, and let her see 
+finally that he expected certain things of her, which she could not 
+neglect without coming to an open rupture with him. That was impossible. 
+Rotha bent her will to do what was required of her; and from that time 
+the difficulty of Mr. Digby's task was over. She began soon to be 
+interested again in what she was about and to make excellent progress. 
+Then Mr. Digby would put himself in a hammock on the piazza or out under 
+a great walnut-tree, and make Rotha read to him, and incite her to talk 
+of what she read; or he would give her lessons in drawing; both occasions 
+of the utmost gratification to Rotha; and when the scorching sun had got 
+low down over the Palisades, he would take her in an easy little vehicle 
+and go for a long drive. So one way and another they came to be together 
+all the time. And after the first miserable days were past, and Rotha had 
+been constrained to busy herself with something besides herself; her 
+mental powers called into vigorous exertion and furnished with an 
+abundant supply of new food; by degrees a sort of enjoyment began to 
+creep into her life again, and grew, and grew. It was a help, that 
+everything was so strange about her. Even her own dress. 
+
+"Mrs. Cord," Mr. Digby had said in the first week of this new life,--"how 
+is Rotha off for clothes?" 
+
+"Well, sir," said the nurse, "of course they were people not likely to 
+have much of that sort of thing; but Rotha has what will do her through 
+the warm season." 
+
+"But is she supplied as a young lady ought to be, with everything 
+needful?" 
+
+"As a young lady!--no, sir. It's what she never set up for, and don't 
+need, and knows nothing about. Her mother was a very good woman, and 
+didn't pretend to dress her as a young lady. But she's comfortable." 
+
+Mr. Digby half smiled at the collocation of things, however he went on 
+with full seriousness. 
+
+"She will go to school by and by, and she will go there as a young lady. 
+I wish, Mrs. Cord, you would see to it, as far as you know, that she has 
+a full supply of everything. Go to one of the best shops for outfits and 
+get plenty of every thing and of good quality, and send the bills to me. 
+And get Mrs. Marble to make her some dresses." 
+
+"Mourning, sir?" 
+
+"No. Simple things, but no black." 
+
+"I asked, because it's customary, sir." 
+
+"It's a bad custom; better broken." 
+
+"Then what shall I get, sir?" asked Mrs. Cord with unwonted stolidity. 
+
+"You need not get anything. I will see to it myself. Only the linen and 
+all that, Mrs. Cord, which I should not know how to get. The rest I will 
+take care of." 
+
+And he took such good care, that the good woman was filled with a 
+displeased surprise which was inexplicable. Why should she be displeased? 
+Yet Mrs. Cord was quite "put about," as she said, when the things came 
+home. They were simple things, indeed; a few muslins and ginghams and the 
+like. But the ginghams were fine and beautiful, and the muslins of 
+delicate patterns and excellent quality; and with them came a set of fine 
+cambrick handkerchiefs, and ruffles, and lace, and a little parasol, and 
+a light summer wrap; for Rotha had nothing to put on that made her fit to 
+go to drive with her guardian. He had taken her, all the same, dressed as 
+she was, but it seems he thought there must be a change in this state of 
+things. Mrs. Cord was full of dissatisfaction; and when she took the 
+dresses to Mrs. Marble to be made up, the two good women held a regular 
+pow wow over them. 
+
+"Muslin like that!" cried the little mantua-maker with an expression of 
+strong distaste. "Why that _never_ cost less than fifty cents, Mrs. Cord! 
+My word, it didn't." 
+
+"Just think of it! And for that girl, who never wore anything but 
+sixpenny calico if she could get it. Men are the stupidest!--" 
+
+"That ashes-of-roses lawn is the prettiest thing I've seen yet. Mrs. 
+Cord, she don't want all these?" 
+
+"So I say," returned the nurse; "but I wasn't consulted. That aint all; 
+you should have seen the ruffles, and the ribbands, and the 
+pockethandkerchiefs; and then he took her somewhere, Stewart's, I 
+shouldn't wonder, and got her gloves and gloves; and then a lovely 
+Leghorn hat, with a brim wide enough to swallow her up. And now you must 
+make up these muslins, and let us have one soon; for my master is in a 
+hurry." 
+
+The little mantua-maker contemplated the muslins, and things generally. 
+
+"There's not the first sign o' black among 'em all! Not a line, nor a 
+sprig, nor a dot." 
+
+"Maybe that's English ways," returned the nurse; "but if it is, I never 
+heerd so before." 
+
+"Well I like to see mournin' put on, if it's only respect," went on the 
+dress-maker; "and a girl hadn't ought to be learnt to forget her own 
+mother, before she's well out of sight. I'd ha' dressed her in black, 
+poor as I am, and not a sign o white about her, for one year at least. I 
+think it looks sort o' rebellious, to do without it. Why I've known folks 
+that would put on mourning if they hadn't enough to eat; and I admire 
+that sort o' sperit." 
+
+The nurse nodded. 
+
+"Just look here, now! What's he thinkin' about, Mrs. Cord?" 
+
+"Just that question I've been askin' myself, Mrs. Marble; and I can't get 
+no answer to it." 
+
+"What's he goin' to do with her?" 
+
+"He says, send her to school." 
+
+"These aint for school dresses." 
+
+"O no; these are to go ridin' about in, with him." 
+
+"Well _I_ think, somebody ought to take charge of her. A young man like 
+that, aint the person to do it Taint likely he's goin' to bring her up to 
+marry her, I suppose." 
+
+"She's too young for such thoughts," said the nurse. 
+
+"She's young, but she aint far from bein' older," Mrs. Marble went on 
+significantly. "When a girl's once got to fifteen, she's seventeen before 
+you can turn round." 
+
+"There'll have to be somebody else to wait upon her, I know, besides me," 
+returned the nurse. "That aint my business. And it's all I'm wanted for 
+now. Nobody can say a word to my young lady if it isn't the gentleman 
+hisself; and she's with him all the while, and not with me. I aint goin' 
+to put up with it long, I can tell 'em." 
+
+Mr. Digby's pay was good however, and Mrs. Cord did not find it 
+convenient to give notice immediately; and also the muslin dresses were 
+made and well made, and sent home to the day. 
+
+All these her new possessions and equipments were regarded by Rotha 
+herself with a mixture of pleasure and mortification. The pleasure was 
+undeniable; the girl had a nice sense of the fitness of things, inborn 
+and natural and only needing cultivation. It was getting cultivation 
+fast. She had a subtle perception that the new style of living into which 
+she had come was superior to the old ways in which she had been brought 
+up; not merely in the vulgar item of costliness, but in the far higher 
+qualities of refinement and propriety and beauty. Her mother and father 
+had been indeed essentially refined people, of good sense and good taste 
+as far as their knowledge went. Rotha began to perceive that it had 
+stopped short a good deal below the desirable point. Also she felt 
+herself thoroughly in harmony with the new life, little as she had known 
+of it hitherto; and was keen to discern and quick to adopt every fresh 
+point of greater refinement in habits and manners. Mr. Digby now and then 
+at table would say quietly, "This is the better way, Rotha,"--or, 
+"Suppose you try it _so_."--He never had to give such a hint a second  
+time. He never had to tell her anything twice. What he did, Rotha held to  
+be "wisest, discreetest, best," the supreme model in everything; and she 
+longed with a kind of passion to be like him in these, and in all 
+matters. So it was with a gush of great satisfaction that the girl for 
+the first time saw herself well and nicely dressed. She knew the 
+difference between her old and her new garments, knew it correctly; did 
+not place the advantage of the latter in their colour or fineness; but 
+recognized quite well that now she looked as if she belonged to Mr. 
+Digby, while before, nobody could have thought so for a moment. The 
+pleasure was keen. Yet it mingled, as I said, with a sting of 
+mortification. Not simply that her new things were his gift and came to 
+her out of his bounty, though she felt that part of the whole business; 
+but it pained her to feel that her own father and mother had stood below 
+anybody in knowledge of the world and use of its elegant proprieties. 
+Rotha was perfectly clear-sighted, and knew it, from the very keen 
+delight with which she herself accepted and welcomed this new initiation. 
+
+The prevailing feeling however was the pleasure; though in Rotha's face 
+and manner I may say there was no trace of it, the first day she was what 
+Mr. Digby would have called "properly dressed," and met him in their 
+little sitting room. She came in gravely, (she was already trying to 
+imitate his quietness of manner) and came straight up to Mr. Digby where 
+he was standing in the window. Rotha waited a minute, and then looked up 
+at him, blushing. 
+
+"Do you like it?" she asked frankly. 
+
+His eye caught the new muslin, and he stepped back a step to take a view. 
+
+"Yes," he said smiling. "That's very well. Is it comfortable?" 
+
+"O yes." 
+
+"That's well," he said. "I always think it the prime question in a coat, 
+whether it is comfortable." 
+
+He came back to his place in the window, so making an end of the subject; 
+but Rotha had not said all that she wished to say. 
+
+"Mrs. Cord wanted me to put this on to-day, though it was not Sunday; was 
+she right?" 
+
+"Eight? certainly. Why should one be better dressed Sunday than any other 
+day?" 
+
+"I thought people did--" said Rotha, much confused in her ideas. 
+
+"And right enough," said Mr. Digby, recollecting himself, "in the cases 
+where the work to be done in the week would injure or soil a good dress. 
+But in other cases?--" 
+
+"On Sunday one goes to church," said Rotha. 
+
+"Well,--what then?" 
+
+"Oughtn't one to be better dressed to go to church?" 
+
+"Why should you?" 
+
+Rotha was so much confounded that she had nothing to say. This was 
+overturning all her traditions. 
+
+"What do you go to church for, Rotha?" 
+
+"I _ought_ to go--to think about God, I suppose." 
+
+"Well, and would much dressing help you?" 
+
+Rotha considered. "I don't think it helps much," she confessed. 
+
+"You say, you ought to go for such a reason;--what is your real reason?" 
+
+"For going? Because mother took me; or made me go without her." 
+
+"You are honest," said Mr. Digby smiling. "You will agree with me that 
+that is a poor reason; but I am glad you understand yourself, and are not 
+deceived about it." 
+
+"I don't think I understand myself, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"Because, sometimes I am in great confusion, and can _not_ understand 
+myself." 
+
+"Let me help you when those times come." 
+
+"One of the times is to-day," said Rotha in a low tone. 
+
+"Ah? What's the matter?" said he looking down kindly at her. Rotha had 
+laid her forehead against the edge of the window frame, and was looking 
+out with an intent grave eye which amused him, and made him curious too. 
+
+"Because I want to tell you something of how feel, Mr. Digby, and I 
+cannot."--(He had told her not to say _can't_, and now she never did.) 
+"It's all mixed up, and I don't know what comes first; and you will think 
+I am--ungrateful." 
+
+"Never in the world!"  said he heartily. "I shall never think that. I 
+think I know you pretty well, Rotha." 
+
+Yet he was hardly prepared for the look she gave him; a glance only, but 
+so intent, so warm, so laden with gratitude, ay, and so burdened with a 
+yet deeper feeling, that Mr. Digby was well nigh startled. It was not the 
+flash of brilliancy of which Rotha's eyes were quite capable; it was a 
+rarer thing, the dark glow of a hidden fire, true, and deep, and pure, 
+and unconscious of itself. It gave the young man something to think of. 
+
+
+CHAPTER X. 
+
+
+L'HOMME PROPOSE. 
+
+
+Mr. Digby thought of it a good deal. He was obliged to recognize the 
+fact, that this friendless child was pouring upon him all the affection 
+of a very passionate nature. Child, he called her in his thoughts, and 
+yet he knew quite well that the time was not distant when Rotha would be 
+a child no longer. And already she loved him with the intensity of a 
+concentrated power of loving. Certainly this was not what Mr. Digby 
+wished, or had in any wise contemplated as possible, and it seemed to him 
+both undesirable and inconvenient; and yet, it is sweet to be loved; and 
+he could not recall that intense look of devotion without a certain 
+thrill. Because of its beauty, he said to himself; but it was also 
+because of its significance. He read Rotha; he knew that she was one of 
+those natures which have a great tendency to concentration of affection; 
+with whom the flow of feeling is apt to be closed in to a narrow channel, 
+and in that channel to be proportionately sweeping and powerful. What 
+training could best be applied to correct this tendency, not happy for 
+the possessor, nor beneficent in its effects upon others? These are the 
+sort of natures that when untrained and ungoverned, use upon occasion the 
+dagger and the poison cup; or which even when not untrained are in 
+danger, in certain cases of shipwreck, of going to pieces altogether. In 
+danger at all times of unwise, inconsiderate acting; as when such a 
+stream meets with resistance and breaks its bounds, spreading waste and 
+desolation where it comes. Truly, he trusted that this little girl's 
+future might be so sheltered and cared for, that no such peril might 
+overtake her; but how could he know? What could he do? and what anyhow 
+was to be the outcome of all this? It was very pleasant to have her love 
+him, but he did not want her to love him too well. At any rate, _he_ could 
+not be her tutor permanently; he had something else to do, and if he had 
+not, the arrangement would be inadmissible. Mrs. Busby would return to 
+town in a few weeks, and then-- Yes, there was nothing else to do. Rotha 
+must go under her aunt's care, for the present. How would they agree? Mr. 
+Digby did not feel sure; he had an anticipation that the change would be 
+a sore trial to Rotha. But--it must be made. 
+
+He lay in his hammock one day, thinking all this over. Rotha was sitting 
+near him drawing. She was always near him when she could be so, though a 
+spaniel is not more unobtrusive. Nor indeed half as much so; for a pet 
+dog will sometimes try to attract attention, which Rotha never did. She 
+was content and happy if she could be near her one friend and glance at 
+him from time to time. And lately Rotha had become extremely fond of her 
+pencil; I might say, of all the studies Mr. Digby put before her. 
+Whatever he wished her to do, she did with a will. But drawing had grown 
+to be a passion with her, and naturally she was making capital progress. 
+She sat absorbed in her work, her eyes intently going from her model to 
+her paper and back again; nevertheless, every now and then one swift 
+glance went in Mr. Digby's direction. No model, living or dead, equalled 
+in her eyes the pleasantness of his face and figure. He caught one of 
+those glances; quick, wistful, watchful, and meeting his eye this time, 
+it softened with an inexplicable sort of content. The young man could 
+have smiled, but that the look somehow gave him a touch of pain. He 
+noticed Rotha more particularly, as she sat at her drawing. He noticed 
+how she had changed for the better, even in the few weeks since they came 
+to Fort Washington; how her face had refined, grown gentle and quiet, and 
+her manners correspondingly. He noticed what a good face it was, full of 
+intelligence and latent power, and present sensitiveness; and 
+furthermore, a rare thing anywhere, how free from self-consciousness. 
+Full of life and of eager susceptibility as Rotha was always, she seemed 
+to have the least recollection of herself and her own appearance. She did 
+not forget her new dresses, for instance, but she looked at them from her 
+own standpoint and not from that of an imaginary spectator. Mr. Digby 
+drew an involuntary sigh, and Rotha looked up again. 
+
+"You like that work, Rotha," he said. 
+
+"Very much, Mr. Digby!" He had once told her to be moderate in her 
+expressions, and to say always less than she felt, rather than more. 
+Rotha never forgot, and was sedulously reserved in her manner of making 
+known what she felt. 
+
+"But Mr. Digby, it is very difficult," she went on. 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"To make anything perfect." 
+
+He smiled. "Very difficult indeed. People that aim so high are never 
+satisfied with what they do." 
+
+"Then is it better to aim lower?" 
+
+"By no means! He that is satisfied with himself has come to a dead stand-
+still; and will get no further." 
+
+"But must one be always dissatisfied with oneself?" 
+
+"Yes; if one is ever to grow to a richer growth and bring forth better 
+fruit. And anything that stops growing, begins to die." 
+
+Rotha gave him a peculiar, thoughtful look, and then went on with her 
+drawing. 
+
+"Understand me, Rotha," he said, catching the look. "I am talking of the 
+dissatisfaction of a person who is doing his best. The fact that one is 
+dissatisfied when not doing his best, proves simply that feeling is not 
+dead yet. There is no comfort to be drawn from that." 
+
+Rotha went on drawing and did not look up, this time. Mr. Digby 
+considered how he should say what he wanted to say. 
+
+"Rotha--" he began, "how is it with that question you were once concerned 
+about? Are you any nearer being a Christian?" 
+
+"I don't know, sir. I do not think I am." 
+
+"What hinders?" 
+
+"I suppose," said Rotha, playing with her pencil absently,--"the old 
+hindrance." 
+
+"You do not wish to be a Christian." 
+
+"Yes, sometimes I do. Sometimes I do. But I--cannot." 
+
+"I should feel happier about you, if that question were well settled." 
+
+"Why, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, answering rather something in his tone than 
+in his words, and looking up to get the reply. 
+
+"Because, Rotha, you take hold hard, where you take hold at all; and you 
+may take hold of something that will fail you." 
+
+Her eyes, and even a sudden change of colour, put a startled question to 
+him. He smiled as he answered, though again with a reminder of pain which 
+he did not stop to analyse. "No," he said, "I will never fail you, Rotha; 
+never voluntarily; but I have no command over my own life. I would like 
+you to have a trust that could never disappoint you; and there is only 
+One on whom such a trust can be lodged. He who is resting on Christ, is 
+resting on a rock." 
+
+"I know, Mr. Digby," said Rotha, in a subdued way. "I wish I was on such 
+a rock, too; but that don't change anything." 
+
+"Do you think you really wish to be a Christian, Rotha?" 
+
+"Because mother was,--and because you are," she said gravely; "but then, 
+_for myself_, I do not want it." 
+
+"What is likely to be the end?" 
+
+"_That_ don't change anything, either," said Rotha, not too lucidly. 
+
+"Most true!" said Mr. Digby. "Well, Rotha, I will tell you what I think. 
+I think you are your mother's child, and that you will not be left to 
+your own wilfulness. I am afraid, though, that you may have to go through 
+a bitter experience before the wilfulness is broken; and I want to give 
+you one or two things to remember when it comes." 
+
+"But why should it come?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Because I am afraid nothing else will bring you to seek the one Friend 
+that cannot be lost; and I think you are bound to find Him." 
+
+"But where will you be, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, now plainly much 
+disturbed. 
+
+"I do not know. I do not know anything about it." 
+
+"But I could not be so forlorn, if I had you." 
+
+"Then perhaps you will not have me." 
+
+At this, however, there came such flashes of changing feeling, of which 
+every change was a variety of pain, in the girl's face, that Mr. Digby's 
+heart was melted. He stretched out his hand and took hers, which lay limp 
+and unresponsive in his grasp, while distressed and startled eyes were 
+fixed upon him. 
+
+"I know nothing about it," he said kindly. "I have no foresight of any 
+such time. I shall never do anything to bring it about, Rotha. Only, if 
+it came by no doing of mine, I want you to have the knowledge of one or 
+two things which might be a help to you. Do you understand?" 
+
+She looked at him still silently, trying to read his face, as if her fate 
+were there. He met the look as steadily. On one side, a keen, searching, 
+suspicious, fearful inquiry; on the other a calm, frank, steadfastness; 
+till his face broke into a smile. 
+
+"Satisfied?" he asked. 
+
+"Then why do you speak so, Mr. Digby?" she said with a quiver in her lip. 
+
+"My child, this world is proverbially an uncertain and changing thing." 
+
+"I know it; but why should you make it more uncertain by talking in that 
+way?" 
+
+"I do not. I forestall nothing. I merely would like to have you provided 
+with one or two bits of knowledge; a sort of note of the way, if you 
+should need it. You are not superstitious, are you?" 
+
+"I do not know what is superstitious," said Rotha, her eyes still fixed 
+upon his face with an intentness which moved him, while yet at the same 
+time, he saw, she was swallowing down a great deal of disturbance. 
+
+"Well," he said, speaking very easily, "it is superstition, when people 
+think that anything beneath the Creator has power to govern the world he 
+has made--or to govern any part of it." 
+
+"I was not thinking of the government of the world," said Rotha, 
+
+"Only of a very small part of it,--the affairs of your little life. You 
+were afraid that being prepared for trouble might bring the trouble, in 
+some mysterious way?" 
+
+The girl was silent, and her eyes fell to the hand which held hers. What 
+would she do, if ever that hand ceased to be her protection? People of 
+Rotha's temperament receive impressions easily, and to her fancy that 
+hand was an epitome of the whole character to which it belonged. 
+Delicately membered, and yet nervously and muscularly strong; kept in a 
+perfection of care, and graceful as it was firm in movement; yet ready, 
+she knew, to plunge itself into anything where human want or human 
+trouble called for its help. Rotha loved the touch of it, obeyed every 
+sign of it, and admired every action of it; and now as she looked, two 
+big, hot tears fell down over her cheeks. The hand closed a little more 
+firmly upon her fingers. 
+
+"Rotha--you believe me?" he said. 
+
+"What, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"You believe me when I tell you, that I am never going to leave you or 
+lose you by any will or doing of mine--" 
+
+"By whose then?" said Rotha quickly. 
+
+"By nobody's else, either, I promise you--unless by your own." 
+
+"By mine!" said Rotha, and a faint smile broke upon her troubled face. 
+
+"Well, you believe me? And now, my child, that is all you and I can do. 
+And nevertheless, a time might come when you might want help and comfort, 
+that is all I am saying; and I want to give you one or two things to 
+remember in case such a time ever does come, and I am not at hand to ask. 
+Get your Bible, and a pencil." 
+
+He let her hand loose, and Rotha obeyed immediately. 
+
+"Find the fourth chapter of John, and read to the fourteenth verse." 
+
+Rotha did so. 
+
+"What do you think the Lord meant?" 
+
+Rotha studied, and would have said she "did not know," only she had found 
+by experience that Mr. Digby never would take that answer from her in a 
+case like the present. 
+
+"I suppose," she said, speaking slowly, and vainly endeavouring to find 
+words that quite suited her,--"he meant--something like-- He meant, that 
+he could give her something good, that would last." 
+
+Mr. Digby smiled. 
+
+"That would last always, and never fail, nor change, nor wear out its 
+goodness." 
+
+"But, Mr. Digby, I should not want to stop being thirsty, because I 
+should lose the pleasure of drinking." 
+
+Mr. Digby smiled again. "Did you think _that_ was what the Lord promised? 
+What would be the use of that 'well of water, springing up into 
+everlasting life'? No, he meant only, that thirst and thirst and thirst 
+as you will, the supply should always be at hand and be sufficient." 
+
+Rotha gave one of her quick glances of comprehension, which it was always 
+pleasant to meet. 
+
+"Then go on, and tell me what is this living water which the Lord will 
+give?" 
+
+"I suppose--do you mean--religion?" she said, after another pause of 
+consideration. 
+
+"Religion is a rather vague term--people understand very different things 
+under it. But if by 'religion' you mean the knowledge, the loving 
+knowledge, of God,--you are right. Living water, in the Bible, constantly 
+typifies the work of the Holy Spirit in the heart; and what He does, 
+where he is received, is, to shew us Christ." 
+
+"Then how can people be thirsty, after they have got the knowledge?" 
+inquired Rotha. 
+
+But Mr. Digby's smile was very sweet this time, and awed her. 
+
+"After you have once come to know and love a friend," said he, turning 
+his eyes upon Rotha, "are you satisfied, and want to see and hear no more 
+of him?" 
+
+"Is religion like that?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Just like that. What the Lord Jesus offers to give us is himself. Now 
+suppose the time come when you greatly desire to receive this gift, what 
+are you going to do?" 
+
+"I don't know. Pray?" 
+
+"Certainly. But how? There are different ways of praying; and there is 
+just one way which the Lord promises shall never miss what it asks for." 
+
+"I don't know but one way," said Rotha. 
+
+"Are you sure you know _one?_ It takes more than words to make a prayer. 
+But turn to the second chapter of Proverbs. Read the third and fourth and 
+fifth verses." 
+
+Rotha read, and made no comment. 
+
+"You see? You understand?" 
+
+"Yes, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"'If thou searchest for her as for hid treasures, _then_ shalt thou 
+understand, and find.'--You know how people search for hid treasures?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"They leave no stone unturned, they work by night and by day, they think 
+of nothing else, until their object is gained. Mark those two places, 
+Rotha, and mark them in the fly leaf of your Bible, 1. and 2." 
+
+"Suppose," he went on when she had done this, "suppose you have sought in 
+this way, and the light does not come, and you are in danger of losing 
+heart. Then turn to Hosea, sixth chapter and third verse. There you have 
+an antidote against discouragement. You shall know, 'if you _follow on_  
+to know the Lord;' if you do not give over seeking and grow tired of 
+praying. 'His going forth is prepared as the morning.' Blessed 
+words!"----
+
+"I do not know what they mean," said Rotha. 
+
+"Do you know how the morning is prepared?" 
+
+"No, sir." 
+
+"Do you know why the sun rises when morning comes?" 
+
+"It wouldn't be morning, if he didn't rise, would it?" 
+
+"No. Well, when the time comes," said Mr. Digby laughing. "Do you know 
+why the sun rises? and why does he not rise where he went down?" 
+
+"No--" said Rotha, her eyes kindling with intelligent curiosity. 
+
+Whereupon Mr. Digby turned himself out of his hammock, and coming to the 
+table gave Rotha her first lesson in astronomy; a lesson thoroughly 
+given, and received by her with an eagerness and a delight which shewed 
+that knowledge to her was like what the magnet is to the iron. She forgot 
+all about the religious bearing of the new subject till the subject 
+itself was for that time done with. Then Mr. Digby's questions returned 
+into the former channel. 
+
+"You see now, Rotha, how the morning is 'prepared,' do you?" 
+
+"Yes, Mr. Digby," she answered joyously. 
+
+"And sure to come. If the earth goes on turning round, it cannot help 
+coming. Even so: the Lord's coming is prepared and sure, for any one who 
+persistently seeks him. Keep on towards the east and you will certainly 
+see the sun rise."  
+
+"Yes," said Rotha, "I see. It is beautiful." 
+
+"Mark that No. 3 in the fly leaf! But Rotha, remember, anybody truly in 
+earnest and searching 'as for hid treasure,' will be willing to give up 
+whatever would render the search useless." 
+
+"Yes, of course. But what would?" said Rotha, though she was thinking 
+more of the improvised planetarium with which her imagination had just 
+been delighted. 
+
+"Turn once more to the fourteenth of John and read the 21st verse." But 
+Mr. Digby himself gave the words. 
+
+"'He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me; 
+and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; and I will love him, 
+and will manifest myself to him.'" 
+
+"That is somebody who has found the treasure, I think, Mr. Digby; it is 
+'he that _loveth me_.'" 
+
+"Quite true; nevertheless, Rotha, it remains a fact that nobody who is 
+not willing to do the Lord's will, can come to the knowledge of him." 
+
+"Mr. Digby, why are wrong things so easy, and right things so hard?" 
+
+"They are not." 
+
+"I thought they were," said Rotha in surprise. "Am I worse than other 
+people?" 
+
+"It all depends upon where you stand, Rotha. Would you find it easy to do 
+something that would cause me great pain?" 
+
+"No, Mr. Digby,--impossible." 
+
+"I believe it," he said. "Then just put the case that you loved Christ 
+much better than you do me; which would be the hard and the easy things 
+then?" 
+
+Rotha was silent. But the whole conversation had rather given new food 
+for the meditations it had interrupted and which had occasioned it. Where 
+was all this to end?--the young man asked himself. And when should it 
+end, in so far as the immediate state of things was concerned? As soon as 
+possible! his judgment said. Rotha was already clinging to him with a 
+devotion that would make the parting a hard business, even now; every 
+week would make it harder. Besides, he had other work to do, and could 
+not permanently play tutor. As soon as Mrs. Busby came home he would go 
+to her and broach the matter. That would be, for the present, the best 
+plan he could hit upon. A week or two more-- 
+
+Which calculations, like so many others of human framing, came to 
+nothing. A day or two later, driving in the Park one evening, a pair of 
+unruly horses coming at a run round a corner dashed into the little 
+phaeton which held Mr. Digby and Rotha, and threw them both out. The 
+phaeton was broken; Rotha was unhurt; Mr. Digby could not stand up. He 
+believed it was a sprain, he said; no more; but one foot was 
+unmanageable. 
+
+A carriage was procured, he was assisted into it, Rotha took her place 
+beside him, and the coachman was ordered to drive slowly. 
+
+A silent pair they were for some distance; and both faces very pale. 
+Rotha was the first one to speak. 
+
+"Mr. Digby--does it hurt much?" 
+
+"Rather, just now," he said forcing a smile. "Rotha, are you all right?" 
+
+"O yes. What can I do, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"There is nothing to be done, till we get home." 
+
+For which now Rotha waited in an impatience which seemed to measure every 
+yard of the way. Arrived at last, Mr. Digby was assisted out of the 
+phaeton, and with much difficulty into the house. Here he himself 
+examined the hurt, and decided that it was only a sprain; no doctor need 
+be sent for. 
+
+"Is a sprain bad?" asked Rotha, when the assistants had withdrawn. 
+
+"Worse than a broken bone, sometimes." 
+
+Mr. Digby had laid himself down upon the cushions of the lounge; sweat 
+stood on his brow, and the colour varied in his face. He was in great 
+pain. 
+
+"Where is Mrs. Cord?" 
+
+"She's out. She's gone to New York. I know she meant to go. What shall I 
+do for you, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"You cannot--" 
+
+"O yes, I can; I can as well as anybody. Only tell me what. Please, Mr. 
+Digby!"--Rotha's entreaty was made with most intense expression. 
+
+"Salt and water is the thing,--but the boot must come off. You cannot get 
+it off, nor anybody, except with a knife. Rotha, give me the clasp knife 
+that lies on my table over yonder." 
+
+Mr. Digby proceeded to open the largest blade and to make a slit in the 
+leg of his boot. The slit was enlarged, with difficulty and evident 
+suffering, till the whole top of the boot was open; but the ankle and 
+foot, the hardest part of the task, were still to do, and the swollen 
+foot had made the leather very tight. 
+
+"I cannot manage it," said Mr. Digby throwing down the knife. "I cannot 
+get at it. You'll have to send for a surgeon, after all, Rotha, to carve 
+this leather." 
+
+"Mr. Digby, may I try?" 
+
+"You cannot do it, child." But the answer was given in the exhaustion of 
+pain, and the young man lay back with closed eyes. Rotha did not hold 
+herself forbidden. She took the knife, and carefully, tenderly, and very 
+skilfully, she managed to free the suffering foot. It took time, but not 
+more, nor so much, as would have been needed to send for a doctor. 
+
+"Thank you!--that is great relief. Now the salt and water, Rotha." 
+
+With a beating heart, beating with joy, Rotha flew to get what was 
+wanted; flew only outside the door though, for in the room her motions 
+had no precipitation whatever. She came staidly and steadily, and 
+noiselessly. It was necessary to cut open also the stocking, to get that 
+off, but this was an easier matter; and then Rotha's fingers applied the 
+cold salt and water, bathing softly and patiently, with fingers that 
+almost trembled, they were so glad to be employed. For a long time this 
+went on. 
+
+"Rotha--" 
+
+"Yes, Mr. Digby," said the girl eagerly. 
+
+"What o'clock is it?" 
+
+"Seven, just." 
+
+"You have had no tea." 
+
+"Nor you, either. Will you have some now, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"You will. The foot is a great deal easier now, Rotha. Lay a wet cloth 
+over the ankle and let it alone for a while; and have some tea, dear." 
+
+Rotha obeyed, moving with the utmost delicacy of soft and quiet 
+movements. She made the foot comfortable; rang the bell, and desired the 
+kettle to be brought; and noiselessly arranged the table when the servant 
+had set the tea things upon it She made the tea then; and had just cut a 
+slice of bread and put it upon the toasting fork, when the door opened 
+and in came Mrs. Cord, her arms full of cloths and vials and a basin of 
+water. Rotha dropped the toasting fork and sprang towards her. 
+
+"What do you want?" she said. "What are you going to do?" 
+
+Her accent and action were so striking, that the woman paused, startled. 
+
+"There's a sprained ankle here--I'm coming to see it." 
+
+"No, you are not," said Rotha with great decision. "I have done all that 
+is necessary, and I am going to do all that is necessary. I can do it as 
+well as anybody; and I do not want you. You may carry all those things 
+away, Mrs. Cord. Mr. Digby is asleep; he is better." 
+
+"_You_ don't want me, maybe, Rotha, but Mr. Digby does. I've got what he 
+wants here, and I knows my business. My business is to take care of him." 
+She would have passed on. 
+
+"Stand back!" said Rotha, barring her way. "I tell you, he don't want 
+you, and you are not coming. Stand back! Take your things away. I will 
+manage all that is done here myself. You may go!"--The tone and action 
+were utterly and superbly imperious. 
+
+The woman paused again, yielding before the slight girl, as matter always 
+does yield to mind. 
+
+"What new sort o' behaviour is this?" she said however in high offence. 
+"_You_ to tell _me_ what I'm to do and not do! You're takin' a good deal  
+upon you, my young lady!" 
+
+"I take it," said Rotha, supremely. "Go! and send the girl here, if you 
+please. I heard her go up stairs just now. I want her to make a piece of 
+toast." 
+
+Mrs. Cord greatly displeased, withdrew, after a glance at the closed 
+eyelids on the sofa. The eyelids however were not so fast closed as they 
+might be; Rotha's first words, spoken somewhat more emphatically than 
+usual, had roused Mr. Digby out of his light slumber, and he had seen and 
+heard all that passed. He had seen it with not a little amusement; at the 
+same time it had given him new matter for thought. This was Rotha in a 
+new character. He had known indeed before, in a measure, the intense 
+nature of the girl; yet in his presence her manner was always subdued, 
+except in the passion of grief that burst all bounds. But this was 
+passion of another sort, and in that concentration of force which draws 
+out a kind of spiritual electricity from its possessor. He saw how it had 
+magnetized Mrs. Cord, and rendered her bulkiness passive. He had been 
+intensely amused to see the large woman standing face to face with the 
+slim girl, checked and indeed awed by the subtle lightning fire which 
+darted from Rotha's eyes and seemed to play about her whole person. Mrs. 
+Cord was fairly cowed, and gave way. And Rotha's bearing; instead of a 
+poor, portionless little girl, she might have been a princess of the 
+house royal, if she were judged of by her mien and manner. There was 
+nothing assumed or affected about it; the demonstration was pure nature, 
+Mr. Digby saw well enough; but what sort of a creature was this, to whom 
+such a demonstration could be natural? There was force enough there, he 
+saw, to bring the whole machinery into disorder and ruin, if the force 
+were not well governed and well guided, and the machinery wisely managed. 
+Who was to do this? Mrs. Busby? Mr. Digby was not sure yet what manner of 
+person Mrs. Busby was; and he felt more than ever anxious to find out. 
+And now a sprained ankle! 
+
+Meanwhile, Rotha having driven her adversary from the field, was making 
+peaceful arrangements. She had sent the toast to be made; seeing that Mr. 
+Digby's eyes were open, she carefully renewed the salt water application 
+to his ankle; poured out a cup of tea, and brought it with the plate of 
+toast to his side; where she sat down, the cup in one hand, the plate in 
+the other. 
+
+"What now, Rotha?" said he. 
+
+"Your tea, Mr. Digby. I hope it is good." 
+
+She looked and spoke as gentle as a dove, albeit full of energetic 
+alertness. 
+
+"And do you propose to enact dumb waiter?" 
+
+"If you want me to be dumb," she said. 
+
+He laughed. "Rotha, Rotha! this is a bad piece of work!" he said; but he 
+did not explain what he meant.--"That won't do. Call Marianne and let her 
+shove the table up to the sofa here--one corner of it." 
+
+"I like to hold the things, Mr. Digby, if you will let me." 
+
+"I don't like it. Call Marianne, Rotha, and we will take our tea 
+together. I am not a South Sea Islander." 
+
+"Suppose you were,--what then?" asked Rotha as she rang the bell. 
+
+"Then I suppose I should think it proper for the ladies of the family to 
+take tea after I had done." 
+
+The tea time was an occasion of unmitigated delight to Rotha, because she 
+could wait upon her protector. He was suffering less now, and except that 
+he was a prisoner seemed just as usual. After tea, however, he lay still, 
+with closed eyes again; and Rotha had nothing to do but take care of his 
+ankle and look at him. She thought it had never struck her before, what a 
+beautiful person he was. 
+
+I use the word advisedly, and that I may justify it I will try, what I 
+believe I have not done before, to describe Mr. Digby. He was not at all 
+one of a class, or like what one sees every now and then; in fact the 
+combination of points in his appearance was very unusual. His features 
+were delicately regular and the colour of skin fair; but all thought of 
+weakness or womanishness was shut out by the very firm lines of the lips 
+and chin and the gravity of the brow. His hair was light and curly, and a 
+fair moustache graced the upper lip; not overhanging it, but trained into 
+long soft points right and left. He wore no English whiskers nor beard. 
+Again, his hands were small and delicate, and the whole person of rather 
+slight build, as far as outline and contour were concerned; but the 
+joints were well knit and supple, and all the muscles and sinews as if 
+made of steel. Rather slow and easy, generally, in movement, he could 
+shew the spring and power of a cat, when it was necessary; nature and 
+training having done their best. He was habitually a grave person; the 
+gravity was sweet, but very decided, and even when crossed by a smile it 
+was not lost. So at least Rotha had always seen him. There were several 
+reasons for this; one being the yet unhealed wound left by the death of 
+his mother, to whom he had been devotedly attached, and another the 
+sudden death a year or more ago of the lady he was to have married. The 
+world knew nothing of these things, and set Mr. Digby down as a 
+ridiculously sober man, for a man in his circumstances. They gave him 
+also largely the reputation of haughtiness; while no one had more gentle 
+and brotherly sympathy with every condition of humankind, or shewed it 
+more graciously. He got the reputation partly, perhaps, by his real 
+separateness from the mass of men, and his real carelessness about the 
+things in which they take concern; more, however, it came from the 
+feeling of inferiority in his presence, which most people find it hard to 
+forgive a man. He was a welcome guest wherever he appeared; but very few 
+were acquainted with his real tastes and powers and inner nature, even as 
+Rotha knew them. 
+
+She knew something of them. She did not misjudge him; but on the contrary 
+dwelt on everything that belonged to him with a kind of worshipping 
+admiration. So she sat and looked at him this evening, and thought she 
+had never known before how beautiful he was; and the evening was not slow 
+to her, nor long, though it was utterly silent. 
+
+By and by came in Mrs. Cord, again with her hands full. 
+
+"I beg your pardon--can I do anything for you, sir?" 
+
+"No, thank you. I have had all the care I needed." 
+
+Rotha's heart had beat fearfully, and now it swelled in triumph. 
+
+"I have some liniment here, sir, that is an excellent thing for a 
+sprain--if a sprain it is; I wasn't allowed to examine." 
+
+"Nothing so good as salt and water. Mrs. Cord, let them make up a bed in 
+the next room for me. I had better not go up stairs." 
+
+So the nurse was dismissed, and Rotha confirmed in her office, to her 
+great joy. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+MRS. BUSBY. 
+
+
+The weeks that now followed were a time of happiness to Rotha, as perfect 
+as in her present circumstances it was possible for her to know. She was 
+allowed to minister to Mr. Digby, she was constantly with him, and 
+intercourse and lessons were tasted with redoubled zest. For she was kept 
+very busy at her old studies, and new ones were added; she read aloud a 
+good deal; Mr. Digby never shunned talk when she wanted information or 
+help in any puzzle; and the meal times, when ministry was varied and the 
+conversation ran upon lighter topics, were hours of unalloyed enjoyment. 
+I think these weeks were not disagreeable ones to the other party 
+concerned; however, he was constantly reminded of the need of making new 
+arrangements; and as soon as his ankle would permit his getting in and 
+out of a carriage, he was ready to go to Mrs. Busby's. But when at last 
+he was on the way, he thought to himself that he had another hard job on 
+his hands. How would Rotha bear uprooting again, and transplanting to 
+entirely different soil? she who took such terribly fast hold of any 
+ground that suited her. Would Mrs. Busby's family be such ground? If it 
+would not, if he saw cause to think it would not, Mr. Digby resolved she 
+should not be put there. But how was he to find out? He came into Mrs. 
+Busby's drawing room with the full measure of his usual gravity. 
+
+It was almost the end of October now, and the family had been long enough 
+returned from the country for the mistress of it to have her house put in 
+perfect winter order. Carpets were down, curtains were up; mirrors and 
+lamps were unswathed from their brown linen coverings; everything that 
+was metal shone with the polish put upon it, and everything that was 
+upholstery shewed soft and rich colours and draperies. It was all 
+harmonious, it was all very handsome; the fault was the fault of so many 
+rooms, a failure to shew cause why it should be at all. Nothing was done 
+there, nothing could be done; there was plush and satin and brocade and 
+gilding and lacquered wood; but no life. Even the fire, for there was a 
+fire, was a solid mass of firestones; a glowing grateful of hard coal; if 
+there was life in that, it was the life of mere existence. 
+
+Plenty of money! What else? 
+
+One of the great polished doors opened a little? softly, and the mistress 
+of the house came in. She was rather a contrast to it all. Perhaps she 
+had not yet made her toilette for the afternoon; she was in a very plain 
+dress, and came in drawing a shawl around her. Not a handsome shawl 
+either; the lady's whole appearance was most absolutely without 
+pretension, and so was her manner. But the manner was not artless; it 
+gave you the impression that she always knew what she was saying and had 
+a reason for saying it. And the face, which had once been handsome, and 
+might still have laid claim to some distinction, seemed likewise to lay 
+claim to nothing, beyond the possession of sense and discernment and 
+knowledge of the world. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode!" she said as she closed the door. "You are quite a 
+stranger." 
+
+She was far too acute to tell Mr. Digby how welcome a visiter he was. She 
+let the fact sufficiently appear in her smile and the tones of her 
+greeting. 
+
+"I think, you have been a stranger here too, Mrs. Busby. Were you not 
+late in returning to town?" 
+
+"Yes-- September was so warm! But I think eight months of the year is 
+sufficient to spend in the city. Soul and body want the cultivation of 
+nature for the other four; don't you think so? The ocean and the 
+mountains are better than books. There is enlargement of the faculties to 
+be sought, as well as stores for the memory." 
+
+"And what mountains, and what sea, have you been looking upon this 
+summer?" 
+
+"We have seen no mountains this year; we kept to the sea beach. Except 
+for a short interval. And you, Mr. Southwode? What have you done with 
+yourself?" 
+
+"My last achievement was to let somebody run into me, in the Park, and 
+sprain my ankle in consequence." 
+
+There followed of course inquiries and a full account of the affair. Mr. 
+Digby could not be let off with less; and then advice and recipes, in the 
+giving of which Mrs. Busby was quite motherly. 
+
+"And have you resolved at last to make your home in America?" she asked 
+after this. 
+
+"I make my home wherever I am," the young man replied, with his slight 
+grave smile. 
+
+"But surely you do not think it well for any ordinary mortal to imitate 
+the Wandering Jew, and have a settled home nowhere?" said Mrs. Busby, 
+shewing her white teeth, of which she had a good many and in good order. 
+
+"It may be best for some people," the young man said lightly. "But I came 
+to speak to you about a matter of business. Mrs. Busby, pardon me for 
+asking, had you once a sister?" 
+
+There was a change in the lady's face, marked enough, yet not so as to 
+strike any but a nice observer. The bland smile faded from her lips, the 
+lines about her mouth took a harder set, the eyes were more watchfully on 
+the alert. 
+
+"Yes," she said quietly, not shewing her surprise. "I have a sister." 
+
+"Have you heard from her lately?" 
+
+"No. Not lately." The eyes were keenly attentive now, the words a little 
+dry. She waited for what was to come next. As Mr. Digby paused, she 
+added, "Do you know her?" 
+
+"I have known her." 
+
+"In Medwayville? I did not know you had ever travelled in the western 
+part of the state." 
+
+"I have never been there. I knew Mrs. Carpenter here, in New York." 
+
+"In New York!" repeated Mrs. Busby. "She did not tell me-- When did you 
+know her in New York? I was not aware she had ever been here." 
+
+"She was here the early part of this summer. But she was very ill, and 
+failing constantly; and in July--did you know nothing of it?--she left us 
+all, Mrs. Busby." 
+
+"My sister? Did she _die_ here? Do you mean that?" 
+
+Mr. Digby bowed his head. The lady folded her arms, and removed her eyes 
+from his face. Her own face was a shade paler, yet immoveable. She sat as 
+if lost in thought for several minutes; in a silence which Mr. Digby was 
+determined this time he would not break. 
+
+"What brought my sister to New York, Mr. Digby?" Mrs. Busby at length 
+asked, stooping as she spoke to pick up a thread from the carpet at her 
+feet. 
+
+"I am afraid,--the difficulty of getting along at home, where she was." 
+
+"Her husband was dead, I knew," said the lady. "I gave Eunice permission 
+to go and occupy the old house, where we were brought up, and which by my 
+father's will came to me; and as I knew she had not done that, I had no 
+reason to suppose that she was not getting along comfortably. My sister 
+was one of those people who will not take advice, Mr. Digby; who will go 
+their own way, and whom nobody can help. She was here several months, 
+then?" 
+
+"More than that" 
+
+"More? How much more?" 
+
+"She came here before I had the pleasure of knowing her." 
+
+"Did she tell you anything of her story?" 
+
+"Something; and so I came, by a question or two, to find out that you 
+were her sister." 
+
+"Eunice separated herself from her family," Mrs. Busby said shortly; "and 
+such people always in time come to feel their mistake, and then they 
+charge the fault upon their family." 
+
+"Mrs. Carpenter did not seem to me inclined to charge fault upon anybody. 
+I never heard anything from her that shewed a censorious spirit." 
+
+Mrs. Busby opened her lips, and pressed them a little closer together. 
+Evidently she was minded to ask no more questions. Mr. Digby went on. 
+
+"Mrs. Carpenter had a daughter--" 
+
+"I know she had a daughter," Mrs. Busby said briskly. "Is she living?" 
+
+"Certainly." 
+
+"Pray, how old?" 
+
+"About--I believe, about fifteen." 
+
+"Where is she?" 
+
+"She is here." 
+
+"_Here!_ In whose care? and where is she?" 
+
+"She is in my care. It is about her I wished to speak to you." 
+
+"In _your_ care! But Mr. Southwode, that is very strange! How came my 
+sister to leave her child in your care?" 
+
+"She honoured me, I believe, with so much trust as to believe I would be 
+a faithful guardian," Mr. Digby said, with his extremely composed 
+gravity. 
+
+"But was there nobody else?" said the lady, for a moment forgetting 
+herself. 
+
+"Nobody else, whom Mrs. Carpenter thought as competent, or as 
+trustworthy," the young man said with the gleam of a smile. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode, I cannot allow that for a moment," Mrs. Busby said with 
+energy. "_I_ am the proper person to take charge of my sister's child,  
+and if you please I will assume the charge immediately. Where is she? She 
+ought to be under my roof." 
+
+"It occurred to me, that if you were so inclined, your house would be the 
+safest place for her; for the present at least." 
+
+"For the present and for always," said the lady decidedly. "Who else 
+should take care of her? Where can I find her, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"Nowhere. I will bring her to you, if you will allow me." 
+
+"Do you know the girl? do you know much of her, I mean?" 
+
+"Something--" Mr. Digby easily assented. 
+
+"And what is she, if you can tell?" 
+
+"I do not know that I _can_ tell, what you will find her. Do you not 
+think, Mrs. Busby, that a human character of any richness shews different 
+sides of itself to different persons, as varying affinities call out 
+corresponding developments?"
+
+"Then you call hers, a character of some richness?" 
+
+"I suppose I implied as much." 
+
+"And will you tell me what you have found her?" 
+
+"Pardon me; that would be an injustice to her. You would naturally look 
+to verify my impressions, and perhaps could not do it. It is unkind to 
+praise or blame anybody beforehand to third persons. You make it 
+impossible for the balance of judgment to swing clear." 
+
+"She ought to come here at once. Will you bring her to-morrow?" 
+
+"I think not to-morrow." 
+
+"Why not? When, then?" 
+
+"This is Thursday? Suppose we say, next week?" 
+
+"Next week! That is waiting very long. Where is she? I will go to see 
+her." 
+
+"Quite unnecessary," said Mr. Digby rising. "As soon as she is ready, and 
+I am ready, I will bring her; but not before Monday or Tuesday." 
+
+"Mr. Southwode," said Mrs. Busby, with a mixture of suspicion and 
+raillery in her look, which was but indifferently compounded, "if my 
+niece were a few years older, I should begin to suspect that you had 
+_reasons_ for being unwilling to put her out of your care." 
+
+The young man met her eyes with the grave, careless composure which was 
+habitual with him. 
+
+"I _have_ reasons," he said. "And I am not going to put her 'out of my 
+care.' I am only purposing to allow you, for the time being, a share in 
+the care, Mrs. Busby. A trust that is given to me, I do not resign." 
+
+The lady shut her lips a little tight. 
+
+"What school is your daughter attending?" Mr. Southwode went on. 
+
+"I am not sure where I shall send her this year. She has been going-- But 
+I am thinking of making a change. I do not know yet where she will be." 
+
+The gentleman remarked, that could be talked of another time; and took 
+his leave. Every trace of smiles disappeared from Mrs. Busby's face as he 
+closed the door behind him. She stepped to the window and drew down the 
+linen shade where the sun was coming too brightly in; and then she stood 
+for some minutes upon the hearth rug, grave and thoughtful, one eyebrow 
+arched in meditation as society never saw it arched. Her concluding 
+thought might be summed up thus:--"When she is under my care, my young 
+gentleman, I think she will _not_ be under yours. Preposterous!" 
+
+Mr. Digby had his thoughts too as he drove homeward. They will never get 
+on together, he said to himself. It will not be happy for Rotha, nor 
+easy. And yet--it is the best thing I can do for her just now. She must 
+have a woman's care; and whose could be so proper as her aunt's? Besides, 
+I shall see her frequently; I shall know all that concerns her, for Rotha 
+will tell me; and if things go wrong, I can at any time put in my hand 
+and set them straight. I am sorry--but this is the thing to do; and there 
+is no help for it. 
+
+In spite of all which certainty in his own mind, Mr. Digby looked forward 
+with positive uneasiness to the telling Rotha what was in store for her. 
+There was no help for that either; it must be done; and Mr. Digby was not 
+one to put off a duty because it was disagreeable. 
+
+The next morning Rotha was at her drawing again, and Mr. Digby lay on the 
+lounge, thinking how he should begin what he had to say. Rotha was 
+looking particularly well; fresh and bright and happy; very busily intent 
+over her drawing. How the girl had improved in these weeks, softened and 
+refined and grown mannerly. She has good blood in her, thought Mr. Digby; 
+her features shew it, and so do her instincts, and her aptitudes.----
+
+"How would you like to go to school, Rotha?" 
+
+She looked up, with the flash of interest and of feeling which came so 
+readily to her eye. 
+
+"I shouldn't like it as well as _this_, Mr. Digby,"--("this" meant the 
+present course and manner of her education;) "but I suppose you could not 
+go on teaching me always." 
+
+"I am not tired of it, Rotha; but I think it would be better in many 
+respects for you to be at school for a while. You will like it, too." 
+
+"When shall I go, Mr. Digby?" she asked in a subdued voice, without 
+looking up this time. 
+
+"The sooner the better, now. The schools have all begun their terms some 
+weeks ago. And then, Rotha, you must have a home in the city. You could 
+not live out here at Fort Washington, and attend school in New York. I 
+shall be obliged to go back to the city, too." 
+
+"Then I would like to go," said Rotha simply. 
+
+"But you must have more care than mine, my child; at least you must have 
+other care. You must have some lady friend, to look after you as I cannot 
+do. I am going to put you under your aunt's protection." 
+
+Rotha's pencil fell from her hand and she raised her head now. 
+
+"My aunt?" she repeated. 
+
+"Yes. Your mother's sister; Mrs. Busby. You knew you had an aunt in the 
+city?" 
+
+Rotha disregarded the question. She left her seat and came and stood 
+before the lounge, in the attitude of a young tragedy queen; her hands 
+interlocked before her, her face pale, and not only pale but spotted with 
+colour, in a way that shewed a startling interruption of the ordinary 
+even currents of the blood. 
+
+"O Mr. Digby," she cried, "not her! not her! Do not give me up to her!" 
+
+"Why not?" he asked gently. 
+
+"She is not good. She is not a good woman. I don't like her. I can't bear 
+the thought of her. I don't want to have anything to do with her.  
+_Please_, keep me from her! O Mr. Digby, don't let her have me!" These 
+words came out in a stream.
+
+"My dear Rotha, is this reasonable? What cause have you to dislike your 
+aunt?" 
+
+"Because she wasn't good to mother--she didn't love her--she wasn't kind 
+to her. She is not a good woman. She wouldn't like me. I don't like her 
+_dreadfully_, Mr. Digby!" 
+
+The words Rotha would have chosen she did not venture to speak. 
+
+"Hush, hush, child! do not talk so fast. Sit down, and let us see what 
+all this means." 
+
+"O Mr. Digby, you will not put me with her?" 
+
+"Yes, Rotha, it is the best. We will try it, at least. Why Rotha!--
+Rotha!--" 
+
+She had flung herself down on the floor, on her knees, with her head on a 
+chair; not crying, not a tear came; nor sobbing; but with the action of 
+absolute despair. It would have done for high tragedy. Alas, so it is 
+with trouble when one is young; it seems final and annihilating. Age 
+knows better. 
+
+"Rotha," Mr. Digby said very quietly after a minute, "why do you dislike 
+your aunt so? You do not know her." 
+
+"O Mr. Digby," cried the girl in accents of misery, "are you going to 
+give me up to somebody else? Are you going to give me up to _her?_" 
+
+"No. Not to her nor to anybody. I am not going to give you up to anybody. 
+Look here, Rotha. Look up, and bring your chair here and sit down by me, 
+and we will talk this over. Come!" 
+
+Yielding to the imperative tone in his words, she obeyed; rose up and 
+brought her chair close and sat down; but he was startled to see the 
+change in her face. It was livid; and it was woe-begone. She took her 
+place submissively; nevertheless he could perceive that there was a 
+terrible struggle of pain going on in the girl. He put out his hand, took 
+hers kindly and held it. 
+
+"Rotha--my child--I am not going to give you up to anybody," he repeated 
+gravely. 
+
+Rotha thought it practically amounted to that, to place her in her aunt's 
+house; words were not at command. A sort of sob wrung from her breast. 
+
+"What do you know about your aunt?" 
+
+"Not much,--but too much," Rotha laconically answered. 
+
+"Tell me what you know." 
+
+"I know she wasn't good to mother." Then, as Mr. Digby made no reply to 
+this unanswerable statement, she went on;--"She is a hard woman; she 
+didn't help her. She is rich, rich! and we were--She has everything in 
+the world; she can do whatever she likes; she rides about in her 
+beautiful carriage; and we--we were--you know!--we were--if it hadn't 
+been for you--" 
+
+Rotha had choked and swallowed several times, and then the gathered 
+passion overcame her. Thoughts and feelings and memories came like the 
+incoming waves on a level shore piling up one upon another, until they 
+could bear their own weight and rush no more and broke all together. The 
+girl had striven to command herself and prevent the outbreak which Mr. 
+Digby did not like; and the restraint had acted like the hindrance of the 
+underlying sands, and allowed the tide of feeling to swell till there was 
+no longer any check to it. Restraint was gone now, although Rotha did try 
+to keep her sobs down; passion and grief burst out now and then in a wail 
+of despair, and she struggled with the sobs which seemed to come from a 
+breaking heart. 
+
+Mr. Digby let the storm have its way, meanwhile feeling a renewed 
+presentiment that the aunt and niece would never get on well together. In 
+the granite of Mrs. Busby's composition there lay, he judged, a good deal 
+of iron, in the rough state of unpurified ore. Waves beat on such rock 
+without making much impression, only breaking themselves to pieces. Would 
+such encounters take place between them? Rotha's character was not soft, 
+and did not lack its iron either; but in another and much more refined 
+form, and in a widely different combination. Had he done well after all? 
+And yet what else could he do? And at any rate it was too late now to go 
+back. 
+
+He waited till the passion of the storm had somewhat lulled, and then 
+called Rotha gently. Gently, but there was a certain ring in his voice 
+too; and Rotha obeyed. She rose from the floor, dried her eyes and came 
+and stood by the couch. She was in no manner relieved; passion had merely 
+given place to an expression of helpless despair. 
+
+"Sit down, Rotha," said Mr. Digby. And when she had done it he took her 
+hand again. 
+
+"You ought not to allow yourself such outbursts," he went on, still very 
+gently. 
+
+"I could not help it. I tried--" 
+
+"I believe you tried; and for a time you did help it." 
+
+"I know it displeases you," she said. "I did not want to do so before 
+you." 
+
+"It is not because it displeases me, that I want you not to do it; but 
+because it is not right." 
+
+"Why not right?" she asked somewhat defiantly. 
+
+"Because it is not right for any one ever to lose command of himself." 
+
+Rotha seemed to prick up her ears at that, as if the idea were new, but 
+she said nothing. 
+
+"You will ask me again perhaps why? Rotha, if you lose command of 
+yourself, who takes it?" 
+
+Rotha's eye carried a startled inquiry now. "I suppose--nobody," she 
+said. 
+
+"Do you think we have such an enemy as we have, and that he will let such 
+an advantage go unimproved? No; when you lose command of yourself Satan 
+takes it,--and uses it." 
+
+"What does he do with it?" said Rotha in full astonishment. 
+
+"According to circumstances. To tempt you to wrong, or to tempt you to 
+folly; or if neither of those, to break down your mental and bodily 
+powers, so that you shall be weaker to resist him next time." 
+
+"Mr. Digby--do you _think_ so?" 
+
+"Certainly. And when people go on in a way like this, giving ground to 
+Satan, he takes all they give, until finally he has the whole rule of 
+them. Then they seem to their neighbours to be slaves of passion, or of 
+greed, or of drink; but really they are 'possessed of the devil,' and 
+those are the chains in which he holds them." 
+
+"Mr. Digby," said Rotha humbly, "do you think I have been losing ground?" 
+
+"I think you have been gaining ground, for a good while." 
+
+"I am sorry," she said simply. "But how can I help it, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"You remember," he said. "You must be under one king or the other; there 
+is no middle ground. 'Whosoever committeth sin, is the servant of 
+sin';--but, 'If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.'" 
+
+Rotha drew a deep sigh, and one or two fresh tears fell. 
+
+"Now," said he very gently, "do not let us get excited again, but let us 
+talk quietly. What is all this about?" 
+
+"You are sending me away," said Rotha; "and you are all I have got." 
+
+"You are not going to lose me. That is settled. Now go on. What next?" 
+
+"But I shall not be with you?" 
+
+"Not every day, as here. But I hope to see you very often; and you can 
+always write to me if you have anything in particular upon your mind." 
+
+"Then," said Rotha, her voice several shades clearer, "you are sending me 
+to be with a person that I don't--respect." 
+
+"That is serious! Are you sure you are justified in such an opinion, with 
+no more grounds?" 
+
+"I cannot help it," said Rotha. "I do not think I have reason to respect 
+her." 
+
+"Then how are you going to get along together?" 
+
+"I am sure I do not know." 
+
+"Rotha, I may ask this of you. I ask of you to behave as a lady should, 
+in your aunt's house. I ask you to be well-bred and well-mannered always; 
+whatever you feel." 
+
+"Do you think I can, Mr. Digby?" said the girl looking earnestly at him. 
+
+"I am sure of it." 
+
+"But--do I know how?" 
+
+"I will give you an unfailing recipe," said Mr. Digby smiling. 
+"'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them'; 
+and for details, study the 13th chapter of the first epistle to the 
+Corinthians." 
+
+"Is that the chapter about charity?" 
+
+"About love. The word means love, not charity." 
+
+"Mr. Digby, it is very hard to act as if you loved people, when you do 
+not." 
+
+"True," said he smiling. "That is what the world means by good manners. 
+But what Christians should mean by that term is the real thing." 
+
+"And I do not think I can," Rotha went on. 
+
+"Do not try to make believe anything. But the courtesy of good manners 
+you can give to everybody." 
+
+"If I do not lose command of myself," said Rotha. "I will try, Mr. 
+Digby." 
+
+"I think you can do, pretty nearly, Rotha, whatever you try." 
+
+This declaration was a source of great comfort to the girl, and a great 
+help towards its own justification; as Mr. Digby probably guessed. 
+Nevertheless Rotha grieved, deeply and silently, through the days that 
+followed. Her friend saw it, and with serious disquiet. That passion of 
+pain and dismay with which she had greeted the first news of what was 
+before her was no transient gust, leaving the air as clear as it had been 
+previously. True, the storm was over. Rotha obtruded her feelings in no 
+way upon his notice; she was quiet and docile as usual. But the happiness 
+was gone. There were rings round her eyes, which told of watching or of 
+weeping; her brow was clouded; and now and then Mr. Digby saw a tear or 
+two come which she made good efforts to get rid of unseen. She was 
+mourning, and it troubled him; but, as he said to himself over and over 
+again, "there was no help for it." He was unselfish about it; for to 
+himself personally there was no doubt but to have Rotha safely lodged 
+with her aunt would be a great relief. He had other business to attend 
+to. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. 
+
+
+MRS. BUSBY'S HOUSE. 
+
+
+By the beginning of the week Rotha had recovered command of herself, 
+externally at least; and on the Monday Mr. Digby and his charge were to 
+go to Mrs. Busby's. It was the first of November; dull, cloudy and cold; 
+getting ready for snow, Mr. Digby said, to judge by the sky. From the 
+clouds his eye came down to Rotha, who had just entered the room dressed 
+for her departure. 
+
+"Rotha," said he, "what is that you have on?" 
+
+"My brown lawn, Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Lawn? on such a day as this? You want a warmer dress, my child." 
+
+Rotha hesitated and coloured. 
+
+"My warm dresses--are not very nice," she said with some difficulty. "I 
+thought I must look as well as I could." 
+
+"And I have forgotten that the season was changing! and left you without 
+proper provision. You see, Rotha, I never had the charge of a young lady 
+before. Never mind, dear; that will soon be made right. But put on 
+something warm, no matter how it looks. You will take cold with that thin 
+dress." 
+
+Rotha hesitated. 
+
+"I don't think you will like it, if I put on my old winter frock," she 
+said. 
+
+"I would like it better than your getting sick. Change your dress by all 
+means." 
+
+When Rotha came in again, she was a different figure. She had put on an 
+old grey merino, which had once belonged to her mother and had been made 
+over for her. At the time she had rejoiced much over it; now Rotha had 
+got a new standard for judging of dresses, and she seemed to herself very 
+"mean" looking. Truly, the old grey gown had been made a good while ago; 
+the fashion had changed, and Rotha had grown; it was scant now and had 
+lost even a distant conformity with prevailing modes. Moreover it was 
+worn, and it was faded, and it was not even very clean. Rotha thought Mr. 
+Digby would hardly endure it; she herself endured it only under stress of 
+authority. He looked at her a little gravely. 
+
+"That's the best you have, is it? Never mind, Rotha; it is I who am to 
+blame. I am very much ashamed of myself, for forgetting that winter was 
+corning." 
+
+He had never known what it was, in all his life, to want a thick coat or 
+a thin coat and not find it in his wardrobe; and that makes people 
+forget. 
+
+"This will not do, do you think it will, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha 
+tentatively. 
+
+"Better than to have you get sick. It will keep you warm, will it not? 
+and we will soon have you fitted up with better supplies." 
+
+It was not time quite for the carriage to be at the door, and Mr. Digby 
+sat down to a bit of drawing; he was making a copy for Rotha. Rotha stood 
+by, doubtful and thoughtful. 
+
+"Mr. Digby," she said at last shyly, "there is something I should like 
+very much to ask." 
+
+"Ask it, Rotha." 
+
+"But I do not know whether you would like it--and yet I cannot know 
+without asking--" 
+
+"Naturally. What is it, Rotha?" 
+
+"Mr. Digby, my mother hadn't anything at all, had she? Money, I mean." 
+
+"Of late? No, Rotha, I believe not." 
+
+The girl hesitated and struggled with herself. 
+
+"I thought so," she said. "And while it was you, I didn't mind. But 
+now,--how will it be, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+Mr. Digby got at the sense of this by some intuition. 
+
+"Who will be at the charge of your schooling, you mean? and other things? 
+Certainly I, Rotha, unless your aunt wishes very decidedly that it should 
+be herself." 
+
+"She will not wish that," said the girl. "Then, Mr. Digby, when I am done 
+with school--what am I to do? What do you want me to do? Because if I 
+knew, I might work better to get ready for it." 
+
+"Well," said Mr. Digby, making some easy strokes with his pencil, every 
+one of which however meant something,--"there is generally something for 
+everybody to do in this world; but we cannot always tell what, till the 
+time comes. The best way is to prepare yourself, as far as possible, for 
+everything." 
+
+"But I cannot do that," said Rotha, with the nearest approach to a laugh 
+that she had made since the previous Friday. 
+
+"Yes, you can. First, be a good woman; and then, get all the knowledge 
+and all the accomplishments, and all the acquirements, that come in your 
+way. Drawing, certainly, for you have a true love for that. How is it 
+with music? Are you fond of it?" 
+
+"I don't know," Rotha said low. "Mr. Digby, can I not--some time--do 
+something for you?" 
+
+"Yes," said he, looking up at her with a laughing glance, "you can do all 
+these things for me. I want you to be as good a woman, and as wise a 
+woman, and as accomplished a woman, as you are able to become." 
+
+"Then I will," said Rotha very quietly. 
+
+The carriage came. Rotha covered up her old dress as well as she could 
+under her silk mantle, very ill satisfied with the joint effect, She 
+behaved very well, however; was perfectly quiet during the drive, and 
+only once asked, 
+
+"Mr. Digby, you said I might write to you?" 
+
+"As often as you like. But you will see me too, Rotha, though not every 
+day. If anything goes wrong with you, let me know." 
+
+That was all; and then the carriage turned a corner and stopped in a 
+street of high, regular, stately houses, with high flights of doorsteps. 
+Poor Rotha felt her gown dreadfully out of place; but her bearing did not 
+betray her. She was trying hard to form herself on Mr. Digby's model, and 
+so to be even and calm and unimpassioned in her manners. Not easy, when a 
+young heart beats as hers was beating then. They entered the house. Mrs. 
+Busby was not in, the servant said; at the same time she opened the door 
+of the parlour, and Mr. Digby and Rotha went in. 
+
+Nobody was there; only the luxurious presence of warmth and colour and 
+softness and richness, whichever way the girl looked. She tried not to 
+look; she fixed her eyes on the glowing grate; while a keen sense of 
+wrong and a bitter feeling of resentment and opposition swelled her 
+heart. This was how her aunt lived! and her mother had done sewing for 
+her bread, and not got it. If the flowers in the carpet had been living 
+exotics, they would have thriven in the warm air that surrounded them, 
+and feared no frost; and her mother's fire had been fed by charity! It 
+was to the credit of Rotha's budding power of self-command that she 
+shewed nothing of what she felt. She was outwardly calm and impassive. 
+
+Then the heavy door was pushed inward and a figure appeared for which she 
+was scarcely prepared. A young girl of about her own age, also a 
+contrast. There was nothing but contrasts here. She was excessively 
+pretty, and as lively as a soap bubble. Something of her mother's 
+hardness of outlines, perhaps; but in that fifteen must needs be far 
+different from fifty; and this face was soft enough, with a lovely 
+tinting of white and red, charming little pearly teeth, a winning smile, 
+and pretty movements. She was not so tall as Rotha; and generally they 
+were as unlike as two girls could be. In dress too, as in everything 
+else. This new-comer on the scene was as bright as a flower; in a new 
+cashmere, fashionably made, of a green hue that set off the fresh tints 
+of her skin, edged with delicate laces which softened the lines between 
+the one and the other. She came in smiling and eager. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode! how long it is since we have seen you! What made you stay 
+away so? Mamma is out; she told me if you came I must see you. I am so 
+sorry she is out! No, I am very glad to see you; but I know you wanted to 
+see mamma. I'll do as well as I can." And she smiled most graciously on 
+him, but hitherto had not looked at Rotha, though Mr. Digby knew one 
+glance of her eye had taken her all in. 
+
+"Miss Antoinette," said he, shaking hands with her, "this is your 
+cousin." 
+
+The eyes came round, the smile faded. 
+
+"Oh!--" said she. "I knew it must be you. How do you do? Mamma is out; 
+she'll be so sorry. But your room is ready. Would you like to go up to it 
+at once, and take off your things?"--Then without waiting for an answer, 
+she pulled the bell twice, and springing to the door cried out, "Lesbia! 
+Lesbia!--Lesbia, where are you? O here you are. Lesbia, take this young 
+lady--up stairs and shew her her room--you know, the little room that you 
+put in order yesterday. Take her up there and shew her where things are; 
+and then take her to mamma's room; do you understand? Miss Carpenter what 
+is her name, Mr. Southwode? Rotha? O what a lovely name! Rotha, if you 
+will go up stairs with the girl, she will shew you your way." 
+
+"I will not go yet, thank you," said Rotha. 
+
+Antoinette looked at her, seemingly taken aback at this. 
+
+"Don't you want to go up and take off your things?" she said. "I think 
+you will be more comfortable." 
+
+"I would rather stay here." 
+
+Mr. Digby suppressed a smile, and had also to suppress a sigh. This by-
+play was very clear to him, and gave him forebodings. He hoped it was not 
+clear to Rotha. However, he did not much prolong his stay after that. He 
+knew it was pain to Rotha and better ended; she must learn to swim in 
+these new waters, and the sooner she was pushed from her hold the kinder 
+the hard service would be. So he took leave of Miss Antoinette, and then, 
+taking Rotha's cold hand, he did what he had never done before; stooped 
+down and kissed her. He said only one word, "Remember!"--and went away. 
+
+He had thought to give the girl a little bit of comfort; and he had not 
+only comforted her, but lifted her up into paradise, for the moment. A 
+whole flood tide of pleasure seemed to pour itself into Rotha's heart, 
+making her deaf and blind to what was around her or what Antoinette said. 
+She went up stairs like one on wings, with the blood tingling in every 
+corner of her frame. If she had known, or if Mr. Digby had guessed, what 
+that kiss was to cost her. But that is the way in this life; we start and 
+shiver at the entrance of what is to be a path of flowers to our feet; 
+and we welcome eagerly the sugared bait which is to bring us into a 
+network of difficulty. 
+
+There was an under current of different feeling however, in Rotha's mind; 
+and the two girls as they went up stairs were as great a contrast to each 
+other as could be imagined. The one carried a heart conscious of a secret 
+and growing weight; the other had scarce gravity enough to keep her to 
+the earth's surface. So the one tripped lightly on ahead, and the other 
+mounted slowly, rebelling inwardly at every step she set her foot upon. 
+What a long flight of stairs! and how heavily carpeted; and with what 
+massive balusters framed in. Nothing like it had Rotha ever seen, and she 
+set her teeth as she mounted. Arrived at last at the second floor, 
+Antoinette passed swiftly along to the foot of another flight. "There is 
+mamma's room," said she, pointing to an open door; "and that is mine," 
+indicating a small room adjoining; "now here is yours." She had got to 
+the top, and preceded Rotha into the small room off the hall at the head 
+of the stairs. 
+
+It was very small, of course; furnished with sufficient neatness, but 
+certainly with old things. It was not like the rest of the house. That 
+was no matter; the furniture was still as good as Rotha had been 
+accustomed to in her best days, at home; yet she missed something. It 
+looked poor and bare, and very cramped. Perhaps one reason might be, that 
+the day was chill and dark and here were no signs of a fire, nor even a 
+place to make one; and _that_ luxury Rotha had never missed. Her mother  
+and she had kept scant fires at one time, it is true; but since Mr. Digby  
+had taken the oversight of their affairs, their rooms had been always 
+deliciously warm. Anyhow, the place made a cheerless impression on Rotha. 
+She took off her hat and mantle. 
+
+"Where are they to go?" she asked her companion. 
+
+"You can put the mantle in one of those drawers." 
+
+"Not my hat, though." 
+
+"Yes, you could, if you turn up the edges a little. O never mind; it'll 
+go somewhere, and you can't wear that hat any longer now. It's too cold. 
+Let us go down to mamma's room." 
+
+This was the large front room on the second floor. Here was a warm fire, 
+a cosy set of easy chairs, tables with work, a long mirror in the door of 
+the wardrobe between the windows; a general air of comfort and household 
+living. Antoinette's room opened into this, and the door stood thrown 
+back, letting the fire warmth penetrate there also; and a handsome 
+dressing table was visible standing before the window. Antoinette stirred 
+the fire and sat down. Rotha stood at the corner of the hearth, charging 
+herself to be cool and keep quiet. 
+
+"Where did you come from?" Antoinette began cheerfully. "We might as well 
+get acquainted." 
+
+"Will that help you?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Help me what?" 
+
+"You said we might as well get acquainted." 
+
+"Well I want to know where you come from, to be sure," said the other 
+girl laughing. "I always want to know where people come from. It's one of 
+the first things I want to know." 
+
+"I come from Medwayville," said Rotha. "That is a place in the western 
+part of the state." 
+
+"But you don't come from there now. I know you did live in Medwayville. 
+But where do you come from now?" 
+
+There sprang up in Rotha's mind an instant and unwonted impulse of 
+reserve; she hardly knew why. So she answered, 
+
+"Mr. Digby brought me; he can tell you about the place better than I 
+can." 
+
+"Why, don't you know where you have been living?" 
+
+"I know the place when I see it. I could not find my way to it." 
+
+"Then you can't have the organ of locality. Do you know about organs, and 
+bumps on the head? That's what is called phrenology. Mamma thinks a great 
+deal of phrenology; she'll be examining your head, the first thing." 
+
+"Examining my head!" 
+
+"Yes, to find out what you are, you know. She has a little map, with 
+everything marked on it? so she'll feel your head to see where the bumps 
+are, and where she finds a bump she will look in her map to see what's 
+there, and then she'll know you have it." 
+
+"What?" said Rotha. 
+
+"_That;_ whatever the map says the bump ought to be." 
+
+"There are no bumps on my head," said Rotha a little proudly; "it is 
+quite round." 
+
+"O you're mistaken; everybody has bumps; when the head is round, it means 
+something, I forget what; whether bad or good. Mamma'll know; and she'll 
+judge you by your head. How long have you known Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"I don't know." 
+
+"Don't know how long you have known him?"
+ 
+"I do not know just how long it is." 
+
+"O I didn't mean that. Have you known him a month?" 
+
+"More than that." 
+
+"How came you to know him at all?" 
+
+"He came to see us?" 
+
+"Us? You and aunt Eunice? What made him go to see you? at first, I mean." 
+
+"How can I tell?" said Rotha, more and more displeased. 
+
+"Well, do you like him?" 
+
+The answer did not come suddenly. 
+
+"Do I like Mr. Digby?" Rotha said slowly. "I think I do." 
+
+"_We_ do. What sort of a carriage was he in when he was overturned?" 
+
+"A little phaeton." 
+
+"One-horse?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Was he alone?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"What became of the other person?" 
+
+"Thrown out, like him." 
+
+"Hurt?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Do you know who it was?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Who was it?" 
+
+"It was I." 
+
+"_You?_" exclaimed Antoinette. "Were _you_ driving with Mr. Southwode?  
+How came you to be going with him?" 
+
+"Why should I not?" 
+
+"Why--" with a glance at Rotha's dress. Rotha saw and understood, but 
+would not enlighten her. 
+
+"Did you ever go with him before?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"How many times?" 
+
+But Rotha was getting amused now, and was mistress of the situation. 
+"Does it matter how many times?" she said quite unexcitedly. 
+
+"He never took _me_ anywhere," said Antoinette. "I declare, I'll make  
+him. It isn't using me well. What makes you call him Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"I have been accustomed to call him so." 
+
+"Did he tell you to?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"I wonder if he'd let me? I don't believe mamma would, though. She won't 
+let you either do it any more. Digby is Mr. Southwode's first name. She 
+would say it was too familiar, to call him by his first name, even with a 
+'Mr.' to it. Mamma's a little poky at times. But how did you come to know 
+him first? you haven't told me." 
+
+"I suppose, the same way you came to know him," said Rotha slowly. 
+
+But the suggestion of anything similar in what concerned the social 
+circumstances of her and her cousin, struck Antoinette with such a sense 
+of novelty that, for a moment she was nonplussed. Then her eye fell upon 
+the clock on the mantel-piece, and she started up. 
+
+"I must rush right off," she said; "it is time for my drawing lesson. 
+That's one thing I don't get in school. Have you ever been to school?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"I suppose you don't know much, then. Won't you have to work, though! I 
+am sorry I must go and leave you alone; but mamma will be in by and by." 
+
+While she was speaking, Antoinette had been putting on her wraps to go 
+out; handsome, ample, and becoming they were. A dark green cloak of some 
+figured, lustrous stuff; a little green hat with a coquettish leather; 
+gloves fitting nicely; and finally a little embroidered pocket-
+handkerchief stuffed into an outer pocket of her cloak. Then taking her 
+portfolio, Antoinette hurried away. 
+
+Rotha felt a sense of uneasiness growing upon her. She was not at home, 
+and nothing promised her that she ever would be, in this house. For 
+awhile she sat still where she was, looking and thinking; or rather 
+feeling; for thought was scarcely organized. She was tired at last of the 
+stillness, the ticking of the clock and the soft stir of the coals in the 
+grate or falling of ashes into the pan. She went down to the parlour 
+again, having a mind to become a little acquainted with her new 
+surroundings while she could make her observations unobserved; and 
+besides, that parlour was a study to Rotha; she had seen nothing like it. 
+She went down and took her seat upon an ottoman, and surveyed things. How 
+beautiful it all was, she thought; beyond imagination beautiful. The 
+colours and figures in the carpet; the rich crimsons and soft drabs, and 
+the thick, rich pile to the stuff, what a wonder they were to her. The 
+window curtains, hanging in stately folds and draperies of drab, with 
+broad bands of crimson satin shot through the tamer colour, how royal 
+they were! And did anybody ever see anything so magnificent as the glass 
+in the pier, which filled the space from floor to ceiling between those 
+royal draperies? The furniture was dark and polished, as to the wood; 
+covers of striped drilling hid what might be the beauty of cushions 
+beneath, and Rotha was not one of the sort that can lift a corner to see 
+what was hidden. There was enough not hidden, and she could wait. But as 
+her eye roved from one thing to another, her heart gathered fuel for a 
+fire that presently rivalled its more harmless neighbour in the grate; a 
+fierce, steady, intense glow of wrath and indignation. This was how her 
+mother's sister lived and had been living; and her mother in the poor 
+little rooms in Jane Street. Magnificence and luxury here; and there toil 
+and the bread of charity. And not a hand held out to help, nor love 
+enough to be called upon for it. Rotha's heart fed its fire with dark 
+displeasure. There was built up a barrier between her and her aunt, which 
+threatened perpetual severance. Kindness might break it down; Rotha was 
+open to kindness; but from this quarter she did not expect it. She bent 
+her determination however on behaving herself so as Mr. Digby had wished. 
+She would not shew what she thought. She would be quiet and polite and 
+unexcited, like him. Poor Rotha! The fire should burn in her, and yet she 
+would keep cool! 
+
+She was studying the gas reading stand on the centre table, marvelling at 
+the beauty of its marble shaft and the mystery of its cut glass shade, 
+where bunches of grapes and vine leaves wandered about in somewhat stiff 
+order; when the door of the room opened softly and Mrs. Busby came in. 
+Rotha divined immediately that it was her aunt; the lady wore still the 
+bonnet and the shawl in which she had been abroad, and had the air of the 
+mistress, indefinable but well to be recognized. Softly she shut the door 
+behind her and came towards the fire. Rotha did not dislike her 
+appearance. The features were good, the eyes keen, the manner quiet 
+
+"And this is my niece Rotha," she said with a not unkindly smile. "How do 
+you do?" She took her hand and kissed her. Alas! the kiss was smooth ice. 
+Rotha remembered the last kiss that had touched her lips; how warm and 
+soft and firm too it had been; it meant something. This means nothing but 
+civility, thought Rotha to herself. 
+
+"You are all alone?" Mrs. Busby went on. "Antoinette had to go out. Shall 
+we go up stairs, to my room? We never sit here in the morning." 
+
+Rotha followed her aunt up stairs, where Mrs. Busby laid off hat and 
+shawl and made herself comfortable, calling a maid to take them and to 
+brighten up the fire. 
+
+"I'll have luncheon up here, Lesbia," she said by the way. "Now Rotha, 
+tell me all about yourself and your mother. I have heard nothing for a 
+long while, unless from some third person." 
+
+"Mother was ill a long time," said Rotha, uncertain how to render 
+obedience to this command. 
+
+"Yes, I know. When did you come to New York?" 
+
+"It is--two years now." 
+
+"Two years!" Mrs. Busby started up in her chair a little, and a faint 
+colour rose in her cheeks; then it faded and her lips took a hard set. 
+"Ill all that time?" 
+
+"No. She was not ill for the first year." 
+
+"Say, 'No _ma'am_,' my dear. That is the proper way. Do you know what 
+induced her to move to New York, Rotha?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am," said Rotha colouring. 
+
+"May I know?" 
+
+"Didn't you know we were very poor?" said Rotha in a lower voice. 
+
+"How was _that_ the reason?" 
+
+"We couldn't--I mean--she couldn't, get work at Medwayville." 
+
+"Get work!" Mrs. Busby was silent. Perhaps that was an unfruitful, and 
+would prove an unrefreshing, field of inquiry. She would leave it 
+unexplored for the present. She paused a little. 
+
+"So since then you have been living in New York?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+A longer pause followed. Mrs. Busby looked at the fire and raised one 
+eyebrow. 
+
+"Under whose care have you been living, my dear, since you lost your 
+mother's?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated. Great soreness of heart combined now with another 
+feeling to make her words difficult. She did not at all want to answer. 
+Nevertheless the girl's temper was to be frank, and she saw no way of 
+evasion here. 
+
+"I have had nobody but Mr. Digby," she said. 
+
+"Mr. Digby! Mr. Southwode, you mean? That is his name, my dear; don't 
+speak of him as 'Mr. Digby.'" 
+
+Rotha's mouth opened, and closed. She was forming herself with all her 
+might on Mr. Digby's model; and besides that, she was trying to obey his 
+injunctions about pleasant behaviour. 
+
+"Where have you lived all this time?" a little shorter than the former 
+questions had been put. 
+
+"Since we came to New York?" 
+
+"No, no; since you have been under this gentleman's care? Where have you 
+been?" 
+
+"In a pleasant place near the river. I do not know the name of the 
+street." 
+
+"Who took care of you there, Rotha?" 
+
+Rotha lifted her eyes. "Mr. Digby--Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"Mr. Southwode! Did he live there himself?" 
+
+"Yes, at that time; not always." 
+
+"Near the river, and in New York?" said Mrs. Busby, mystified. 
+
+"I did not say in New York. It was out of the city." 
+
+"I was out of town," said Mrs. Busby musingly. "I wish I had come home 
+earlier, that I might have received you at once. But I am glad I have got 
+you now, my dear. Now you will have the pleasure of going to school with 
+Antoinette. You will like that, won't you?" 
+
+"I do not know, ma'am. I think so." 
+
+"Why you want to learn, don't you? You don't want to be ignorant; and the 
+only way is to go to school and study hard. Have you ever been to school 
+at all?" 
+
+"No, ma'am." 
+
+"You will have a great deal to do. And the very first thing for me to do 
+is to see to your wardrobe, that you may begin at once. Your box has 
+come; I found it down stairs when I came in, and I had it taken right up 
+to your room. Have you the key?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Then go up, my dear, immediately; and bring down all your best dresses. 
+Then I can see what is to be done." 
+
+As Rotha went out, enter Antoinette. 
+
+"O mamma, here you are! I'm glad, I'm sure. I don't want that young lady 
+on _my_ hands any more." 
+
+"How do you like her, Antoinette?" 
+
+"Mamma, did you ever see such a figure? You won't let her go down stairs 
+till she is decently dressed, will you? I should be ashamed for even 
+Lesbia to see her." 
+
+"Lesbia has got to see her and make the best of it." 
+
+"O but servants always make the worst of it. And company--she _couldn't_  
+be seen by company, mamma. Why she looks as if she had come out of the  
+year one. To have such a creature supposed to belong to us!" 
+
+"Mr. Southwode brought her?" 
+
+"Yes, mamma; and you should have seen the parting. I declare, it was 
+rather striking! He kissed her, mamma, fancy! a real smacking kiss; and 
+Rotha coloured up as if she was delighted. Did you ever hear anything 
+like it?" 
+
+"She has done with him now," said Mrs. Busby drily. 
+
+"How'll you manage, mamma, if he comes and asks for her?" 
+
+"Get your things off, Antoinette, and make yourself ready for dinner. Ah, 
+here comes Rotha." 
+
+Rotha's arms were full of muslin and lawn dresses, which she deposited on 
+the table. Antoinette forgot or disregarded the order she had received 
+and came to take part in the inspection. With a face of curiosity and 
+business at once, Mrs. Busby unfolded, examined, refolded, one after 
+another. 
+
+"Mamma! how pretty that is!" exclaimed her daughter; "and that ashes of 
+roses is lovely!" 
+
+"Fine," said Mrs. Busby; "very fine. No sparing of money. Well made. Your 
+mother cannot have felt herself in straits when she made such purchases 
+as these, Rotha." 
+
+Rotha's heart gave a bound, but she shut her lips and was silent. Some 
+instinct within her was stronger than even the impulse to justify her 
+mother. What did it matter, what her aunt thought? 
+
+"These are all summer dresses," Mrs. Busby went on. "They are of no use 
+at this season. Where are your warm clothes?" 
+
+"I have none," said Rotha, with sad unwillingness. "This is the best I 
+have on." 
+
+"That?" exclaimed Mrs. Busby; and there was a pause. "Nothing better than 
+that, my dear?" 
+
+"The others are worse. They are all worn out." 
+
+A heavy step was heard coming up the stair at this moment. It reached the 
+landing place. 
+
+"Mr. Busby--" cried the voice of his wife, a little uplifted, "don't come 
+in here--I am engaged." 
+
+"Very well, my dear," came answer in a husky, rough voice, and the step 
+passed on. 
+
+"The first thing is a school dress," Mrs. Busby proceeded. "Antoinette, 
+fetch that purple poplin of yours, that you wore last winter, and let us 
+see if that would not do, for a while at least, till something can be 
+made." 
+
+Nothing that fits her can fit me, thought Rotha; but with some self-
+command she kept her thoughts to herself. Antoinette brought the dress in 
+question and held it up, chuckling. 
+
+"It's about six inches too short, I should say, and wouldn't meet round 
+the waist by three at least." 
+
+"Try it on, Rotha." 
+
+Very unwillingly Rotha did as she was told. Mrs. Busby pulled and 
+twitched and stroked the dress here and there. 
+
+"It is a little too short. Could be let out." 
+
+"Then the marks of the gathers would shew, mamma." 
+
+"That could be hidden by a basque." 
+
+"There isn't much stuff left to make a basque. Miss Hubbell cut it all up 
+for the trimming." 
+
+"It could be made to do for a few days. I am anxious that Rotha should 
+lose no time in beginning school. See, it is November now." 
+
+All this was extremely distasteful to the subject of it. She knew right 
+well that her cousin's dress could never be made to look as if it 
+belonged to her, unless it were wholly taken to pieces and put together 
+again; neither was the stuff of the dress very clean, and the trimmings 
+had the forlorn, jaded look of a thing which has been worn to death. The 
+notion of appearing in it revolted her unbearably. 
+
+"Aunt Serena," she said, "I would just as lief wear my old dress, if you 
+don't mind. It would do as well as this, and be no trouble." 
+
+"Well--" said Mrs. Busby; "it would take some time, certainly, to fit 
+Antoinette's to you; perhaps that is the best way; and it is only for a 
+day or two; it wouldn't matter much. Well, then you may take these things 
+away, Rotha, and put them by." 
+
+"Where?" said Rotha. "In my trunk?" 
+
+"Yes, for the present    That will do." 
+
+Rotha carried her muslins up stairs again, and had some ado not to sit 
+down and cry. But she would not, and fought the weakness successfully 
+down, appearing before her aunt again in a few minutes with an 
+imperturbable exterior. Which she was able to maintain about ten minutes. 
+
+Antoinette was dressing for dinner; dressing in front of her mother's 
+fire; making herself rather striking in a blue silk, over which her long 
+curling fair hair tumbled as over a pretty foil. Mrs. Busby also was 
+putting herself in order. Rotha looked on. Presently the dinner bell 
+rang. 
+
+"I'll send you up your dinner, Rotha," Mrs. Busby said, turning to her 
+niece. "Till we get some gowns made for you, you must keep in hiding. 
+I'll send it up to you here, hot and nice." 
+
+Rotha said not one word, but two flames shot into her cheeks, and from 
+her dark eyes flared two such lightnings, that Mrs. Busby absolutely 
+shrank back, and did not meet those eyes again while she remained in the 
+room. But in that one moment aunt and niece had taken their position 
+towards each other, and what is more, recognized it. 
+
+"I shall have my hands full with that girl," Mrs. Busby muttered as she 
+went down stairs. "Did you see how she looked at me?" 
+
+"I didn't know she could look so," replied Antoinette. "Isn't she a 
+regular spitfire?" 
+
+"I shall know how to manage her," Mrs. Busby said, with her mouth set. 
+"She is not at all like her mother." 
+
+Rotha, left in the dressing room, sat down and laid her head on her arms 
+on the table. Wrath and indignation were boiling within her. The girl 
+dimly felt more than her reason could as yet grasp; somewhat sinister 
+which ran through all her aunt's manner towards her and had undoubtedly 
+called forth this last regulation. What did it mean? So she could go to 
+school in her old dress and be seen by a hundred strange eyes, but might 
+not sit at the table with her aunt's family and take her dinner in their 
+company! And this was the very dress in which she had gone to the Park 
+with Mr. Digby more than once. _He_ had not minded it. And here there was 
+nobody that had not seen it already, except Mr. Busby. 
+
+Poor Rotha's heart, when once a passion of displeasure seized it, was 
+like the seething pot in Ezekiel's vision. She was helpless to stay the 
+outpour of anger and pride and grief and contempt and mortification, 
+every one of which in turn came uppermost and took forms of utterance in 
+her imagination. She had a firm determination to follow Mr. Digby's 
+teaching and example; but for the present she was alone, and the luxury 
+of passion might storm as it would. Upon this state of things came the 
+dinner, borne by the hands of Lesbia, who was a very sable serving maid; 
+otherwise very sharp. She set the tray on the table. Rotha lifted a white 
+face and fiery eyes, and glared at it and at her. Gladly would she have 
+sent it all down again; but she was hungry, and the tray steamed a 
+pleasant savour towards her. 
+
+"Thank you," said Rotha, with the courtesy she had learned of her friend. 
+
+"Would you like anything else?" the girl asked with an observing look. 
+
+"Nothing else, thank you." 
+
+"Why aint miss down stairs with the rest?" 
+
+"I couldn't go down to-day. That will do, thank you." 
+
+Lesbia withdrew, and Rotha mustered her viands. A glass of water and a 
+piece of bread, very nicely arranged; a plate with hot potatoes, turnips 
+mashed, beets, and three small shrimps fried. 
+
+Rotha cleared the board, and found the fish very small. By and by came up 
+Lesbia with a piece of apple pie. She took the effect of the empty 
+dishes. 
+
+"Did miss have enough?" 
+
+"It will do very well, thank you," said Rotha, attacking the piece of 
+pie, which was also small. 
+
+"Didn't you want a bit of the mutton?" 
+
+"Mutton!" exclaimed Rotha, and again an angry colour shewed itself in her 
+cheeks. 
+
+"Roast mutton and jelly and sweet potatoes. You hadn't only fish, had ye? 
+Don't ye like yaller potatoes? Car'lina potatoes?" 
+
+"Yes, I like them," said Rotha indifferently. 
+
+N. B. She had eaten them but a few times in her life, and thought them a 
+prime delicacy. 
+
+"I'll bring you some if you like, and some of the meat." 
+
+"No, thank you," said Rotha, finishing her pie and depositing that plate 
+with the rest. 
+
+"You'll have time enough," said Lesbia sympathizingly. "They won't come 
+up stairs; they stays down to see company." 
+
+"No, thank you," said Rotha again; but a new pang seized her. Company! 
+Mr. Digby would be company. What if he should come? 
+
+Lesbia went off with the tray, after casting several curious glances at 
+the new comer, whom she had heard talked of enough to give her several 
+clues. Rotha was left in the darkening dressing room; for the afternoon 
+had come to its short November end. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. 
+
+
+NOT DRESSED. 
+
+
+Mr. Digby did not come that evening. Next evening he did. He came early, 
+just as the family had finished dinner. Mrs. Busby welcomed him with 
+outstretched hand and a bland smile. 
+
+"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Southwode," she said, before he had time to 
+begin anything. "I want to know what you think of this proposition to 
+open picture galleries and libraries to the people on Sunday?" 
+
+"The arguments for it are plausible." 
+
+"Certainly plausible. What do you think?" 
+
+"It is of no consequence, is it, what any individual thinks?" 
+
+"Why yes, as it seems to me. By comparing views and the reasons given in 
+support of the views, one may hope to attain some sound conclusion." 
+
+"Is it a matter for reason to consider?" 
+
+Mrs. Busby opened her eyes. "Is not everything that, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"I should answer 'no,' if I answered." 
+
+"Please answer, because I am very much in earnest; and I like to drive 
+every question to the bottom. Give me an instance to the contrary."  
+
+"When you tell Miss Antoinette, for example, to put on india rubbers when 
+she goes out in the wet, is she to exercise her reason upon the thickness 
+of the soles of her boots?" 
+
+"Yes," cried the young lady referred to; "of course I am! India rubbers 
+are horrid things anyhow; do you think I am going to put them on with 
+boots an inch thick?" 
+
+Mr. Southwode turned his eyes upon her with one of his grave smiles. Mrs. 
+Busby seemed to ponder the subject. 
+
+"Is it raining to-night, Mr. Southwode?" Antoinette went on. 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"How provoking! then I can't go out. Mr. Southwode, you never took me 
+anywhere, to see anything." 
+
+"True, I believe," he answered. "How could I ask Mrs. Busby to trust me 
+with the care of such an article?" 
+
+"What 'such an article'?" 
+
+"Subject to damage; in which case the damage would be very great." 
+
+"I am not subject to damage. I never get cold or anything. Mr. Southwode, 
+won't you take me, some night, to see the Minstrels?" 
+
+"They are not much to see." 
+
+"But to hear, they are. Won't you, Mr. Southwode? I am crazy to hear 
+them, and mamma won't take me; and papa never goes anywhere but to his 
+office and to court; won't you, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"Perhaps; if Mrs. Busby will honour me so much." 
+
+"O mamma will trust _you_, I know. Then the first clear evening, Mr. 
+Southwode? the first that you are at leisure?" 
+
+Without answering her he turned to Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"How is Rotha?" 
+
+"Very well!" the lady answered smoothly. 
+
+"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing her?" 
+
+"I am afraid, not to-night. She was unable to come down stairs this 
+afternoon, and so took her dinner alone. Next time, I hope, she will be 
+able to see you." 
+
+Mr. Digby privately wondered what the detaining cause could be, but 
+thought it most discreet not to inquire; at least, not in this quarter. 
+"Is the school question decided?" he therefore went on quietly. 
+
+"Why no. I have been debating the pros. and cons.; in which process one 
+is very apt to get confused. As soon as one makes up one's mind to forego 
+certain advantages in favour of certain others, the rejected ones 
+immediately rise up in fresh colours of allurement before the mind, and 
+disturb one's judgment, and the whole calculation has to be gone over 
+again." 
+
+"The choice lies between--?" 
+
+"Mrs. Mulligan, Miss Wordsworth, and Mrs. Mowbray, have the highest name 
+in the city." 
+
+"And may I know the supposed counter advantages and disadvantages?" 
+
+"I'll tell you, Mr. Southwode," said Antoinette. "At Mrs. Mulligan's you 
+learn French and manners. At Miss Wordsworth's you learn arithmetic and 
+spelling. At Mrs. Mowbray's you learn Latin and the Catechism." 
+
+Mr. Southwode looked to Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"That's rather a caricature," said the lady smiling; "but it has some 
+truth. I think Mrs. Mowbray's is quite as fashionable a school as Mrs. 
+Mulligan's. It is quite as dear." 
+
+"Is it thought desirable, that it should be fashionable?" 
+
+"Certainly; for that shews what is public opinion. Besides, it secures 
+one against undesirable companions for a girl. Both at Mrs. Mulligan's 
+and Mrs. Mowbray's the pupils come from the very best families, both 
+South and North. There is a certain security in that." 
+
+Mr. Southwode allowed the conversation presently to take another turn, 
+and soon took his leave. 
+
+Rotha had watched and listened from the upper hall; had heard him come 
+in, and then had waited in an ecstasy of impatient eagerness till she 
+should be sent for. She could hear the murmur of voices in the parlour; 
+but otherwise the house was ominously quiet. No doors opening, no bell to 
+call the servant, no stir at all; until the parlour door opened and Mr. 
+Digby came out. Rotha was in a very agony, half ready to rush down, 
+unsummoned, and see him; and yet held back by a shy feeling of proud 
+reserve. He could ask for her if he had wanted her, she thought bitterly; 
+and while she lingered he had put on his overshoes and was gone. Rotha 
+crept up stairs to her own room, feeling desperately disappointed. That 
+her aunt might have made excuses to keep her up stairs, she divined; but 
+the thought put her in a rage. She had to sit a long while looking out of 
+her window at the lights twinkling here and there through the rain, 
+before the fever in her blood and her brain had cooled down enough to let 
+her go to bed and to sleep. 
+
+The next day she began her school experience. The intervening day had 
+been used by Mrs. Busby to make a call upon Mrs. Mowbray, in which she 
+explained that she had an orphan niece left under her care, for whom she 
+much desired the training and the discipline of Mrs. Mowbray's excellent 
+school. The girl had had no advantages; her mother had been ill and the 
+child neglected; she supposed Mrs. Mowbray would find that she knew next 
+to nothing of all that she ought to know. So it was arranged that Rotha 
+should accompany her cousin the very next morning, and make her beginning 
+in one of the younger classes. 
+
+Rotha went in her old grey dress. The walk was not long. Antoinette 
+stopped at the area gate of a house in a fine open street. 
+
+"Where are you going?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Here. This is the place." 
+
+"This? Why it is a very handsome house," said Rotha. "As good as yours." 
+
+"Of course it is handsome," Antoinette replied. "Do you think my mother 
+would let me go to a shabby place. Handsome! of course it is. Come down 
+this way; we don't ring the bell." 
+
+What a new world it was to Rotha! In the lower hall the girls took off 
+bonnets and wraps, hanging them up on hooks arranged there. Then 
+Antoinette took her up stairs, up a second flight of stairs, through 
+halls and stairways which renewed Rotha's astonishment. Was this a 
+school? All the arrangements seemed like those of an elegant private 
+home; soft carpet was on the stairs, beautiful engravings hung on the 
+walls. The school rooms filled the second floor; they were already 
+crowded, it seemed to Rotha, with rows and ranks of scholars of all 
+sizes, from ten years old up. Antoinette and she, being later than the 
+rest, slipped into the first seats they could find, near the door. 
+
+There was deep silence and great order, and then Rotha heard a voice in 
+the next room beginning to read a chapter in the Bible. The sound of the 
+voice struck her and made her wish to get a sight of the reader; but that 
+was impossible, for a bit of partition wall hid her and indeed most of 
+the room in which she was from Rotha's view. So Rotha's attention 
+concentrated itself upon what she could see. The pleasant, bright 
+apartments; the desks before which sat so many well-dressed and well-
+looking girls; ah, they were very well dressed, and many of them, to her 
+fancy, very richly dressed; as for the faces, she found there was the 
+usual diversity. But what would anybody think of a girl coming among them 
+so very shabby and meanly attired as she was? If she had known-- However, 
+self-consciousness was not one of Rotha's troubles, and soon in her 
+admiration of the maps and pictures on the walls she almost forgot her 
+own poor little person. She was aware that after the reading came a 
+prayer; but though she knelt as others knelt, I am bound to say very 
+little of the sense of the words found its way to her mind. 
+
+After that the girls separated. Rotha was introduced by her cousin to a 
+certain Miss Blodgett, one of the teachers, under whose care she was 
+placed, and by whom she was taken to a room apart and set down to her 
+work along with a class of some forty girls, all of them or nearly all, 
+younger than she was. And here, for a number of days, Rotha's school life 
+went on monotonously. She was given little to do that she could not do 
+easily; she was assigned no lessons that were not already familiar; she 
+was put to acquire no knowledge that she did not already possess. She got 
+sight of nobody but Miss Blodgett and the girls; for every morning she 
+was sure to be crowded into that same corner at school-opening, where she 
+could not look at Mrs. Mowbray; nobody else wanted that place, so they 
+gave it to her; and Rotha was never good at self-assertion, unless at 
+such times as her blood was up. She took the place meekly. But school was 
+very tiresome to her; and it gave her nothing to distract her thoughts 
+from her troubles at home. 
+
+Those were threefold, to take them in detail. She wore still the old 
+dress; she was consequently still kept up stairs; and it followed also of 
+course that Mr. Digby came and went and she had no sight of him. It 
+happened thus. 
+
+Several days he allowed to pass without calling again. Not that he forgot 
+Rotha, or was careless about her; but he partly knew his adversary and 
+judged this course wise, for Rotha's sake. His first visit had been on 
+Tuesday evening; he let a week go by, and then he went again. Mrs. Busby 
+was engaged with other visitors; he had to post-pone the inquiries he 
+wished to make. Meanwhile Antoinette attacked him. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode,--now it is a nice evening, and you promised;--will you 
+take me to the Minstrels?" 
+
+"I always keep my promises." 
+
+"Then shall we go?" with great animation. 
+
+"Did I say I would go to-night?" 
+
+"No; but to-night is a good time; as good as any. Ah, Mr. Southwode! let 
+us go. You'll never take me, if you do not to-night." 
+
+"What would Mrs. Busby say?" 
+
+"O she'd say yes. Of course she'd say yes. Mamma always says yes when I 
+ask her things. Mamma! I say, mamma! listen to me one moment; may I go 
+with Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+One moment Mrs. Busby turned her head from the friend with whom she was 
+talking, looked at her daughter, and said, "Yes"; then turned again and 
+went on with what she was saying. Antoinette jumped up. 
+
+"And bring your cousin too," said Mr. Southwode as she was flying off. 
+Antoinette stopped. 
+
+"Rotha? she can't go." 
+
+"Why can she not go?" 
+
+"She has got nothing ready to wear out yet. Mamma hasn't had time to get 
+the things and have 'em made. She couldn't go." 
+
+"She might wear what she wore when I brought her here," Mr. Digby 
+suggested. Antoinette shook her head. 
+
+"O no! Mamma wouldn't let her go out so. She _couldn't_, now that she is 
+under her care, you know. Her things are not fit at all." 
+
+"Will you have the kindness to send word to your cousin that I should 
+like to see her for a few minutes?" 
+
+"O she can't come down?" 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"O she's in no condition. Mamma--mamma! Mr. Southwode wants to see 
+Rotha." 
+
+"I am very sorry!" said Mrs. Busby smoothly and calmly, turning again 
+from the discourse she was carrying on,--"I have sent her to bed with a 
+tumbler of hot lemonade." 
+
+"What is the matter?" 
+
+"A slight cold--nothing troublesome, I hope; but I thought best to take 
+it in time. I do not want her studies to be interrupted." 
+
+Mr. Southwode was powerless against this announcement, and thought his 
+own thoughts, till Mrs. Busby drew him into the discussion which just 
+then engaged her. Upon this busy talk presently came Antoinette, hatted 
+and cloaked, and drawing on her gloves. Stood and waited. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode--I am ready," she said, as he did not attend to her. 
+
+"For the Minstrels?" said he, with that very unconcerned manner of his. 
+"But, Miss Antoinette, would not your cousin like to go?" 
+
+"She _can't_, you know. Where are your ears, Mr. Southwode? Mamma 
+explained to you that she was in bed." 
+
+"Then do you not agree with me, that it would be the kindest thing to 
+defer our own pleasure until she can share it?" 
+
+Antoinette flushed and coloured, and tears of disappointment came into 
+her eyes. A little tinge rose in Mrs. Busby's cheeks too. 
+
+"Go and take your cloak off," she said coldly. "And Antoinette, you had 
+better see that your lessons for to-morrow morning are all ready." 
+
+Mr. Southwode thereupon took his departure. If he had known what eyes and 
+ears were strained to get knowledge of him at that moment, I think he 
+would have stood his ground and taken some very decided measures. But he 
+could not see from the lighted hall below up into the darkness of the 
+third story, even' if it could have occurred to him to try. There stood 
+however a white figure, leaning over the balusters, and very well aware 
+whose steps were going through the hall and out at the front door. Poor 
+Rotha had obeyed orders and undressed and gone to bed, though she 
+insisted her throat was only a very little irritated; and neither the one 
+fact nor the other had prevented her from jumping tip to listen when the 
+door bell rang, and again when steps she knew came out from the parlour. 
+Again he had been here, and again she had missed him. Of course he could 
+do nothing when told that she was in bed with a cold. Rotha went back 
+into her room and stood trembling, not with a chill, though the night was 
+cold enough, but with a fever of rage and desperation. She opened the 
+window and poured out the lemonade which she had not touched; she shut 
+the window and wrung her hands. She seemed to be in a net, in a cage, in 
+a prison; and the walls of her prison were so invisible that she could 
+not get at them to burst them. She would write to Mr. Digby, only she did 
+not know his address. Would he not write to her, perhaps? Rotha Was in a 
+kind of fury of impatience and indignation; this thought served to give 
+her a little stay to hold by. 
+
+And a letter did come for her the very next evening; and Rotha's eyes 
+never saw it, nor did her ears hear of it. 
+
+Neither did her new dresses come to light; and evening after evening her 
+condition was not changed. She was prisoner up stairs with her books and 
+studies, which did not occupy her; and hour after hour Rotha stood in the 
+hall and listened, or sat watching. She could not hear Mr. Digby's voice 
+again. She wondered what had power to detain him. With craving anxiety 
+and the strain of hope and fear, Rotha's cheek began to grow pale. It was 
+getting at last beyond endurance. She went through her school duties 
+mechanically, thinking of something else, yet doing all that was required 
+of her; for, as I said, it was ground that she had gone over already. She 
+queried with herself whether Mr. Southwode might not come even to the 
+school to seek her; it seemed so impossible that she should be utterly 
+kept from the sight of him. All this while Rotha never spoke his name 
+before her aunt or cousin; never asked a question about him or his 
+visits. By what subtle instinct it is hard to tell, she knew the 
+atmosphere of the house was not favourable to the transmission of those 
+particular sounds. 
+
+One thing, one day, had made a break in her gloomy thoughts. She was in 
+her class, in the special room appropriated to that class, busy as usual; 
+when the door opened and a lady came in whom Rotha had not fairly seen 
+before, yet whom she at once recognized for what she was, the head of the 
+establishment. Rotha's eyes were fascinated. It was a tall figure, very 
+stately and dignified as well as graceful; handsomely and carefully 
+dressed; but Rotha took in that fact without knowing what the lady wore, 
+she was so engrossed with the face and manner of this vision. The manner 
+was at once gracious and commanding; courteous exceedingly, while the air 
+of decision and the tone of authority were well marked. But the face! It 
+was wonderfully lovely; with fair features and kind eyes; the head sat 
+well upon the shoulders, and the hair was arranged with very rare grace 
+around the delicate head. So elegant a head one very rarely sees, as was 
+Mrs. Mowbray's, although the dressing of the hair was as simple as 
+possible. The hair was merely twisted up in a loose knot or coil at the 
+back; the effect was what not one in a thousand can reach with all the 
+arts of the hair-dresser. This lovely apparition paused a minute or two 
+before Miss Blodgett, while some matter of business was discussed; then 
+the observant eyes came to the young stranger in the class, and a few 
+steps brought them close up to her. 
+
+"This is Miss Carpenter, isn't it?--yes. How do you do, my dear." She 
+took Rotha's hand kindly. "How is your aunt, Mrs. Busby?" 
+
+Rotha answered. Perhaps those watchful eyes saw that there was no 
+pleasure in the answer. 
+
+"Your cousin--she is in Miss Graham's class, is she not?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Well, I hope you have made some friends here. Miss Doolittle, won't you 
+be helpful to Miss Carpenter if you can? she is a stranger among us.--
+Good morning, young ladies!" 
+
+The lady swept away from the room; but all that day there hovered in 
+Rotha's thoughts a vision of beauty and grace and dignity, an accent of 
+kindness, a manner of love and authority, which utterly fascinated and 
+wholly captivated her. It was quite a sweetener of that day's dry work. 
+She looked to see the vision come again the next day, and the next; in 
+vain; but Rotha now knew the voice; and not a word was let fall from 
+those lips, in reading or prayer, at the school opening now, that she did 
+not listen to. 
+
+Days went on. At last one day Mrs. Busby said it was no use to wait any 
+longer for the mantua-makers; Rotha might as well come down and have her 
+dinner with the family. She could not stay in the drawing room of course, 
+until she was decently dressed; but she might as well come to dinner. 
+Rotha could not understand why so much could not have been granted from 
+the first; there was nobody at the dinner table but her aunt and cousin 
+and Mr. Busby. Mr. Busby was a very tall, thin man, always busy with 
+newspapers or sheets of manuscript; whose "Good morning, my dear!" in 
+that peculiar husky voice of his, was nearly all Rotha ever heard him 
+say. He took his breakfast, or his dinner, and went off to his study at 
+once. 
+
+Rotha climbed the stairs to Mrs. Busby's dressing room, after the meal 
+was over, and sat down to think. She was consuming herself in impatience 
+and fretting. By and by Lesbia came in to see to the fire. 
+
+"Lesbia," said Rotha with sudden resolution, "will you do something for 
+me?" She looked at the girl eagerly. 
+
+"Mebbe, miss. Like to know what 'tis, fust." 
+
+"It is only, to tell me something," said Rotha lowering her voice. 
+
+"Aint nothin' harder 'n to tell things," said the girl. "That's the 
+hardest thing I know." 
+
+"It isn't hard, if you are willing." 
+
+"Don' know about that. Well, fire away, Miss Rotha. What you want?" 
+
+Rotha went first to the door and shut it. Then came back and stood by the 
+table where Lesbia was lighting the gas drop. 
+
+"Lesbia, I want you to tell me-- You always open the door, don't you?" 
+
+"'Cept when I aint there." 
+
+"But in the evenings you do?" 
+
+"I'm pretty likely to, miss--if it aint my evening out." 
+
+"I want you to tell me--" Rotha lowered her voice to a whisper,--"if Mr. 
+Southwode has been here lately?" 
+
+Lesbia stood silent, considering. 
+
+"You know him? You know Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"He brought you here the fust, didn't he?" 
+
+"Yes. Yes, that is he. When was he here last?" 
+
+"Don't just 'member." 
+
+"But _about_ when? Two weeks or three weeks ago?" 
+
+"Well, 'pears to me as if I'd seen him later 'n that." 
+
+"When, Lesbia? Oh do tell me! do tell me!" 
+
+"Why he aint nothin' particular to you, is he?" 
+
+"He is _everything_ to me. He is the only friend I have got in the world. 
+When was he here, Lesbia?" 
+
+"He's a mighty handsome gentleman, with hair lighter than your'n, and a 
+mustaches?" 
+
+"Yes. He came with me that first day. Tell me, Lesbia!" 
+
+"But Miss Rotha, I can't see what you want to know fur?" 
+
+"Never mind. I tell you, he is all the friend I have got; and I'm afraid 
+something is wrong, because I don't see him." 
+
+"I reckon there is," said Lesbia, not reassuringly. 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"Mrs. Busby will kill me." 
+
+"No, I shall not tell her you told me. O Lesbia, Lesbia, speak, speak!" 
+
+Lesbia glanced at the girl and saw her intense excitement, and seemed 
+doubtful. 
+
+"You'll be so mad, you'll go tellin' the fust thing," she said. 
+
+Rotha sat down, in silence now, and gazed in Lesbia's face with her own 
+growing white. Lesbia seemed at last overcome. 
+
+"He was here last week, and he was here this week," she said. 
+
+"This week!--and last week too. What day this week, Lesbia?" 
+
+"This here is Friday, aint it. Blessed if I kin keep the run o' the days. 
+Let us see--Mr. Southwode was here the last time, Tuesday." 
+
+"Tuesday? And I was here studying." 
+
+"Then you don't know?" said Lesbia eyeing her. "He's done gone away." 
+
+"What do you mean? That can't be." 
+
+"He's done gone, miss. Sailed Wednesday. I heerd 'em talking about it at 
+dinner. His name was in the list, they was sayin'; in the papers." 
+
+"Sailed Wednesday? O where to, Lesbia?" 
+
+"Don' know, miss; some place where the ships goes." 
+
+"England?" 
+
+"Mebbe. I doesn't know all de places on dis yere arth." 
+
+"How long is he going to be gone?" 
+
+"Can't tell dat, miss. I haint heerd nobody say. La, I dare say he'll 
+come back. It's as easy to come as to go. Folks is allays goin' and 
+comin'. But if you tell Mis' Busby, then I've done gone and lost my 
+place, Miss Rotha." 
+
+Rotha stood still and said not a word more. But she turned so white that 
+Lesbia looked on in alarm, expecting every moment she would faint. There 
+was no faintness, however. Rotha was not one of those who lose present 
+knowledge of misery in the weakness of a swoon. She turned white and even 
+livid in the intensity of passion, the fury of rage and despair which 
+held her; then, knowing that she must not betray Lesbia and that 
+accordingly she must not meet anybody's eyes, she seized her books and 
+rushed up stairs to her own little room. 
+
+It was dark there, but so much darker in the child's heart that she never 
+noticed that. It was cold, yet not to her, for in her soul a fire was 
+burning, hot enough to dispense with material warmth. She never missed 
+that. But the walls of her room did seem to her a prison, a dreadful 
+prison, from which she must flee if there were any place to flee to. Had 
+her only refuge failed her? Was her one heart's treasure lost to her? Was 
+the world empty, and all gone? The bewilderment of it almost equalled the 
+pain. Rotha held her head in both hands and tried to find some hope, or 
+some stay for her thoughts and for her feelings. 
+
+She charged it all presently with the certainty of intuition upon her 
+aunt. For in her Rotha had not one particle of trust. She had received at 
+her hands no unkind treatment, (what was the matter with the mantua-
+makers, though?) she had heard from her lips no unkind word; yet both 
+would not have put such a distance between them as this want of trust 
+did. It was Rotha's nature to despise where she could not trust; and here 
+unhappily there was also the complication of fear. Somehow, she was sure, 
+her aunt had done it; she had prevented Mr. Digby from seeing her; and 
+now he was away, and how could she tell but cunning arrangements would be 
+potent enough to keep him from seeing her evermore? Any reason for such 
+machinations Rotha indeed failed to divine; why her aunt should desire to 
+keep them apart, was a mere mystery; all the same, she had done it; and 
+the chances were she would choose to do it permanently. Mr. Digby had 
+been duped, or baffled somehow; else he would never have left the country 
+without seeing his charge. She did not know before that Mr. Digby could 
+be duped, or baffled; but if once or twice, why not again. 
+
+She would write to him. Ah, she had not his address, that he was to have 
+given her. _He_ would write. Yes, but somebody else would get the letters. 
+Rotha was of anything but a suspicious disposition, yet now suspicion 
+after suspicion came in her mind. The possible moving cause for her 
+aunt's action was entirely beyond her imagination; the action itself and 
+the drift of it she discerned clearly. There rose in her a furious 
+opposition and dislike towards her aunt, a storm of angry abhorrence. And 
+yet, she was in Mrs. Busby's care, under her protection, and also--in her 
+power. Rotha gnashed her teeth, mentally, as she reviewed the situation. 
+But by degrees grief overweighed even anger and fear; grief so cutting, 
+so desolating, so crushing, as the girl had hardly known in her life 
+before; an agony of anguish which held her awake till late in the night; 
+till feeling and sense were blunted with exhaustion, and in her misery 
+she slept. 
+
+When the day came, Rotha awaked to a cold, dead sense of the state of 
+things; the ashes of the fire that had burned so fiercely the night 
+before; desolate and dreary as the ashes of a fire always are. She 
+revolved while she was dressing her plan of action. She must have certain 
+information from Mrs. Busby herself. She was certain indeed of what she 
+had heard; but she must hear it from somebody besides Lesbia, and she 
+must not betray Lesbia. She thought it all over, and went down stairs 
+trembling in the excitement and the pain of what she had to do. 
+
+It was winter now in truth. The basement room where the family took their 
+meals in ordinary, was a very warm and comfortable apartment; handsomely 
+furnished; only Rotha always hated it for being half underground. The 
+fire was burning splendidly; Mr. Busby sat in his easy chair at the side 
+of the hearth next the light; Mrs. Busby was at the table preparing 
+breakfast. Rotha stood by the fire and thought how she should begin. The 
+sun shone very bright outside the windows. But New York had become a 
+desert. 
+
+"Mr. Busby, will you come to the table?" said his wife. "Rotha, I am 
+going to see about your cloak to-day." 
+
+Rotha could not say "thank you." She began to eat, for form's sake. 
+
+"What are you going to get her, mother?" Antoinette enquired. 
+
+"You can come along and see." 
+
+"Aunt Serena," said Rotha, trying to speak un-concernedly, "what has 
+become of Mr. Digby--Mr. Southwode, I mean." 
+
+"I do not know, my dear," the lady answered smoothly. 
+
+"Why haven't I seen him?" 
+
+"My dear, you have not seen anybody. Some day I hope you will be able; 
+but I begin to despair of the dress-makers." 
+
+"If my tailor served me so, I should give him up," said Mr. Busby's 
+quick, husky utterance. 
+
+"Yes, papa, but you wouldn't, if there was only one tailor you liked." 
+
+"Isn't there more than one mantua-maker for all this big city?" 
+
+"My dear, Miss Hubbell suits me, and is uncommonly reasonable, for the 
+quality of her work; and she has so much custom, we cannot get her 
+without speaking long beforehand." 
+
+"Why don't you speak, then?" 
+
+"When was Mr. Digby--Mr. Southwode here, aunt Serena?" Rotha began again. 
+
+"A few nights ago. I do not recollect. Mr. Busby, as you go down town 
+will you stop at Dubois's and order the piano tuner? The piano is quite 
+out of tune. And I wish you would order me a bag of coffee, if you say 
+you can get it more reasonably at your down town place." 
+
+"Very well, my dear." The words used to amuse Rotha, they rolled out so, 
+brisk and sharp, like the discharge from a gun. To-day she was impatient. 
+
+"Aunt Serena, I have been wanting to see Mr. Southwode very much." 
+
+No answer. Mrs. Busby attended to her breakfast as if she did not hear. 
+
+"When can I?" Rotha persisted. 
+
+"I am sure, I cannot say. Mr. Busby, I will trouble you for a little of 
+that sausage." 
+
+"This sausage has too much pepper in it, mamma." 
+
+"And too little of something else," added Mr. Busby. 
+
+"Of what, Mr. Busby?" 
+
+"That I do not know, my dear; it belongs to your department." 
+
+"But even the Chaldean magicians could not interpret the dream that was 
+not told to them," Mrs. Busby suggested, with smiling satisfaction. "How 
+can I have the missing quality supplied, if you cannot tell me what it is 
+you miss?" 
+
+"You can divine, my dear, quite as well as the Chaldean magicians." 
+
+"Then if that is true, aunt Serena," Rotha put in desperately, "will you 
+please tell me where Mr. Southwode is?" 
+
+"Her divining rod is not long enough for that," said Mr. Busby. "Mr. 
+Southwode is on the high seas somewhere, on his way to England." 
+
+"On the high seas!" Rotha repeated slowly. 
+
+"There was no occasion to mention that, Mr. Busby," said his wife. "Mr. 
+Southwode's movements are nothing to us." 
+
+"Seem to be something to Rotha," said the gentleman. 
+
+"You knew that," said Rotha, steadily. "Why did you keep it from me, aunt 
+Serena?" 
+
+"I did not keep it from you," Mrs. Busby returned, bridling. "The papers 
+are open. I did not speak of it, because Mr. Southwode and his affairs 
+are no concern of yours, or of mine, and therefore are not interesting." 
+
+"Of yours? No! But they are all I have in the world!" said Rotha, with 
+fire in her cheeks and in her eyes. Mrs. Busby went on with her breakfast 
+and avoided looking at her. But Antoinette cried out. 
+
+"All she has in the world! Mr. Southwode! Pretty well for a young lady! 
+Mamma, do you hear that? Mr. Southwode is all she has in the world." 
+
+"Once hearing a silly thing is quite enough. You need not repeat it, 
+Antoinette." 
+
+"Didn't he come to say good bye?" asked Rotha, her eyes blazing. 
+
+"I do not answer questions put in that tone," said Mrs. Busby, coldly. 
+
+"I know he did," said Rotha. "What did he go to England for, Mr. Busby?" 
+
+"Mr. Busby," said his wife, "I request you not to reply. Rotha is 
+behaving improperly, and must be left to herself till she is better-
+mannered." 
+
+"I don't know, my dear," said the gentleman, rising and gathering his 
+newspapers together, previous to taking his departure. "'Seems to me 
+that's an open question--public, as you say. I do not see why you should 
+not tell Rotha that Mr. Southwode is called home by the illness and 
+probable death of his father. Good-morning, my dear!" 
+
+"Did you ever see anything like papa!" said Antoinette with an appealing 
+look at her mother, as the door closed. "He don't mind you a bit, mamma." 
+
+Mrs. Busby's slight air of the head was more significant than words. 
+
+"He is the only fraction of a friend I have in this house," said Rotha. 
+"But you needn't think, aunt Serena, that you can do what you like with 
+Mr. Southwode and me. I belong to him, not to you; and he will come back, 
+and then he will take me under his own care, and I will have nothing to 
+do with you the rest of my life. I know you now. I thought I did before, 
+and now I know. You let mamma want everything in the world; and now 
+perhaps you will let me; but Mr. Southwode will take care of me, sooner 
+or later, and I can wait, for I know him too." 
+
+Rotha left the room, unconsciously with the air of a tragedy queen. Alas, 
+it was tragedy enough with her! 
+
+"Mamma!" said Antoinette. "Did you ever see anything like that?" 
+
+"I knew it was in her," Mrs. Busby said, keeping her composure in 
+appearance. 
+
+"What will you do with her?" 
+
+"Let her alone a little," said Mrs. Busby icily. "Let her come to her 
+senses." 
+
+"Will you go to get her cloak to-day?" 
+
+"I don't know why I should give myself any trouble about her. I will let 
+her wait till she comes to her senses and humbles herself to me." 
+
+"Do you think she ever will?" 
+
+"I don't care, whether she does or not. It is all the same to me. You let 
+her alone too, Antoinette." 
+
+"_I_ will," said Antoinette. "I don't like spitfires. High! what a
+powder-magazine she is, mamma! Her eyes are enough to set fire to things 
+sometimes." 
+
+"Don't use such an inelegant word, Antoinette. 'High!' How can you? Where 
+did you get it?" 
+
+"You send me to school, mamma, to learn; and so I pick up a few things. 
+But do you think it is true, what she says about Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"That he will come and take her away from you." 
+
+"Not if I don't choose it," 
+
+"And you will not choose it, will you?" 
+
+"Don't be foolish, Antoinette. Rotha will never see Mr. Southwode again. 
+She has defied me, and now she may take the consequences." 
+
+"But he _will_ come back, mamma? He said so." 
+
+"I hope he will." 
+
+"Then he'll find Rotha, and she'll tell him her own story." 
+
+"Will you trust me to look after my own affairs? And get yourself ready 
+to go out with me immediately." 
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. 
+
+
+IN SECLUSION. 
+
+
+Rotha climbed the three flights of stairs from the breakfast room, 
+feeling that her aunt's house, and the world generally, had become a 
+desert to her. She went up to her own little room, being very sure that 
+neither in the warm dressing room on the second floor, nor indeed in any 
+other, would she be welcome, or even perhaps tolerated. How should she 
+be, after what had taken place? And how could she breathe, anyhow, in any 
+atmosphere where her aunt was? Imprudent? had she been imprudent? Very 
+possibly; she had brought matters to an unmanageable point, inconvenient 
+for all parties; and she had broken through the cold reserve which it had 
+been her purpose to maintain, and lost sight wholly of the principles by 
+which it had Been Mr. Digby's wish that she should be guided. Rotha had a 
+mental recognition of all this; but passion met it with simple defiance. 
+She was not weeping; the fire at her heart scorched all tender moisture, 
+though it would not keep her blood warm. The day was wintry indeed. Rotha 
+pulled the coverlet off her bed and wrapped herself in it, and sat down 
+to think. . 
+
+Thinking, is too good a name to give to what for some time went on in 
+Rotha's mind. She was rather looking at the procession of images which 
+passion called up and sent succeeding one another through the chambers of 
+her brain. It was a very dreary time with the girl. Her aunt's treachery, 
+her cousin's coldness, Mr. Digby's pitiless desertion, her lonely, lonely 
+place in the world, her unendurable dependence on people that did not 
+love her; for just now her dependence on Mr. Digby had failed; it all 
+rushed through and through Rotha's head, for all the world like the 
+changing images in a kaleidoscope, which are but new combinations, 
+eternally renewed, of the same changeless elements. At first they went 
+through Rotha's head in a kind of storm; gradually, for very weariness, 
+the storm laid itself, and cold reality and sober reason had the field. 
+
+But what could reason do with the reality? In other words, what step was 
+now to take? What was to be done? Rotha could not see. She was at present 
+at open war with her aunt. Yes, she allowed, that had not been exactly 
+prudent; but it would have had to come, sooner or later. She could not 
+live permanently on false social grounds; as well break through them at 
+once. But what now? What ground did she expect to stand and move on now? 
+She could not leave her aunt's house, for she had no other home to go to. 
+How was she to stay in it, if she made no apology or submission? And I 
+cannot do that, said the girl to herself. Apology indeed! It is she who 
+ought to humble herself to me, for it is she who has wronged me, 
+bitterly, meanly. Passion renewed the storm, for a little while. But by 
+degrees Rotha came to be simply cold and tired and miserable. What to do 
+she did not know. 
+
+Nobody was at home to luncheon. She knew this, and got some refreshment 
+from Lesbia, and also warmed herself through at the dressing-room fire. 
+But when the door bell announced the return of her aunt and cousin, she 
+sped away up stairs again and wrapped herself in her coverlet, and 
+waited. She waited till it grew dark. She was not called to dinner, and 
+saw that she would not be. Rotha fed upon indignation, which furnished 
+her a warm meal; and then somebody knocked softly at her door. Lesbia had 
+brought a plate with some cold viands. 
+
+"I'll fetch it agin by and by," she whispered. "I'm allays agin seein' 
+folks starve. What's the matter, Miss Rotha?" 
+
+Lesbia had heard one side down stairs, and impartially was willing now to 
+hear the other. Rotha's natural dignity however never sought such solace 
+of her troubles. 
+
+"Thank you, Lesbia," she simply said. "My aunt is vexed with me." 
+
+"She's vexed worse'n ever I seen her. What you gone and done, Miss 
+Rotha?" 
+
+"It can't be helped," said Rotha. "She and I do not think alike." 
+
+"It's convenientest not to quarrel with Mrs. Busby if you live in the 
+house with her," said Lesbia. "She's orful smart, she is. But she and me 
+allays thinks just alike, and so I get on first rate with her." 
+
+"That's a very good way, for you," said Rotha. 
+
+She went to bed, dulled that night with pain and misery, and slept the 
+night through. When the light of a bright Sunday morning awoke her, she 
+opened her eyes again to the full dreariness of her situation. So 
+terribly dreary and cold at heart Rotha had never felt. Deserted by her 
+one friend--and with that thought Rotha broke down and cried as if she 
+would break her heart. But hearts are tough, and do not break so easily. 
+The necessity of getting dressed before breakfast obliged her to check 
+her passion of grief and dry her eyes; though _that_ she did not; the 
+tears kept dripping on her hands and into her basin of water; but she 
+finished dressing, and then queried what she should do about going to the 
+breakfast-table. She was very uncertain whether she would be allowed 
+there. However, it was disagreeable, but the attempt must be made; she 
+must find out whether it was war to the knife or not. And although the 
+thought choked her, she was hungry; and be it the bread of charity, and 
+her aunt's charity to boot, she could not get along without it. She went 
+down stairs, rather late. The family were at breakfast. 
+
+Her aunt did not look at her. Antoinette stared at her. Mr. Busby, as 
+usual, took no notice. Rotha came up to the side of the table and stood 
+there, changing colour somewhat. 
+
+"I do not know," she said, "if I am to be allowed to come to breakfast. I 
+came to see." 
+
+Mrs. Busby made no answer. 
+
+"Polite--" said Antoinette. 
+
+"Eh?" said Mr. Busby looking up from a letter, "what's that? Sit down, my 
+dear, you are late. Hold your plate--" 
+
+As nobody interfered, Rotha did so and sat down to her meal. Mrs. Busby 
+said nothing whatever. Perhaps she felt she had pushed matters pretty 
+far; perhaps she avoided calling her husband's attention any further to 
+the subject. She made no remark about anything, till Mr. Busby had left 
+the room; nor then immediately. When she did speak, it was in her hard, 
+measured way. 
+
+"As you present yourself before me this morning, Rotha, I may hope that 
+you are prepared to make me a proper apology." 
+
+"What have I done, aunt Serena?" 
+
+"Do you ask me? You have forgotten strangely the behaviour due from you 
+to me." 
+
+"I did not forget it--" said Rotha slowly. 
+
+"Will you give me an excuse for your conduct, then?" 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha. "Because, aunt Serena, you had forgotten so utterly 
+the treatment due from you to me." 
+
+Mrs. Busby flushed a little. Still she commanded herself She always did. 
+
+"Mamma, she's pretty impudent!" said Antoinette. 
+
+"I always make allowances, and you must learn to do so, Antoinette, for 
+people who have never learned any manners." 
+
+Rotha was stung, but she confessed to herself that passion had made her 
+overleap the bounds which she had purposed, and Mr. Digby had counselled, 
+her behaviour should observe. So she was now silent. 
+
+"However," Mrs. Busby went on, "it is quite necessary that any one living 
+in my family and sheltered by my roof, should pay me the respect which 
+they owe to me." 
+
+"I will always pay all I owe," said Rotha deliberately, "so far as I have 
+anything to pay it with." 
+
+"And in case the supply fails," said Mrs. Busby, her voice trembling a 
+little, "don't you think you had better avoid going deeper into debt?" 
+
+"What do I owe you, aunt Serena?" asked the girl. 
+
+Mrs. Busby saw the gathering fire in the dark eyes, and did not desire to 
+bring on another explosion. She assumed an impassive air, looked away 
+from Rotha, rose and began to put her cups together on the tea-board, and 
+rang for the tub of hot water. 
+
+"I leave that to your own sense to answer," she said. "But if you are to 
+stay in my house, I beg you to understand, you must behave yourself to me 
+with all proper civility and good manners. Else I will turn you into the 
+street." 
+
+Rotha recognized the necessity for a certain decency of exterior form at 
+least, if she and her aunt were to continue under one roof; and so, 
+though her tongue was ready with an answer, she did not at once make it. 
+She rose, and was about quitting the room, when the fire in her blazed up 
+again. 
+
+"It is where mother would have been, if it had not been for other 
+friends," she said. 
+
+She opened the door as she spoke, and toiled up the long stairs to her 
+room; for when the heart is heavy somehow one's feet are not light. She 
+went to her cold little room and sat down. The sunshine was very bright 
+outside, and church bells were ringing. No going to church for her, nor 
+would there have been in any case; she had no garments fit to go out in. 
+Would she ever have them? Rotha queried. The church bells hurt her heart; 
+she wished they would stop ringing; they sounded clear and joyous notes, 
+and reminded her of happy times past. Medwayville, her father, her 
+mother, peace and honour, and latterly Mr. Southwode, and all his 
+kindness and teaching and his affection. It was too much. The early 
+Sunday morning was spent by Rotha in an agony of weeping and lamentation; 
+silent, however; she made no noise that could be heard down stairs where 
+Mrs. Busby and Antoinette were dressing to go to church. The intensity of 
+her passion again by and by wore itself out; and when the last bells had 
+done ringing, and the patter of feet was silenced in the streets, Rotha 
+crept down to the empty dressing room, feeling blue and cold, to warm 
+herself. She shivered, she stretched her arms to the warmth of the fire, 
+she was chilled to the core, with a chill that was yet more mental than 
+physical Alone, and stripped of everything, and everybody gone that she 
+loved. What was she to do? how was she to live? She was struggling with a 
+burden of realities and trying to make them seem unreal, trying for an 
+outlook of hope or comfort in the darkness of her prospects. In vain; Mr. 
+Digby was gone, and with him all her strength and her reliance. He was 
+gone; nobody could tell when he would come back; perhaps never; and she 
+could not write to him, and his letters would never get to her. Never; 
+she was sure of it. Mrs. Busby would never let them get further than her 
+own hands. So everything was worse than she had ever feared it could be. 
+
+Sitting there on the rug before the fire, and with her teeth chattering, 
+partly from real cold and partly from the nervous exhaustion, there came 
+to her suddenly something Mr. Digby had once said to her. If she should 
+come to see a time when she would have nobody to depend on; when her 
+world would be wholly a desert; _all_ gone that she had loved or trusted. 
+It has come now!--she thought to herself; even he, who I thought would 
+never fail me, he has failed. He said he would not fail me, but he has 
+failed. I am alone; I have nobody any more. Then he told me---- 
+
+She went back and gathered it up in her memory, what he had told her to 
+do then. Then if she would seek the Lord, seek him with her whole heart, 
+she would find him; and finding him, she would find good again. The poor, 
+sore heart caught at the promise. I will seek him, she suddenly said; I 
+will seek till I find; I have nothing else now. 
+
+The resolve was as earnest as it was sudden. Doubtless the way had been 
+preparing for it, in her mother's and her father's teachings and prayers 
+and example, and in Mr. Digby's words and kindness and his example; she 
+remembered now the look of his eyes as he told her the Lord Jesus would 
+do all she trusted him to do. Yet the determination was extremely sudden 
+to Rotha herself. And as the meeting of two currents, whether in the 
+waters or in the air or the human mind, generally raises a commotion, so 
+this flowing in of light and promise upon the midst of her despair almost 
+broke Rotha's heart. The tears shed this time, however, though abundant, 
+were less bitter; and Rotha raised her head and dashed the drops away, 
+and ran up stairs to fetch her mother's Bible and begin her quest upon 
+the spot. Lying there upon the rug in her aunt's dressing room, she began 
+it. 
+
+She began with a careful consideration of the three marked passages. The 
+one in John especially held her. "He that hath my commandments and 
+keepeth them, he it is that loveth me."--I do not love Him, thought 
+Rotha, for I do not know Him; but I must begin, I suppose, with keeping 
+his commandments. Now the thing is, to find out what.--
+
+She opened her book at hap hazard, lying on the rug there with it before 
+her. A leaf or two aimlessly turned,--and her eye fell on these words: 
+
+"And in that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book, and the eyes 
+of the blind shall see out of obscurity and out of darkness. The meek 
+also shall increase their joy in the Lord, and the poor among men shall 
+rejoice in the Holy One of Israel." 
+
+I am poor enough, thought Rotha, while soft warm tears streamed afresh 
+from her eyes;--and deaf enough, and blind enough too, I have been; but 
+meek?--I guess I'm not meek. 
+
+Turning over a leaf or two, her eyes were caught by the thirty fifth 
+chapter of Isaiah, and she read it all. There was the promise for the 
+deaf and the blind again; Rotha applied that to herself unhesitatingly; 
+but the rest of the chapter she could not well understand. Except one 
+thing; that the way of the blessed people is a "way of holiness." And 
+also the promise in the last verse, which seemed to be an echo of those 
+words of Jesus--"He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that 
+believeth on me shall never thirst." And Rotha was so hungry, and so 
+thirsty! She paused just there, and covering her eyes with her hand, made 
+one of the first real prayers, perhaps, she had ever prayed. It was a 
+dumb stretching out of her hands for the food she was starving for; not 
+much more; but it was eagerly put in the name of Christ, and such cries 
+he hears. She turned over a few more leaves and stopped. 
+
+"I the Lord have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, 
+and will keep thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, for a 
+light of the Gentiles; to open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners 
+from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house." 
+
+Who could that be? Rotha knew enough to guess that it could mean but one, 
+even the great Deliverer. And a little further on she saw other words 
+which encouraged her. 
+
+"I will bring the blind by a way that they know not; I will lead them in 
+paths they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and 
+crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not 
+forsake them." 
+
+So many promises to the blind, Rotha said to herself; and that means me. 
+I don't think I am meek, but I know I am blind.--Then on the very next 
+leaf she read-- 
+
+"I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy transgressions, and as a cloud 
+thy sins; return unto me; for I have redeemed thee." 
+
+_Redeemed_, that means, bought back, said Rotha; and I know who has done 
+it, too. I suppose that is how he delivered the prisoners out of the 
+prison house. Well, if he has redeemed me, I ought to belong to him,--and 
+I will! I do not know much, but there is another promise; he will bring 
+the blind by a way they have not known, and will make darkness light 
+before them. Now what I have to do,--yes, I am redeemed, and I _will_ be 
+redeemed; and I belong to him who has redeemed me, of course. "He that 
+hath my commandments and keepeth them"--what are they? 
+
+She thought she must look in the New Testament for them; and not knowing 
+where to look in particular, she turned to the first chapter. It did not 
+seem to contain much that concerned her, till she came to the 21st verse. 
+
+"And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for 
+he shall save his people from their sins." 
+
+Rotha put that together with the "way of holiness," but it seemed to her 
+unspeakably wonderful. In fact, it was hard to believe. Save _her_ from 
+her sins? from pride and anger and self-will and self-pleasing? why, they 
+were inborn; they were in her very blood; they came like the breath of 
+her breathing. Could she be saved from them? Mr. Digby was like that. But 
+a Rotha without anger and pride and self-will--would she know herself? 
+would it be Rotha? and was she quite sure that she desired to be the 
+subject of such a transformation? Never mind; desire it or not, this was 
+the "way of holiness," and there was no other. But about commandments?--
+
+She read the second chapter with an interest that hitherto she had never 
+given to it; so also the third, without finding yet what she was looking 
+for. The second verse, John the Baptist's cry to repentance, she answered 
+by saying that she _had_ repented; that step was taken; what next? In the 
+fourth chapter she paused at the 10th verse. I see, she said, one is not 
+to do wrong even for the whole world; but what must I do that is _right?_ 
+She startled a little at the 19th verse; concluded however that the 
+command to "follow him" was directed only to the people of that time, the 
+apostles and others, who were expected literally to leave their callings 
+and accompany Jesus in his wanderings. The beatitudes were incipient 
+commands, perhaps. But she did not quite understand most of them. At the 
+16th verse she came to a full pause. 
+
+"Let your light so shine"--That is like Mr. Digby. Everything he does is 
+just beautiful, and shews one how one ought to be. Then according to 
+that, I must not do any wrong at all!--
+
+ust here Rotha heard the latch key in the house door, and knew the 
+family were coming home from church. She seized her Bible and ran off up 
+stairs. There it was necessary to wrap herself in her coverlet again; and 
+shivering a little she put her book on the bed side and knelt beside it. 
+But presently poor Rotha was brought up short in her studies. She had 
+been saying comfortably to herself, reading v. 22,--I have not been 
+"angry without a cause"; and I have not called anybody "Raca," or "Thou 
+fool"; but then it came--
+
+"If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest _that thy 
+brother hath ought against thee_, leave there thy gift... go thy way...
+first be reconciled... then offer thy gift." 
+
+Rotha felt as if she had got a blow. Her aunt had "something against 
+her." But, said Rotha to herself, not the thousandth part of what _I_ 
+have against her. No matter, conscience objected; her charge remains the 
+same, although you may have a larger to set off against it. Then am I to 
+go and make it up with her? I can't do it, said Rotha. I do not wish to 
+do it. I wish her to know that I am angry, and justly angry; if I were to 
+go and ask her pardon for my way of speaking, she would just think I want 
+to make it up with her so that she may get me my new cloak and other 
+things.? And Rotha turned hot and cold at the thought. Yet conscience 
+pertinaciously presented the injunction?"first be reconciled to thy 
+brother." It was a dead lock. Rotha felt that her prayers would not be 
+acceptable or accepted, while a clear duty was knowingly left undone; and 
+do it she would not. At least not now; and how ever, that she could not 
+see. Her heart which had been a little lightened, sank down like lead. O, 
+thought she, is it so hard a thing to be a Christian? Did Mr. Digby ever 
+have such a fight, I wonder, before he got to be as he is now? He does 
+not look as if he ever had fights. But then he is strong. 
+
+And Rotha was weak. She knew it. She let her eye run down the page a 
+little further; and it came to these words-- 
+
+"If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee."...
+"If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off."...
+
+Duty was plain enough. This luxury of anger at her aunt was a forbidden 
+pleasure; it must be given up; and at the thought, Rotha clutched it the 
+more warmly. So the bell rang for dinner, always early on Sunday. She 
+would rather not have gone down, and did linger; then she heard it rung 
+the second time and knew that was to summon the stragglers. She went 
+down. The rest were at table. 
+
+"Mamma," Antoinette was saying, "you must get a new bonnet." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"Mrs. Mac Jimpsey has got a new one, and it is handsomer than yours." 
+
+"What does that signify?" was asked in Mr. Busby's curious husky tones 
+and abrupt utterance. 
+
+"O papa, you don't understand such things." 
+
+"Nor you neither. You are a little goose." 
+
+"Papa! don't you want mamma and me to be as nice as anybody?" 
+
+"You are." 
+
+"O but Mrs. Mac Jimpsey's bonnet was fifty times handsomer than mamma's. 
+_You_ don't know, but it was." 
+
+"Nevertheless, your mamma is fifty times handsomer than Mrs. Mac 
+Jimpsey." 
+
+"O papa! but _that_ isn't the thing." 
+
+"And Mr. Mac Jimpsey's pocket is some fifty dollars or so emptier than 
+mine. You see, we have a hundred times the advantage, to say the least." 
+
+"Papa, gentlemen never understand such things." 
+
+"Better for them if the ladies didn't." 
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Busby smoothly, "you do not consider dress a subject 
+of small importance?" 
+
+"I have no occasion to think about it, my dear, I am aware." 
+
+"Why do you say that, Mr. Busby?" 
+
+"It receives such exhaustive consideration from you." 
+
+"It cannot be done without consideration; not properly. Good dressing is 
+a distinction; and it requires a careful regard to circumstances, to keep 
+up one's appearance properly." 
+
+"What do you think about it, Rotha?" said Mr. Busby. 
+
+Rotha was startled, and flushed all over. To answer was not easy; and yet 
+answer she must. "I think it is comfortable to be well dressed," she 
+said. 
+
+"Well dressed! but there is the question. What do you mean by 'well 
+dressed'? You see, Antoinette means by it simply, handsomer things than 
+Mrs. Mac Jimpsey." 
+
+Antoinette pouted, much incensed at this speech and at the appeal to 
+Rotha generally; and Mrs. Busby brought her lips into firmer compression; 
+though neither spoke. Mr. Busby went on, rather kindly. 
+
+"What's the matter, that you didn't go to church to-day? Is Antoinette's 
+bonnet handsomer than yours?" 
+
+"It ought to be, Mr. Busby," said the lady of the house here. 
+
+"Ought it? Rotha might put in a demurrer. May I ask why?" 
+
+"Circumstances are different, Mr. Busby. That is what I said. Proper 
+dressing must keep a due regard to circumstances." 
+
+"Mine among the rest. Now I don't see why a bonnet fit for Antoinette's 
+cousin isn't good enough for Antoinette; and the surplus money in my 
+pocket." 
+
+"And you would have your daughter dress like a poor girl?" 
+
+"Couldn't do better, in my opinion. That's the way not to become one. 
+Fetch me your bonnet, Rotha, and let us see what it is like." 
+
+Rotha coloured high and sat still. Indeed her aunt said, "Nonsense! do no 
+such thing." But Mr. Busby repeated, "Fetch it, fetch it. We are talking 
+in the abstract; I cannot convict anybody in the abstract." 
+
+"But it is Sunday, Mr. Busby." 
+
+"Well, my dear, what of that? The better day, the better deed. I am 
+trying to bring you and Antoinette to a more Christian mind in respect of 
+bonnets; that's good work for Sunday. Fetch your bonnet, Rotha." 
+
+"Do no such thing, Rotha," said her aunt. "Mr. Busby is playing; he does 
+not mean his words to be taken literally. You would not send her up three 
+pair of stairs to gratify your whim, when another time would do just as 
+well?" 
+
+"My dear, I always mean my words to be taken literally. I do not 
+understand your arts of rhetoric. I will send Rotha up stairs, if she 
+will be so obliging as to gratify my whim." 
+
+He looked at Rotha as he spoke, and Rotha half rose from her seat; when 
+Antoinette suddenly dashed past her, saying, "I will fetch it"--and ran 
+off up stairs. Rotha sat down again, much confounded at this benevolence, 
+and wondering what that was not benevolent might lie beneath it. Mrs. 
+Busby pursed up her mouth and looked at nobody. Presently Antoinette came 
+down again. In her hand she held a little grey plush hat, somewhat worn 
+but very jaunty, with a long grey feather, curled round it. This hat she 
+held out on the tips of her fingers for her father's inspection. Rotha's 
+eyes grew large with astonishment. Mrs. Busby's lips twitched. Antoinette 
+looked daring and mischievous. Mr. Busby innocently surveyed the grey 
+plush and feather. 
+
+"So that is what you call a hat for a poor girl?" he said. "It seems to 
+me, if I remember, that is very like one you used to wear, Nettie." 
+
+"Yes, papa, it is; but this is Rotha's." 
+
+"Mrs. Busby, was this your choice?" 
+
+"Yes, Mr. Busby." 
+
+"Then of course this is proper for Rotha. Now will you explain to me why 
+it is not equally proper for Antoinette? But this is not what I should 
+have called a hat for a poor girl, my dear." 
+
+"Mr. Busby, while Rotha lives with us, it is necessary to have a certain 
+conformity--there cannot be _too_ much difference made." 
+
+"Hum--ha!" said the bewildered man. Rotha by this time had got her 
+breath. 
+
+"That is not my hat however, Mr. Busby," she said, with cheeks on fire. 
+
+"Yes, it is your hat," said Antoinette. "Do you think I am saying what is 
+not true? It is your hat, and nobody else's." 
+
+"It is _your_ hat. I have seen you wear it." 
+
+"I have given it to you. It is your hat." 
+
+"I don't take it," said Rotha. "Your things do not suit me, as your 
+mother has just said. You may do what you like with it; but you do not 
+give it to me!" 
+
+Mr. Busby looked from one to the other. 
+
+"Do you expect me to buy new everything for you?" Mrs. Busby asked now. 
+"Is it not good enough? I suppose it is much better than any hat you ever 
+had before in your life." 
+
+"But it is not mine," said Rotha. "It never was given to me. I never 
+heard anything of it until now, when Antoinette fetched it because she 
+did not want Mr. Busby to see what sort of a hat I really had. Thank you! 
+I do not take it." 
+
+"But it is yours!" cried Antoinette. "I have given it to you. Do you 
+think I would wear it, after giving it away?" 
+
+"If it was convenient, you would," said Rotha. 
+
+"You may lay your account with not having any hat, then, unless you wear 
+this," said Mrs. Busby. "You may take your choice. If you receive 
+Antoinette's kindness so, you must not look for mine." 
+
+"Your kindness, and hers, are the very strangest sort I ever heard of in 
+my life," said Rotha. 
+
+"What am I to understand by all this?" asked the perplexed Mr. Busby, 
+looking from the hat to the faces of the speakers. 
+
+"Only, that I never heard of that hat's being intended for me until this 
+minute," said Rotha. 
+
+"Rotha," said her aunt quietly, "you may go up stairs." 
+
+"What did you bring it down for, Nettie?" 
+
+"Because you took an insane fancy to see Rotha's bonnet, papa; so I 
+brought it." 
+
+"That is not true, Mr. Busby," Rotha said, standing up to go. 
+
+"It is not your hat?" 
+
+"No, sir." 
+
+"Mr. Busby, if you would listen to Antoinette's words," said his wife 
+with her lips very compressed, "you would understand things. Rotha, I 
+said you might go." 
+
+Which Rotha did, Antoinette at the same moment bursting into tears and 
+flinging the hat on the dinner table. 
+
+What followed, Rotha did not know. She climbed the many stairs with a 
+heavy heart. It was war to the knife now. She was sure her aunt would 
+never forgive her. And, much worse, she did not see how she was ever to 
+forgive her aunt. And yet--"if thy neighbour hath ought against thee"--. 
+Rotha had far more against _her_, she excused herself, in vain. The one 
+debt was not expunged by the other. And, bitter as her own grievances 
+seemed to her, there was a score on the other side. Not so would Mr. 
+Digby have received or returned injuries. Rotha knew it. And as fancy 
+represented to her the quiet, manly, dignified sweetness which always 
+characterized him, she did not like the retrospect of her own behaviour. 
+So true it is, that "whatsoever doth make manifest is light." No 
+discourse could have given Rotha so keen a sense of her own failings as 
+that image of another's beautiful living. What was done could not be 
+undone; but the worst was, Rotha was precisely in the mood to do it over 
+again; so though sorry she was quite aware that she was not repentant. 
+
+It followed that the promises for which she longed and to which she was 
+stretching out her hands, were out of reach. Clean out of reach. Rotha's 
+heart was the scene of a struggle that took away all possibility of 
+comfort or even of hope. She had no right to hope. "If thy hand offend 
+thee, cut it off"--but Rotha was not so minded. The prospect was dark and 
+miserable. How could she go on living in her aunt's house? and how could 
+she live anywhere else? and how could she bear her loneliness? and how 
+could she get to the favour of that one great Friend, whose smile is only 
+upon them that are at least trying to do his commandments? It was dark in 
+Rotha's soul, and stormy. 
+
+It continued so for days. In the house she was let alone, but so 
+thoroughly that it amounted to domestic exile or outlawry. She was let 
+alone. Not forbidden to take her place at the family table, or to eat her 
+portion of the bread and the soup; but for all social or kindly 
+relations, left to starve. Mr. Busby's mouth had been shut somehow; he 
+was practically again a man of papers; and the other two hardly looked at 
+Rotha or spoke to her. Antoinette and she sometimes went to school 
+together and sometimes separate; it was rather more lonely when they went 
+together. In school they hardly saw each other. So days went by. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. 
+
+
+MRS. MOWBRAY. 
+
+
+"How is that Carpenter girl doing?" Mrs. Mowbray inquired one day of Miss 
+Blodgett, as they met in one of the passages. 
+
+"I have been wanting to speak to you about her, madame. She knows all I 
+can teach her in that class." 
+
+"Does she! Her aunt told me she had had no advantages. Does she study?" 
+
+"I fancy she has no need to study much where she is. She has been 
+further." 
+
+"How does she behave?" 
+
+"Perfectly well. She does not look to me happy." 
+
+"Not happy! Is her cousin kind to her? She is cousin to that pretty 
+Busby, you know." 
+
+"I think she hardly speaks to her. Not here, I mean." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray passed on. But that very afternoon, when school was breaking 
+up, Miss Blodgett asked Rotha to wait a few minutes. The girls were all 
+gone in a trice; Miss Blodgett herself followed; and Rotha was left 
+alone. She waited a little while. Then the door opened and the figure 
+which had such a fascination for her appeared. The face looked gentler 
+and kinder than she had seen it before; this was not school time. Mrs. 
+Mowbray came in and sat down by Rotha, after giving her her hand. 
+
+"Are you quite well, my dear?" was her instant question after the 
+greeting. "You are hoarse." 
+
+Rotha said she had caught a little cold. 
+
+"How did you do that?" 
+
+"I think it was sitting in a cold room." 
+
+"Were you obliged to sit in a cold room?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated. "It was pleasanter there," she said with some 
+embarrassment. 
+
+"You never should sit in a cold room. What did you want to be in a cold 
+room for?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated again. "I wanted to be alone." 
+
+"Studying?" 
+
+"Not my lessons,"--said Rotha doubtfully. 
+
+"Not your lessons? If you and I were a little better acquainted, I should 
+ask for a little more confidence. But I will not be unreasonable." 
+
+Rotha glanced again at the sweet face, so kindly now with all its 
+penetrating acuteness and habit of authority; so sweet with its smile; 
+and confidence sprang forth at the instant, together with the longing for 
+help. Did not this look like a friend's face? Where else was she to find 
+one? Reserve gave way. 
+
+"I was studying my duty," she said softly. 
+
+"Your duty, my dear? Was the difficulty about knowing it, or about doing 
+it?" 
+
+"I think--about doing it." 
+
+"Is it difficult?" 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha from the bottom of her heart. 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray read the troubled brow, the ingenuous mouth, the oppressed 
+manner; and her soul went forth in sympathy to her little perplexed human 
+sister. But her next words were a departure, and in a different tone. 
+
+"You have never been to school before, your aunt tells me?" 
+
+"No, ma'am," said Rotha, disappointed somehow. 
+
+"Are you getting along pleasantly?" 
+
+"Not very pleasantly," Rotha allowed, after a pause. 
+
+"Does Miss Blodgett give you too hard work to do?" 
+
+"O no, ma'am!" Rotha said with a spark more of spirit. "I have not 
+anything to do. I know it all already." 
+
+"You do! Where did you learn it?" 
+
+"Mother used to teach me--and then a friend used to teach me." 
+
+"What, my dear? It is important that I should know." 
+
+"Mother taught me history, and geography, and grammar, and little things. 
+Then a gentleman taught me more history, and arithmetic, and algebra, and 
+Latin, and natural history--"
+
+"The gentleman was the friend you spoke of?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Do you like to study, Rotha?" 
+
+"O yes, ma'am! when it _is_ study, and I can understand it." 
+
+"I suppose your aunt did not know about all this home study?" 
+
+"She knew nothing about me," said Rotha. 
+
+"Then where has your home been, my dear?" 
+
+"Here,--for two years past. Before that, it was in the country." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray was silent a bit. 
+
+"My dear, I think the first thing you should do should be, to take care 
+of that cold. Will you?" 
+
+"I do not know how, ma'am," said Rotha, for the first time lifting her 
+eyes with something like a smile to the lady's face. 
+
+"Does Mrs. Busby know that you have taken cold?" 
+
+"I do not know, ma'am." 
+
+"Will you take some medicine, if I give you some?" 
+
+"If you please, ma'am." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray sent a servant for a certain box, and proceeded to choose 
+out a vial which she gave to Rotha, instructing her how to use it. 
+
+"And then, some time when we know each other better," she went on, 
+"perhaps you will tell me about that difficulty of duty, and let me see 
+if I can help you." 
+
+"O thank you, ma'am!" was spoken so earnestly that Mrs. Mowbray saw the 
+matter must be much on the young girl's heart. 
+
+That same evening did Mrs. Mowbray make a call on Mrs. Busby. 
+
+She came in with her gracious, sweet, dignified manner, which always put 
+everybody upon his best behaviour in her presence; as gracious as if she 
+had come for the sole pleasure of a talk with Mrs. Busby; as sweet as if 
+she had had no other object in coming but to give her and her family 
+pleasure. And so she talked. She talked public news and political 
+questions with Mr. Busby, with full intelligence, but with admirable 
+modesty; she bewitched him out of his silence and dryness into being 
+social and conversible; she delighted him with his own unwonted 
+performance. With Mrs. Busby she talked Antoinette, for whom she had at 
+the same time brought a charming little book, which compliment flattered 
+the whole family. She talked Antoinette and Antoinette's interests, but 
+not Antoinette alone; with a blessed kind of grace she brought in among 
+the other things relations and anecdotes the drift and bearing of which 
+was away from vanity and toward soul health; stories which took her 
+hearers for the moment at least out of the daily and the trivial and the 
+common, into the lofty and the noble and the everlasting. Even Mr. Busby 
+forgot his papers and cases and waked up to human interests and social 
+gentleness; and even Mrs. Busby let the lines of her lips relax, and her 
+eyes glistened with something warmer than a steely reflection. Antoinette 
+bloomed with smiles. Rotha was not in the room. 
+
+And not till she was drawing up her fur around her, preparatory to 
+departure, did Mrs. Mowbray refer to the fourth member of the family. 
+Then she said, 
+
+"How is your niece, Mrs. Busby? Miss Carpenter?" 
+
+"Quite well," Mrs. Busby answered graciously. "I believe she is at her 
+books." 
+
+"How does she like going to school?" 
+
+"I am afraid I can hardly say. Netta, how does Rotha enjoy her school 
+life?" 
+
+"I don't know," said Antoinette. "She doesn't enjoy anything, I should 
+say." 
+
+The tone of neither question nor answer escaped the watchful observation 
+of the visiter. 
+
+"I think you said she had had no advantages?" 
+
+"None whatever, I should say; not what we would call advantages. I 
+suppose she has learned a few common things." 
+
+"She is an orphan?" 
+
+Mrs. Busby assented. "Lost her mother last summer." 
+
+"I should like to have her more under my own eye than is possible as she 
+is now; a mere day scholar. What do you say to letting her become a 
+member of my family? Of course," added Mrs. Mowbray graciously, "I should 
+not propose to you to charge yourself with any additional burden on her 
+account. As she is an orphan, I should make no difference because of 
+receiving her into my family. I have a professional ambition to gratify, 
+and I like to be able to carry out my plans in every detail. I could do 
+better for Antoinette, if you would let me have _her_ altogether; but I 
+suppose that is not to be thought of." 
+
+Mrs. Busby wore an air of deliberation. Mr. Busby was understood to 
+mutter something about "very handsome." 
+
+"Will you let me have Antoinette?" said the lady smiling. "I think it 
+would do her no harm." 
+
+"Antoinette must content herself at home," Antoinette's mother replied. 
+"I am accustomed to having her under my own wing." 
+
+"And that is a privilege you would not yield to any one else. I 
+understand. Well, what do you say about Miss Carpenter?" 
+
+Mrs. Busby looked at her husband. Long experience enabled him to guess at 
+what he was desired to say. 
+
+"My dear--since Mrs. Mowbray is so kind--it would be a great thing for 
+Rotha the best thing that could happen to her--" 
+
+Mrs. Busby turned her eyes to her visiter. 
+
+"Since you are so good, Mrs. Mowbray--it is more than I could ask you to 
+do--"    
+
+"I shall be very glad to do it. I am nothing if not professional, you 
+know," Mrs. Mowbray said rising and drawing her fur together again. "Then 
+that is settled."-- And with gracious deference and sweetness of manner 
+she took her leave. 
+
+"That's what I call a good riddance!" exclaimed Antoinette when she was 
+free to express her opinion. 
+
+"You will find it a happy relief," added Mr. Busby. "And not a little 
+saving, too." 
+
+Mrs. Busby was silent. With all the relief and the saving, there was yet 
+something in the plan which did not suit her. Nevertheless, the relief, 
+and the saving, were undoubted facts; and she held her tongue. 
+
+"Mamma, what are you going to do about Rotha's dresses?" 
+
+"I will see, when she comes to me with a proper apology." 
+
+Of all this nothing was told to Rotha. So she was a little surprised, 
+when next morning Mrs. Mowbray came into the schoolroom and desired to 
+see her after school. But then Mrs. Mowbray's first words were about her 
+cold. 
+
+"My dear, you are very hoarse! You can hardly speak. And you feel 
+miserably, I see. I shall sequester you at once. Come with me." 
+
+Wondering but obedient, Rotha followed. What was going to happen now? Up 
+stairs, along a ball, up another flight of stairs, past the great 
+schoolrooms, now empty, through a small bedroom, through a large one, 
+along another passage. At last a door is opened, into what, as Rotha 
+enters it, seems to her a domestic paradise. The air deliciously warm and 
+sweet, the walls full of engravings or other pictures, tables heaped with 
+books, a luxuriously appointed bed and dressing tables, (what to Rotha's 
+eyes was enormous luxury)--finally a couch, where she was made to lie 
+down and covered over with a brilliant affghan. Rotha was transported 
+into the strangest of new worlds. Her new friend arranged the pillow 
+under her head, gave her some tasteless medicine; that was a wonderful 
+innovation too, for all Rotha's small experience had been of nauseous 
+rhubarb and magnesia or stinging salts; and finally commanded her to lie 
+still and go to sleep.  
+
+"But aunt Serena--?" Rotha managed to whisper. 
+
+"She has made you over to me. You are going to live in my house for the 
+present, where you can carry on your studies better than you could at 
+home, and I can attend to you better. Here you have been losing a month, 
+because I did not know what you properly required. Are you willing to be 
+my child, Rotha?--instead of Mrs. Busby's?--for a time?" 
+
+The flash of joy in Rotha's eyes was so eloquent and so bright, that Mrs. 
+Mowbray stooped down and kissed her. 
+
+"I never was Mrs. Busby's child,"--the girl must make so much protest. 
+
+"Well, no matter; you are not her child now. Lie still, and go to sleep 
+if you can." 
+
+Could she? Not at once. Is it possible to tell the sort of Elysium in 
+which the child was lapped? Softness and warmth and ease and rest, and 
+_hiding_, and such beauty and such luxury! Mrs. Mowbray left the room 
+presently; and Rotha lay still under her affghan, looking from one to 
+another point of delight in the room, wondering at this suddenly entered 
+fairyland, comforted inexpressibly by the assurance that she was taken 
+out of her aunt's house and presence, happy in the promise of the new 
+guardianship into which she had come. What pretty pictures were on the 
+walls, all around her, over her head; here was a lady, there a lovely 
+little girl; here a landscape; there a large print shewing a horse which 
+a smith is just about shoeing, and a little foal standing by. And so her 
+eye wandered, from one to another, every one having its peculiar interest 
+for Rotha. Then the books. How the books were piled up, on the floor, on 
+the dressing-table, on benches, on the mantelpiece; there was a kind of 
+overflow and breaking wave of literary riches which seemed to have 
+scattered its surplus about this room. And there were trinkets too, and 
+pretty useful trifles, and pretty things of use that were not trifles. 
+Rotha had always lived in a very plain way; her father's house had shewed 
+no far-off indication of this sort of life. Neither had her aunt's house. 
+Plenty of means was not wanting there; the house had money enough; what 
+it lacked was the life. No love of the beautiful; no habit of elegant 
+surroundings; no literary taste that had any tide or flow whatsoever, 
+much less overflow. No art, and no associations. Everything here had 
+meaning, and indications of life, or associations with it; with mental 
+life especially. What exactly it was that charmed her, Rotha could not 
+have told; she could not have put all this into words; yet she felt all 
+this. The girl had come into a new atmosphere, where for the first time 
+her soul seemed to draw free breath. It was, by its affinities, her 
+native air. Certainly in the company of Mr. Southwode all this higher 
+part of her nature had been fed and fostered, and with him too she was at 
+home; but she had seen him only in Mrs. Marble's house or in the lodgings 
+at Fort Washington. 
+
+It was long before Rotha could sleep. She waked as the day was declining 
+and the room growing dusky. A maid came in and lit the fire, which 
+presently sparkled and snapped and sent forth jets of flame which lit up 
+the room with a red illumination. Rotha recognized, she thought, the sort 
+of coal which Mr. Digby had sent in for her mother, and hailed the sight; 
+but she was mistaken, a little; it was kennal coal, not Liverpool. It 
+snapped and shone, and the light danced over pictures and books and 
+curtains; and Rotha wondered what would come next. 
+
+What came next was Miss Blodgett, followed by the maid bearing a tray. 
+The tray was placed on a stand by the couch, and Rotha was informed that 
+this was her dinner. Mrs. Mowbray wished her to keep quite quiet and live 
+very simply until this cold was broken up. Rotha raised herself on her 
+couch and looked in astonishment at what was before her. A hot mutton 
+chop, a roll, a cup of tea, and some mashed potatoe. A napkin was spread 
+over the tray; and there was a little silver salt cellar, and a glass of 
+water, and a plate of rice pudding. Ah, surely Rotha was in fairyland; 
+and never was there so beneficent and so magnificent a fairy in human 
+shape. Miss Blodgett saw her arranged to her mind, and left her to take 
+her dinner in peace and at leisure; which Rotha did, almost ready to cry 
+for sheer pleasure. When had dinner been so good to her? Everything was 
+so hot and so nice and so prettily served. Rotha lay down again feeling 
+half cured already. 
+
+However, such well-grounded colds as she had taken are not disposed of in 
+a minute; and Rotha's kept her shut up for yet several days more. Wonders 
+went on multiplying; for a little cot bed was brought into the room, 
+(which Rotha found was Mrs. Mowbray's own) and made up there for her 
+occupancy; and there actually she slept those nights. And Mrs. Mowbray 
+nursed her; gave her medicine, by night and by day; sent her dainty 
+meals, and allowed her to amuse herself with anything she could find. 
+Rotha found a book suited to her pleasure, and had a luxurious time of 
+it. Towards the end of the second day, Mrs. Mowbray came into the room; a 
+little while before dinner. 
+
+"How do you do?" she said, standing and surveying her patient. 
+
+"Very well, ma'am; almost quite well." 
+
+"You will be glad to be let out of prison?" 
+
+"It is a very pleasant prison." 
+
+"I do not think any prison is pleasant. What book have you got there? 
+Mrs. Sherwood. Do you like it?" 
+
+"O _very_ much, ma'am!" 
+
+"My dear, your aunt has sent your trunk, at my request; and Miss Blodgett 
+has unpacked it to get at the things you were wanting. But there is only 
+one warm dress in it. Is that your whole ward robe?" 
+
+"What dress is that? what sort, I mean?" 
+
+"Grey merino, I believe." 
+
+"It is not mine," said Rotha flushing. "It is Antoinette's. They tried it 
+on, but it did not fit me. I told aunt Serena I would rather wear my own 
+old one." 
+
+"That is the one you are wearing now?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"My dear, is that your whole supply for the winter?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"I observe you have a nice supply of under wear." 
+
+"Yes, ma'am. That was got for me by somebody else; not my aunt." 
+
+"Have you other relations then, besides Mrs. Busby?" 
+
+"No, ma'am. But I have a friend." 
+
+"May I know more, since you have begun to confide in me? Who is this 
+friend?" 
+
+"It is the friend mother trusted me to, when she--when she--" 
+
+"Yes, I understand," said Mrs. Mowbray gently. "Why does not this friend 
+take care of you then, instead of leaving you to your aunt?" 
+
+"O he does take care of me," cried Rotha; "but he is in England; he is 
+not here. He had to go home because his father was very ill--dying, I 
+suppose." 
+
+"_He?_" repeated Mrs. Mowbray. "A gentleman?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am. He was the only friend that took care of mother. He got 
+those things for me." 
+
+"What is his name, my dear?" 
+
+"Mr. Digby. I mean, Mr. Southwode. I always used to call him Mr. Digby." 
+
+"Digby Southwode!" said Mrs. Mowbray. "But he is a _young_ gentleman." 
+
+"O yes," said Rotha. "He is not old. He was called away, back to England 
+suddenly, and aunt Serena hindered my knowing, and hindered him somehow 
+from seeing me at all to say a word to me before he went. And I never can 
+forgive her for it,--never, never!" 
+
+"Hush, my dear," said Mrs. Mowbray softly. "Your aunt may have thought 
+she had good reasons. How came you under your aunt's care then?" 
+
+"Mr. Digby took me to her," said Rotha, her eyes filling, while they 
+sparkled at the same time. "He said it was best for me to be there, under 
+her care, as he had no home where he could take me. But if he had known, 
+he never would have left me with her. I know he would not. He would have 
+taken care of me some other way." 
+
+"What has Mr. Southwode done for you, that you should have such trust in 
+him?" 
+
+But Rotha somehow did not want to go into this subject in detail. 
+
+"He did everything for us that a friend could do; he taught me, and he 
+took care of mother; and mother left me in his charge." 
+
+"Where was Mrs. Busby?" 
+
+"Just where she is now. She did not know we were here." 
+
+"Why was that?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated. "Mother did not like to tell her," she said, somewhat 
+obscurely. 
+
+"And she left you in this gentleman's care." 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"And he put you under your aunt's care." 
+
+"Yes, for the present. But I was to tell him if anything went wrong; and 
+I have never been able to speak a word to him since. Nor to write, 
+because he had not given me his address." 
+
+"Mr. Southwode is an Englishman. It is probable, if his father is dead, 
+that he will make his home in England for the future." 
+
+Rotha was silent. She thought Mr. Digby would not forget her, or fail in 
+his promises; but she kept her views to herself. 
+
+"He did very properly in committing you to your aunt's care; and now I am 
+very glad I have got you," Mrs. Mowbray went on cheerily. "Now we will 
+try and get all those questions straightened out, that were troubling 
+you. What was it? a question of duty, you said, didn't you?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray was arranging her heterogeneous masses of books in something 
+like external order; she put a little volume into Rotha's hand as she 
+said the last words. It was a very small New Testament; very small, yet 
+in the clear English printing which made it delightfully legible. "That 
+is the best thing to solve questions of duty with," she went on. "Keep 
+it, my dear." 
+
+"O thank you, ma'am!" cried Rotha, a bright colour of pleasure rushing 
+into her cheeks. "O thank you, ma'am! How beautiful! and how nice! But 
+here is where I found my question," she added sorrowfully. 
+
+"I dare say. It is the old story--'When the commandment came, sin 
+revived, and I died.' What was the point this time?" 
+
+"Just that point I spoke of, about aunt Serena. I do not forgive her; and 
+in the fifth chapter of Matthew,--here it is: 'If thou bring thy gift to 
+the altar--'" 
+
+"I know," Mrs. Mowbray broke in, very busy seemingly with her books and 
+not looking at Rotha. "Why cannot you forgive her?" 
+
+"Because I am so wrong, I suppose," Rotha answered humbly. 
+
+"Yes, but what has she done?" 
+
+"I told you, ma'am. She kept me from seeing Mr. Southwode before he went 
+away. She never even told me he had been at the house, nor that he was 
+gone. I found it out. She meant I should not see him." 
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, "that does not seem to me a very heinous 
+offence." 
+
+"It was the very worst thing she could do; the cruelest, and the worst." 
+
+"She might have thought she had good reasons." 
+
+"She did not think that. She knew better. I think she wanted me all in 
+her power." 
+
+"Never think evil of people, if it is possible to think good," Mrs. 
+Mowbray continued. "Always find a pleasant reason for the things people 
+do, if it is possible to find one. It is quite as likely to be true, and 
+it leaves you a great deal more comfortable." 
+
+"You cannot always do that," said Rotha. 
+
+"And this is one of the times? Well, what are you going to do about it? 
+Can't you forgive your aunt, even if you think the worst?" 
+
+"It would be very easy to forgive her, if I could think differently," 
+said Rotha. 
+
+"It occurs to me--Those words you began to quote,--they run, I think, 'If 
+thy brother hath ought _against_ thee.' Is that the case here?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am, because I charged her with what she had done; and she did 
+not excuse herself; and I thought I had a right to be angry--very angry; 
+but when I came to those words in my reading, I remembered that though I 
+had so much against her, she had a little against me; because I had not 
+spoken just right. And then I knew I ought to confess it and make an 
+apology; and I was so angry I could not." 
+
+"And do you feel so now?" Mrs. Mowbray asked after a slight pause. 
+
+"Just the same." 
+
+"Do you think you are a Christian, Rotha?" 
+
+"No, ma'am. I know--a Christian does His commandments," the girl answered 
+low. 
+
+"Do you want to be a Christian?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am, if I could; but how can I?" 
+
+"You cannot, while your will goes against God's will." 
+
+"Can I help my will?" said Rotha, bringing up her old question. 
+
+"There is the dinner-bell," said Mrs. Mowbray. "If I can get a little 
+time this evening, I will try to shew you the answer to your question. I 
+must go now, my dear. Read your New Testament." 
+
+Rotha curled herself up on her couch, and by the light of the kennal coal 
+did read her Testament; full of delight that it was hers, and full of 
+comfort in the hope that after all there would be a way for her out of 
+her difficulties. 
+
+Then came her dinner. Such a nice dinner it was; and served with a 
+delicacy and order which charmed Rotha. She eat it alone, but missing 
+nothing; having a sense of shelter and hiding from all roughnesses of 
+people and things, that was infinitely soothing. She eat her dinner, and 
+hoped for Mrs. Mowbray's return. Waiting however in vain. Mrs. Mowbray 
+came not. The room was bright; the fire burned; the cheerful shine was 
+upon everything; Rotha was full of comfort in things external; if she 
+only could settle and quiet this question in her heart. Yes, this 
+question was everything. Were she but a child of God, secure and 
+established,--yes, not that only, but pure and good,--like Mr. Digby; 
+then, all would be right. Then she would be happy. With that question 
+unsettled, Rotha did not feel that even Mrs. Mowbray could make her so. 
+
+Late in the evening Mrs. Mowbray came. Her arms were full of packages. 
+
+"I could not get free before," she said, as she shut the door behind her. 
+"I had an errand--and then company kept me. Well, my dear! have you had a 
+pleasant evening, all alone?" 
+
+"I like to be alone sometimes," Rotha replied a little evasively. 
+
+"Do you! Now I like company; unless I have something to do. Perhaps that 
+was your case, eh?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am, it was." 
+
+"And did you accomplish it?--what you had to do." 
+
+"No, ma'am." 
+
+"You must take me into your counsels. See here--how do you like that?" 
+
+She had drawn up a chair to the side of Rotha's couch, and opening one of 
+the packages on her lap, transferred it to Rotha's. It was the fashion 
+then for young people to wear woollen stuffs of bright plaid patterns; 
+and this was a piece of chocolate and black with a thread of gold colour; 
+soft and beautiful and rich tinted. "How do you like that?" Mrs. Mowbray 
+repeated; and Rotha answered that she thought it very beautiful. 
+
+"Don't you think that would make you a nice school dress? and here--how 
+would this do for company days?" 
+
+As she spoke, she laid upon the chocolate plaid another package, 
+containing a dark brown poplin, heavy and lustrous. Poor Rotha looked up 
+bewildered to the lady's face, which was beaming and triumphant. 
+
+"Like it?" she said gleefully. "I couldn't tell your taste, you know. I 
+had to go by my own Don't you think that would become you?" 
+
+"_Me?_" said Rotha. 
+
+"Yes. You see, we cannot wait for your aunt's slow motions, and you must 
+be clothed. Do you like it, my dear?" 
+
+"I like it _very_ much--of course--they are most beautiful; but--will  
+aunt Serena give you the money, Mrs. Mowbray?" 
+
+"I shall not ask her," said Mrs. Mowbray laughing. "You need not say 
+anything about it, to her or anybody else. It is our affair. Now here is 
+a warm skirt, my dear; I want to keep you warm while you are in my house, 
+and you are not sufficiently armed against the cold weather. I don't want 
+to have you catching any more colds. You see, this is for my interest. 
+Now with that you will be as warm as a toast." 
+
+It was a beautiful petticoat of scarlet cloth; soft and thick. Rotha 
+looked at the pile of things lying on her lap, and was absolutely dumb. 
+Mrs. Mowbray bent forward and kissed her cheek. 
+
+"I think you will be well enough to go out by Saturday--and I will let 
+Miss Jewett go with you to a dress-maker and have these things made up at 
+once. Is there any particular dress-maker who is accustomed to work for 
+you?" 
+
+"No," Rotha said first, and then immediately added--"Yes! I forgot; the 
+one who made my summer dresses, that I had in the summer." _That Mr. 
+Southwode got for me_, she had been about to say; but she checked herself. 
+Some fine instinct made her perceive that the mention of that gentleman's 
+name was not received with absolute favour. She thought Mrs. Mowbray did 
+not approve of Mr. Southwode. 
+
+"And now, my dear," said that lady, as she swept away the packages of 
+goods from Rotha's lap, "what about your question of conscience?" 
+
+"It remains a question, ma'am." 
+
+"Not settled yet? What makes the difficulty?" 
+
+"I told you, ma'am. I did not speak quite as I ought to my aunt, one or 
+two times, and so--she has something against me; and I cannot pray." 
+
+"Cannot pray, my dear! that is dreadful. I should die if I could not 
+pray. The Bible says, pray always." 
+
+"But it says, here, 'if thy brother hath ought against thee, leave there 
+thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy 
+brother, and then come and offer thy gift.'" 
+
+"Let me see that place," said Mrs. Mowbray. She sat down beside Rotha and 
+took the little Testament out of her hand, and considered the passage. 
+
+"Well, my dear," she said at last,--"and so you think these words forbid 
+you to pray?" 
+
+"Do they not?" said Rotha, "until I could reconcile myself to aunt 
+Serena? or at least try." 
+
+"What is the matter between you and your aunt?" 
+
+"I do not know. I cannot tell what makes her do so." 
+
+"Do what?" 
+
+"Hide me from the only friend I have got." 
+
+"You mean that gentleman? My dear, she may have had very good reasons for 
+that?" 
+
+"She could not have good reasons for it," said Rotha flushing. 
+
+"My dear, old people often see things that young people do not see, and 
+cannot judge of." 
+
+"You do not know Mr. Southwode, ma'am. Anyhow, I do not feel as if I 
+could ever forgive her." 
+
+"That makes it difficult for you to go and ask her pardon, hey?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"What are you going to do?" 
+
+"I do not know," said Rotha sadly. 
+
+"It is too late for us to talk longer to-night. I will shew you a Bible 
+to-morrow--stop, there is no time like the present--" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray rose and went to a table from which she brought a little 
+volume. "This will do better," she said. "I have a Bible in which all 
+this, in this book, is arranged in reference columns; but this is more 
+convenient. You can use this with your own Bible, or any Bible. I am 
+going to give you this, my dear." And she fetched a pen as she spoke and 
+entered Rotha's name on the title page, with the date of day and month 
+and year. Then she went on--"Now see, Rotha; here is what will give light 
+on your question. Here are references from every verse in the Bible to 
+other parts and other verses which explain or illustrate it. Find your 
+place,--what is it?--Mat. v. 24, is it?--here; now see, here are 
+references to other passages, and from them you will find references to 
+still others. Take this to-morrow and study it out, and pray, my dear. 
+You cannot get along without praying." 
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. 
+
+
+SCHOOL. 
+
+
+Rotha received the book with an access of pleasure, which expressed 
+itself however mainly in sparkling eyes and the red tinge of excitement 
+in her cheeks. She did say some words of thanks, but they were not 
+fluent, as customary with her when any great degree of delight was 
+pressing for utterance. Then speech was poor. Mrs. Mowbray did not miss 
+it; she could read the signs, and was satisfied. But long after she was 
+asleep, Rotha lay on her cot with eyes wide open, staring at the remains 
+of the fire. What had come to her? what strange, enchantment-like, 
+fabulous, change of circumstances? and this dispenser and contriver of 
+happiness, slumbering peacefully on the bed yonder, what was she but a 
+very fairy of blessing, bringing order out of disorder and comfort out of 
+the very depths of confusion. A home, and a friend, and nice dresses, and 
+study, and books! Two books to-day! Rotha was too happy to sleep. 
+
+The next day she began school duties again; but Mrs. Mowbray would not 
+have her join the family at meals, until, as she said, she had something 
+comfortable to wear. Rotha was thankful for the kind thoughtfulness that 
+spared her feelings; and in return bent herself to her appointed tasks 
+with an energy which soon disposed of them. However, they took all her 
+time, for Mrs. Mowbray had introduced her to another part of the school 
+and a much more advanced class of the pupils. This of itself gave her new 
+spirit. The following day Mrs. Mowbray, as she had promised, sent her 
+with one of the under teachers to have her dresses cut out. They went in 
+a carriage, and drove to Mrs. Marble's. Mrs. Marble wore a doubtful 
+countenance. 
+
+"Well, it _is_ time you had something warmer, if you've got nothing more 
+made since those lawns. Where's Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"In England." 
+
+"England! Don't say! And who's taking care of you?" 
+
+"Miss Carpenter is in Mrs. Mowbray's family," said Miss Jewett stiffly. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray, hey? what, the great school? You _are_ in luck, Rotha. Did 
+Mr. Digby put you there?" 
+
+"He did not choose the school," said Rotha. "I went to the same place 
+where my cousin went. Mrs. Marble, that's too tight." 
+
+"It'll look a great deal handsomer, Rotha. Slim waists are what all the 
+ladies want." 
+
+"I can't be pinched," said Rotha, lifting and lowering her shoulders in 
+the exultation of free play. "I would rather be comfortable." 
+
+"It does look better, to be snug, Miss Carpenter," said Miss Jewett, 
+taking the mantua-maker's part. 
+
+"I don't care," said Rotha. "I must have room to breathe. Make it loose 
+enough, Mrs. Marble, or it will just come back to you to be altered." 
+
+"You're as masterful as you just was, and as I always thought you would 
+be," said the mantua-maker. "I suppose you think times is changed." 
+
+"They are very much changed, Mrs. Marble," said Rotha calmly. "But I 
+always had my dresses loose." 
+
+"And everything else about you!--" muttered the dress-maker. However, she 
+was never an ill-natured woman, and took her orders with tolerable 
+equanimity. 
+
+"You are the first young lady I ever saw trying on dresses, who did not 
+want them to fit nicely," Miss Jewett remarked as they were driving away. 
+
+"But I could not _breathe!_" said Rotha. "I like to be comfortable." 
+
+"Different people have different notions of comfort," was the comment, 
+not admiring. But Rotha did not give the matter another thought. 
+
+The next day was Sunday. "You will not go to church, dear," Mrs. Mowbray 
+had whispered. "I shall not ask you till you have something to keep you 
+warm. Have you a thick outer coat?" 
+
+Rotha explained. Her aunt had been about to get her one two or three 
+weeks ago; then they had had their falling out, and since then she had 
+heard no more on the subject. 
+
+"We will get things in order by next Sunday. You can study at home to-
+day, and maybe that will be the best thing for you." 
+
+It was the most welcome order Rotha could have received. She went up to 
+Mrs. Mowbray's room, which she still inhabited, and took Bible and New 
+Testament and her newly acquired possession, which she found bore title, 
+"The Treasury of Scripture Knowledge," and sat down on the couch. It was 
+all so comfortable around her that Rotha paused to look and think and 
+enjoy. Hid away, she felt; safe and secure from all disturbances; her 
+aunt could not worry her, Antoinette could not even look at her; nobody 
+could interfere with her; and the good fairy of her life would come in 
+only to help and shelter her. The warm air; poor Rotha had been 
+inhabiting a region of frost, it must be remembered, material as well as 
+spiritual; the slight sweet perfume that pervaded the room and came, 
+Rotha knew not from what; the pretty, cosy look of the place, furniture, 
+fire, pictures and all;--Rotha sat looking and feeling in a maze of 
+astonishment. That all this should be, geographically, so near Mrs. 
+Busby's house! With a breath of admiring delight, at last Rotha turned to 
+her books. Yes, if she could get that question settled-- 
+
+She opened her "Treasury of Scripture Knowledge" and found the fifth 
+chapter of Matthew; then the 24th verse. The first reference here was to 
+Mat. xviii. 15-17. 
+
+That does not tell me anything, thought Rotha. I cannot go to aunt Serena 
+and tell her her fault; it would be no use; and besides, that is what I 
+have done already, only not so, I suppose.--Then followed a passage from 
+Job and one from Proverbs, which did not, she thought, meet her case. 
+Then in Mark ix. 50 she found the command to "have peace one with 
+another." But what if I cannot? thought Rotha. Next, in Romans, the word 
+was "Recompense to no man evil for evil"; and, "If it be possible, as 
+much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men." This at first caused 
+some exultation, which evaporated upon further reflection. Had it not 
+been possible? If she had been patient, forgiving, sweet; if she had 
+spoken and looked accordingly; would there not have been peace? Her aunt 
+at least would have had nothing against her. Her own cause of grievance 
+would have remained; might she not have forgiven that? A resolute 
+negative answered this gentle suggestion of conscience; like Jonah in the 
+case of his gourd, Rotha said to herself she did well to be angry. At 
+least that Mrs. Busby deserved it; for conscience would not allow the 
+conclusion that she had done "well," at all. It was not as Mr. Digby 
+would have done. He was Rotha's living commentary on the word. She went 
+on. The next passage forbade going to law before unbelievers. Then came a 
+word or two from the first epistle of Timothy; an injunction to "pray 
+everywhere, lifting up holy hands, _without wrath_--" 
+
+Rotha got no further. That arrow struck home. She must not pray with 
+anger in her heart. Then she must forgive, unconditionally; for it would 
+never do to intermit all praying until somebody else should come to a 
+right, mind. Give up her anger! It made Rotha's blood boil to think of 
+it. How could she, with her blood boiling? And till she _did_--she might 
+not think to pray and be heard. 
+
+O why is it so hard to be a Christian! why is it made so difficult! 
+
+Then Rotha's conscience whispered that the difficulty was of her own 
+making; if _she_ were all right, that would be all easy. She would go on, 
+she thought, with her comparison of Bible passages; perhaps she would 
+come to something that would help. The next passage referred to was in 
+James. 
+
+"But if ye have bitter envying and strife in your hearts, glory not...
+This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish. 
+For where envying and strife are, there is confusion and every evil 
+work." 
+
+"Devilish"! well, I suppose it is, Rotha confessed to herself. "Envying"
+--I am not envying; but "strife"--aunt Serena and I have that between us. 
+And so "there is confusion and every evil work." I suppose there is. But 
+how am I to help it? I cannot stop my anger.--She went on to the next 
+reference. It was, 
+
+"Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye 
+may be healed." 
+
+The Bible was all against her. Tears began to well up into Rotha's eyes. 
+She thought she would see what the words were about forgiving. Her eye 
+had caught the Lord's prayer on the next leaf. She turned to that place 
+in her reference book. And here, first of all, the words of the prayer 
+itself struck her, and then the 14th and 15th verses below. It was a dead 
+lock! If she could not forgive, she could not be forgiven; sharp and 
+clear the sentence ran; there was no mistaking it, there could be no 
+glossing it over. Rotha's tears silently rose and fell, hot and 
+sorrowful. She did want to be forgiven; but to forgive, no. With tears 
+dripping before her Bible, she would not let them fall on it, she studied 
+a passage referred to, in the 18th of Matthew, where Peter was directed 
+to set no bounds to his overlooking of injuries, and the parable of the 
+unmerciful servant is brought up. Rotha studied that chapter long. The 
+right and the truth she saw clearly; but as soon as she thought of 
+applying them to her aunt Busby, her soul rose up in arms. She has done 
+me the cruelest and the meanest of wrongs, said the girl to herself; 
+cruel beyond all telling; what she deserves is to be well shaken by the 
+shoulders. Go to her and say that _I_ have done wrong to _her_ and ask 
+her to forgive _me_, and so help her to forget her own doings--I cannot.-
+-Rotha made a common mistake, the sophistry of passion, which is the same 
+thing as the devil's sophistry. Her confessing and doing right, would 
+have been the very likeliest way to make Mrs. Busby ashamed of herself. 
+
+However, Rotha went on with her study. Two passages struck her 
+particularly, in Ephesians and Colossians. The first--"Be ye kind one to 
+another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's 
+sake hath forgiven you." The other to the same purport, in Col. iii. 13. 
+
+But he has not forgiven me, cried Rotha in her heart, while the tears 
+poured; he will not forgive me, unless I forgive her.--"But he is ready 
+to forgive you," the very words before her proclaimed. It was a dead 
+lock, nevertheless; and when Mrs. Mowbray came home from church she found, 
+to her surprise, Rotha still bending over her Bible with her tears 
+dripping on the floor. Mrs. Mowbray took off her hat and cloak before 
+she said a word. Then coming to Rotha's side on the couch, she put one 
+arm round her. 
+
+"My dear," she said gently, "what is the matter?" 
+
+The tone and the touch were so sympathizing, so tender, that Rotha 
+answered by an affectionate, clinging gesture, taking care at the same 
+time that none of her tears fell on Mrs. Mowbray's rich silk. For a 
+little space she made no other answer. When she spoke, it was with a 
+passionate accent. 
+
+"Madame, if I am ever to be a Christian, I must be made all over new!" 
+
+"That is nothing uncommon," the lady replied. 
+
+"It is every one's case. So the Bible says; 'If any man be in Christ, he 
+is a new creature.'" 
+
+"But how am I to get made over all new?" Rotha cried. 
+
+"That is the Holy Spirit's work. 'Except a man be born again, he cannot 
+see the kingdom of God.'" 
+
+"Then must I ask for him?" 
+
+"Certainly." 
+
+"But if I do not forgive aunt Serena, it is no use for me to pray?" 
+
+"Nay, Rotha, if that were true we should be in a bad case indeed. If you 
+read the fifteenth chapter of Luke, you will find that when the prodigal 
+son was returning, his father saw him _while he was yet a great way off;_ 
+and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. If you are truly setting 
+yourself to seek God, you will find him; and if you are in earnest in 
+wishing to do his will, he will enable you to do it. You must always ask, 
+my dear. The Bible says, 'the Lord over all is rich unto all--' not, that 
+are perfect, but--'that call upon him.'" 
+
+"But it says, 'if ye do not forgive, neither will your heavenly Father 
+forgive you.'" 
+
+"True; but he will give you that new nature you say you must have; and 
+then forgiving will be easy." 
+
+Rotha looked up, partly comforted. And from that time she prayed for a 
+new nature. 
+
+A few days more saw her school dress finished and at home. It looked 
+magnificent to Rotha; far too good for a school dress. But Mrs. Mowbray 
+said no; she must look nice in school as well as anywhere; and that very 
+evening she brought to Rotha a box full of neat collars and cuffs and 
+ruffles; some of plain linen and some of lighter and prettier 
+manufacture. The supply was most abundant; and with these things were 
+some ribbands of various colours and little silk neck ties. Rotha 
+received them in the same mute way of speechless gratitude and delight; 
+and resolved one thing; that Mrs. Mowbray should have nothing to complain 
+of in her, whether regarding school duties or anything else. 
+
+Another thing Mrs. Mowbray did for Rotha that week. Calling Antoinette 
+Busby to her, at the close of a lesson, she said, "My dear, among the 
+things sent round from your house for your cousin's use, there is no coat 
+or cloak for cold weather wear. Will you tell your mother, Rotha's coat 
+has not been brought with the rest of her things? Thank you. That is all, 
+my dear." 
+
+Antoinette went home in a good deal of a fluster, and told her mother. 
+Mrs. Busby looked impenetrable. 
+
+"Now mamma, what are you going to do about it?" 
+
+"What did you say?" 
+
+"I said nothing. What could I say?" 
+
+"Did you see Rotha?" 
+
+"No; she is up stairs, getting nursed for her cold." 
+
+"Stuff!" 
+
+"Well, she had a cold, mamma. Mrs. Mowbray always finds out if the girls 
+are shamming. She is sharp enough." 
+
+"Rotha is no more ill than I am." 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray always sends a girl off to her room if she is out of sorts, 
+and coddles her up with pills and tea. She don't do it unless she sees 
+reason." 
+
+"Why didn't you ask to see Rotha? It would have looked better." 
+
+"I never thought of it," said Antoinette laughing. "Because, really, I 
+didn't want to see her. I should rather think I didn't!" 
+
+"You had better ask to-morrow." 
+
+"Very well. And what shall I say about the coat?" 
+
+"I suppose I shall have to get her one," Mrs. Busby said grimly. 
+
+"Then she will want a hat, mamma." 
+
+"I'll send your grey plush." 
+
+"She won't wear it." 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray will make her. _She_ won't hear nonsense." 
+
+"Who does, mamma? Not you, I am sure." 
+
+Having to do the thing, Mrs. Busby did it well, for her own sake. She 
+would have let Rotha stay within doors all winter; but if she must get 
+her a cloak, it should never be said she got her a poor one. Accordingly, 
+the next day two boxes were sent round to Mrs. Mowbray's; one containing 
+the rejected hat, the other a warm and handsome cloak, which Mrs. Busby 
+got cheap because it was one of the last year's goods, of a fashion a 
+little obsolete. Antoinette asked leave to see Rotha, that same day, and 
+was refused. Mrs. Mowbray wished her to be left quite to herself. So the 
+next time the cousins met was in class, a day or two later. It was a 
+class to which Mrs. Mowbray herself gave a lesson; it was a class of the 
+more advanced scholars; and Antoinette, who had left her cousin in a 
+lower department, among Miss Blodgett's pupils, was exceedingly 
+astonished to see Rotha come in among the young ladies of the family and 
+take her seat in the privileged library where these lessons were given. 
+Yet more was Antoinette astonished at her cousin's transformation. Rotha 
+was dressed well, in the abovementioned chocolate plaid; her linen collar 
+and cuffs were white and pretty like other people's; the dress was well 
+made; Rotha's abundant dark hair, now growing long, was knotted up 
+loosely at the back of her head, her collar was tied with a little cherry 
+coloured bow; and her whole figure was striking and charming. Antoinette, 
+who was an acknowledged beauty, felt a pang of displeasure. In fact she 
+was so much disturbed and annoyed that her mind was quite distracted from 
+the business in hand; she paid little attention to the lesson and rather 
+got into disgrace. Rotha on the contrary, entering the class and enjoying 
+the teaching for the first time, was full of delighted interest; forgot 
+even her new dress and herself altogether; took acute, intelligent part 
+in the discussion that went on, (the 'subject being historical) and at 
+one bound unconsciously placed herself at the head of the class. There 
+was no formal taking rank, but the judgment of all present involuntarily 
+gave her the place. And Mrs. Mowbray herself had some difficulty not to 
+look too often towards the face that always met hers with such sympathy 
+and life in every feature. Many there indeed were interested; yet no eyes 
+shewed such intelligent fire, no lips were so expressive in their play, 
+no interest was so evidently unalloyed with any thought of self-
+consciousness. 
+
+As the girls scattered, after the hour was over, the cousins met. 
+
+"Well!" said Antoinette, "what's come over you?" 
+
+The tone was not pleasant. Rotha asked her distantly what she meant? 
+
+"Why I left you one thing, and I find you another," said Antoinette. "How 
+did you get here?" 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray desired it. I came to school to study, Antoinette. Why 
+should I not be here?" 
+
+"But how _could_ you be here? These are the upper girls." 
+
+Rotha laughed a little. She felt very gay-hearted. 
+
+"And where did you get this?" Antoinette went on, feeling of a fold of 
+Rotha's dress. "What beautiful cashmere! Where did you get it?" 
+
+"There came a good fairy to my room one night, and astonished me." 
+
+"A fairy!" said Antoinette. 
+
+"Yes, the days of fairies are not over. I thought they were, but I was 
+mistaken," said Rotha joyously. "I do not think there is anything much 
+pleasanter, than to have a good fairy come and visit you." 
+
+"What do you mean?" 
+
+"Just that. Good bye--the girls are going out to walk, and I must get 
+ready to go along." 
+
+She tripped up the stairs, leaving Antoinette mystified and crestfallen. 
+Under pretence of collecting her books, she lingered in one of the class 
+rooms in the lower story, waiting to see the girls pass out, which they 
+always did, she knew, by the lower door. They came presently in long 
+file. The families that sent their daughters to Mrs. Mowbray's were 
+generally of the wealthier portions of society; and it was a well dressed 
+set that defiled before Antoinette's eyes; too well, for many of them 
+were unbecomingly fine. Antoinette did not recognize her cousin until she 
+was quite out upon the street and turned her face casually to speak to 
+some one behind her. The new cloak, of dark green stun 7, was as handsome 
+as Antoinette's own; and there was no old grey plush hat above it. No 
+such matter; a neat little green hat, perfectly simple, but new and well 
+made and well fitting, shaded a face full of merry sparkle, totally 
+unlike the depressed, cloudy expression Antoinette had been used to 
+despise at home. She told her mother with an injured air what she had 
+seen. Mrs. Busby said nothing. It was vexatious; at the same time she 
+reflected that the credit of all this would redound to herself   Nobody 
+but Mrs. Mowbray and Rotha herself knew whence came the dresses and 
+bonnet, and they would not tell, naturally. On the whole the gain was as 
+great as the loss. 
+
+But to Rotha now-a-days it was all gain. That walk with the girls; how 
+pleasant it was, to go with free step, conscious that there was nothing 
+in her appearance to draw remark or provoke pity. At Rotha's age, perhaps 
+as much as ever, such an immunity is prized and enjoyed. It was such a 
+walk as till then she had never taken in the streets of New York; for 
+even when, two or three years ago, she had gone with her mother, it was 
+with a feeling of being classed with the multitude of the poor and 
+struggling and ill-dressed. So the walking had been mainly in streets 
+where such classes were lodged and at home. Now Rotha went where the 
+buildings were fine and the ways broad, and where the passers-by were gay 
+and splendid. Her breath came freer, her step grew more elastic, the 
+colour rose in her cheeks; and when the little procession returned home, 
+Miss Parsons, who had been in charge of it, remarked to Mrs. Mowbray that 
+she had no idea before what a very handsome girl Miss Carpenter was. And 
+Mrs. Mowbray, when they all gathered to dinner, cast a keen glance at the 
+new member of the company. She was reassured; not a particle of self-
+consciousness was to be traced in the fine, bright, spirited lace, though 
+the beauty was unquestioned. 
+
+That was the first time Rotha had met the family at table. It was a new 
+and highly interesting experience for her. The table was very long; and 
+the mere sight of so many fresh young faces together was inspiriting of 
+itself; of greatest interest to Rotha because these were her companions, 
+fellow pupils, sharers in work and play together. But apart from its 
+living surroundings, the board excited Rotha's keenest attention. The 
+delicacy and order of its arrangements, the beauty of its appointments, 
+the abundance of the supply, the excellence of the material. Everything 
+there was of the best; everything was well cooked and appetizing; it was 
+a simple table, as it should be, but no provision for health or comfort 
+was wanting. Rotha felt herself at home in surroundings that suited her. 
+
+Then it was a lively meal; not a bit of stagnation. At Mrs. Busby's the 
+talk at table was about nothing to stir the slightest interest, to any 
+one whose soul was not in a condition to be fed with the very dryest of 
+social husks; the only exceptions being when Mr. and Mrs. Busby got into 
+a debate. A debate always has some elements of interest, if there is any 
+wit on either side of it. Here, the first thing, after the carving was 
+well begun, was the reciting of French anecdotes or sayings or 
+quotations, by each of the scholars in turn; the exercise being 
+superintended by the French teacher, a very imposing person in Rotha's 
+eyes, to whom she had just that day been introduced. It was very amusing 
+to her to hear the differing accent, the varying voices, and to watch the 
+different air and manner of the girls, as Mme. Bonton's voice, uttering 
+"Suivante"--"Suivante"--called them up one after another. She herself, of 
+course, had no little speech prepared. Then the conversation became 
+general, as the business of dining went on its way, and Mrs. Mowbray made 
+part of it very interesting. Altogether, it was a time of delight to 
+Rotha. 
+
+Not less so were the hours of study that followed. It was one of her good 
+properties, that she could easily concentrate all her attention on the 
+one thing she happened to have in hand. So study was study to her; deep, 
+absorbing, conquering, and of course triumphing. And when the bell 
+summoned the family to tea, she came fresh for new pleasure to assemble 
+with the rest. 
+
+The parlours were cleared of the long table now; only enough of it being 
+left to accommodate the younger scholars who might not be trusted to hold 
+a cup of tea safely. The girls brought their various pieces of fancy 
+work; the rooms were well lighted, well furnished, the walls hung with 
+engravings and paintings, the mantelpieces full of pretty things; it was 
+not like a school, but like a large, elegant family gathering. Here the 
+tea was handed round, with rolls and excellent cake and biscuits. Mrs. 
+Mowbray presently called Rotha to her side, by the big table; and held a 
+little quiet talk with her about the course of the day, introducing her 
+at the same time to several of her schoolmates. I can never tell how the 
+girl's whole nature opened and expanded, like a suddenly blossoming rose, 
+under the genial, kindly atmosphere and culture into which she now came. 
+
+Study? She studied with a consuming kind of intensity. Not a teacher that 
+she had to do with, but took delight in her. She gave them absolutely no 
+trouble. She was not a timid girl; so was not, like some, hindered by 
+nervousness from making a fair presentation of herself. Her mind was 
+opening, greedy for the food it got, and taking it in rapidly. 
+
+And happy? There was not seemingly a happier girl in the house. Crowding 
+new interests had driven into the background, for the time, the demands 
+of conscience; and Rotha was one of those people whose cup of life is a 
+large one; capacities of heart and intellect alike wide in their 
+possibilities, but if satisfied, making existence very rich. She was 
+quiet enough in manner, never forgetting her beloved model; yet eye and 
+lip and varying colour, and the involuntary movement of head and hand, 
+and foot too, testified to the glad growing life of her soul. Mrs. 
+Mowbray saw it with perpetual satisfaction; it got to be a habit with her 
+that her eye sought and rested on that one unmistakeably honest and loyal 
+member of her family. And Rotha's eye never met hers but there came a 
+sparkle and a look of love into the young face. 
+
+All day was a delight now to the girl; beginning with the morning 
+prayers, which to be sure she loved mostly because she heard Mrs. 
+Mowbray's voice in them. Then came breakfast; bright and cheery, with the 
+hope and the work of the day in prospect, and a lively, pretty, pleasant 
+table and company in possession. It was not like school; it was a large 
+family; where all arrangements and supplies were as in the best appointed 
+private house, and the only rules that reigned were the rules of good 
+manners. Then came the brisk walk in the bracing morning air; and then, 
+study. Some lesson hours were particularly interesting to Rotha. Latin 
+she did not like, but French she took to kindly; and Madame Bonton told 
+madame with a satisfied nod of her head, that Miss Carpenter was "not a 
+soap bubble",--high praise, which only a few of the girls ever attained. 
+
+Among her schoolmates Rotha made no particular friends. Some of them 
+asked captiously who she was? others remarked critically that she thought 
+herself too good looking; others declared enviously that she was a 
+"favourite." Rotha did not take to any of them; made no confident of any 
+of them; and was felt by most of them to be somehow uncongenial. Those 
+who saw most of her felt this most decidedly. She presently was out of 
+favour with all her roommates. 
+
+It was a rule of the house that lights should be all out at ten o'clock. 
+Then one of the under teachers made a progress through the rooms to see 
+that this was done and everybody in bed. Rotha made one of four girls who 
+occupied a large room on the third floor. Each young lady had her own 
+bed, her own press and drawers, and everything comfort called for; of 
+course absolute privacy could not be given. When Rotha had been in her 
+new quarters two or three weeks, there came a collision between her and 
+her fellows in that room. One night Miss Jewett had been round as usual 
+and turned off the gas. As soon as her retreating foot-steps were heard 
+to reenter her own room, at the further end of the passage, one of the 
+girls sprang up and lit the gas again. The burner was near the head of 
+her bed, so that she could see pretty well to read when she was lying 
+down; which to Rotha's great surprise she went on to do for some time--
+till Rotha fell asleep. The next night the same thing happened, and the 
+next. Rotha became uneasy, and finally could bear it no longer. The 
+fourth time this trick was played, she lifted her voice in protest. 
+
+"Miss Entable," said she, "what you are doing is against the rules." 
+
+She spoke clearly enough, though with a moderated voice; but not the 
+least attention was paid to her remonstrance. One of her three companions 
+was asleep; the second giggled; the reader took no notice. Rotha grew 
+hot. What was she to do? Not give way. To give way in the face of 
+opposition was never Rotha's manner. She slipped out of bed and came near 
+the one where the reader lay. 
+
+"Miss Entable, it is against rules, what you are doing." 
+
+"Mind your own business," said the other shortly. 
+
+"I am minding it," returned Rotha. "It is my business to keep Mrs. 
+Mowbray's rules, and not to help break them; and I will not." 
+
+"Will not what? You want to curry favour with old Mowbray--that's what 
+you do. I have no patience with such meanness!" 
+
+"You had better go and tell her what we are doing," said the third girl 
+scornfully. 
+
+"Miss Mc Pherson," said Rotha, her voice trembling a little with wrath, 
+"I think Mrs. Mowbray trusts you. How can you bear to be false to trust?" 
+
+"Stuff!" 
+
+"Cant!" 
+
+"Nobody asks your opinion about it. Who are you?" said the Mc Pherson, 
+who in her own opinion was somebody. 
+
+"Nor do I ask yours," said Rotha. "I will not help you break madame's 
+rules. The light is one fourth part mine; and my part shall not burn 
+after hours." 
+
+With which deliverance she turned off the gas. Words of smothered rage 
+and scorn followed her as she went back to bed; and the next day Rotha 
+was plainly ostracised by a large part of her school-mates. 
+
+The next evening the gas was lighted again after ten o'clock. 
+
+"Now you Carpenter," said the reader, "I am not going to stand any of 
+your ill manners. You will let the gas alone, if you please." 
+
+"I cannot let it alone," said Rotha. "I should be a sharer in your 
+dishonour." 
+
+"Dishonour! well, let it alone, or I'll--" 
+
+"What, Miss Entable?" 
+
+"Mc Pherson and I will put you in bed and tie you there; and Jennings 
+will help. We are three against one. So hold your tongue." 
+
+Rotha reflected. It did not suit her feeling of self-respect to be 
+concerned in a row. She raised herself on one elbow. 
+
+"I do not choose to fight," she said; "that is not my way. But if you do 
+not put the gas out, I shall tell Mrs. Mowbray that she must make 
+somebody watch to see that her orders are observed." 
+
+Now there arose a storm; rage and contempt and reviling were heaped on 
+Rotha's head. "Informer!"--"Spy!"--"Mean tell tale!"--were some of the 
+gentle marks of esteem bestowed on her. 
+
+"I am not an informer," said Rotha, when she could be heard; "I am not 
+going to mention any names. I will only tell Mrs. Mowbray that she must 
+charge somebody to see that her orders are observed." 
+
+"Orders! She is a mean, pinching, narrow-minded, low, school ma'am. You 
+should see how it is at Mrs. De Joyce's. The girls have liberty--they 
+receive their friends--they go to the opera--they have little dances--
+they do just what they like. Mrs. De Joyce is such a lady! it is another 
+thing. I am not going to stay in this mean house after this term is out." 
+
+"Mary Entable!" said Rotha, rising up on her elbow and speaking with 
+blazing eyes; "are you not ashamed of yourself? Mrs. Mowbray, who has 
+just been so kind to you! so generous! so good! How long is it since she 
+was nursing you through a terrible sickness--nursing you night and day--
+entertaining your mother and your sister for ten days, in her crowded 
+house. Do you dare call her narrow? Answer me one thing, if you can; did 
+your mother and sister bear the expense of their stay here, or did she? 
+Answer me, if you have a fraction of a soul in you!--Aren't you ashamed! 
+I should think you would cover up your face in the bedclothes, and never 
+look at anybody again!" 
+
+Leaning on her elbow, raised so up in her bed, Rotha had delivered 
+herself of the foregoing; in a moderated voice it is true, but with a 
+cutting energy and directness. The other three girls were at first 
+silent, partly with astonishment, Rotha's usual manner was so contained. 
+
+"You may do as you like," she went on more composedly, "but help you I 
+will not in your wrong ways. If the gas is lighted again after ten 
+o'clock, I shall take my measures. I come of an honest family." 
+
+That last cut was too much. The storm of abuse burst forth again; but 
+Rotha wrapped herself in her coverlets and said no more. The gas was not 
+relighted that evening. However, in the nature of the case it followed 
+that lawless girls would not be long kept in check by the influence of 
+one whom they regarded so lightly as these did Rotha. A fortnight later, 
+the latter came to Mrs. Mowbray one day when she was alone in the 
+library. 
+
+"Well, my child--what is it?" said the kind voice she had learned to love 
+devotedly. Mrs. Mowbray was arranging some of the displaced books in the 
+bookcases, and spoke with only a fleeting glance at the person 
+approaching her, to see who it was. 
+
+"May I speak to you, madame?" 
+
+"Yes--speak. What is it?" 
+
+"I do not know how to say what I want to say." 
+
+"Straight out, my child. Straight out is best. What is the matter?" 
+
+"Nothing, with me, madame. But--if it would not give too much trouble--I 
+thought I would like it very much if I could be put in another room." 
+
+"Sleeping room?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Why?"--Mrs. Mowbray's quick hands were busy all the while she was 
+talking; putting up and pulling down. Rotha hesitated. 
+
+"Madame, before I answer I should like to ask another question. What 
+ought I to do if I see something done which you have forbidden?" 
+
+A quick sharp glance came her way now. 
+
+"What have you seen?" 
+
+"That is just what I do not know whether I ought to tell you. I thought, 
+perhaps it would be the best way for me to go where I could not see it." 
+
+"Why?" said Mrs. Mowbray dryly. 
+
+"Then I should not be sharing the wrong. I suppose, more than that is not 
+my affair. I am afraid it would be troublesome to move me." 
+
+"Any change is troublesome in a house like this," the lady answered; and 
+Rotha stood still, not knowing how to go on. Mrs. Mowbray stepped up on 
+the library steps to arrange some books on the upper shelves; and till 
+she came down she did not speak again. 
+
+"You are quite right to mention no names and give no stories," she said 
+then. "I always doubt an informer. And you are quite right also in 
+refusing to countenance what is wrong. I will give you another room, my 
+dear." She took Rotha in her arms and kissed her repeatedly. "Have I 
+found a friend?" she said. 
+
+"You, madame?" said Rotha. "I cannot do anything for _you;_ but you have 
+done everything for me." 
+
+"You can give me love and truth that is all we any of us can give to one 
+another, isn't it? The ways of shewing may be different.--Where are you 
+going to spend the holidays?" she said with a change of tone. 
+
+"I don't know, madame. I have not thought about it." 
+
+"Will you spend them with me?" 
+
+Joy flamed up in Rotha's eyes and lips and cheeks. "O madame!--if I may." 
+
+"I expect half a dozen of the young ladies will stay with me. Here is a 
+note that came for you, from your aunt." 
+
+She gave Rotha an open note to read. It contained the request that Rotha 
+might spend the time between Christmas and New Year's Day at her house, 
+but not those days. Rotha read and looked up. 
+
+"Write," said Mrs. Mowbray, "and say to your aunt that I have invited you 
+and that you have accepted the invitation, for the whole holidays." 
+
+The smile and the glance of her sweet eye were bewitching. Rotha felt as 
+if she could have stooped down and kissed her very garments. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. 
+
+
+BAGS AND BIBLES. 
+
+
+Those holidays were a never-to-be-forgotten time in Rotha's life. 
+Christmas eve, and indeed a day before, there was a great bustle and rush 
+of movement in the house, almost all the boarders sweeping away to their 
+various homes. Their example was followed by the under teachers; only 
+Miss Blodgett remained; and a sudden lull took place of the rush. A small 
+table was drawn out in the middle room; and Mrs. Mowbray came to dinner 
+with a face, tired indeed, but set for play. The days of the ordinary 
+weeks were always thick set with business; the weight of business was 
+upon every heart; now it was unmitigated holiday. Nobody knew better how 
+to play than Mrs. Mowbray; it was in her very air and voice and words. 
+Perhaps some of this was assumed for the sake of others; a large portion 
+of it was unquestionably real. The table was festive, that Christmas eve; 
+flowers dressed it; the dessert was gay with confections and bonbons, as 
+well as ice cream; and there was a breath of promise and anticipation in 
+Mrs. Mowbray's manner that infected the dullest spirits there. And some 
+of the girls were very dull! But Rotha's sprang up as if she had been in 
+paradise. 
+
+"Are you going to hang up your stocking, Miss Blodgett?" 
+
+Miss Blodgett bridled and smiled and was understood to express her 
+opinion that she was "too old." 
+
+"'Too old!' My dear Miss Blodgett! One is never too old to be happy. I 
+intend to be as happy as ever I can. I shall hang up _my_ stocking; and I 
+expect everybody to put something in it." 
+
+"You ought to have let us know that beforehand, madame," said Miss 
+Blodgett. 
+
+"Let you know beforehand!" said Mrs. Mowbray, while her eye twinkled 
+mischievously: "My dear friend! I don't want any but free-will offerings. 
+You didn't think I was going to levy black mail? did you? Miss Blodgett! 
+I thought you knew me better." 
+
+Whether she were in jest or in earnest, Rotha could not make up her mind. 
+She was laughing at Miss Blodgett, that Rotha saw; but was it all 
+nonsense about the stocking and the gifts? Mrs. Mowbray's sweet eyes were 
+dancing with fun, her lips wreathed with the loveliest archness; whatever 
+she meant, Rotha was utterly and wholly bewitched. She ran on for some 
+little time, amusing herself and the girls, and putting slow Miss 
+Blodgett in something of an embarrassment, she was so much too quick for 
+her. 
+
+"Are you going to hang up your stocking, Miss Emory?" 
+
+Miss Emory in her turn smiled and bridled, and seemed at a loss how to 
+answer. 
+
+"Miss Eutable?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Certainly. We will all hang up our stockings. Do you think by the 
+chimney is the best place, Louisa?" 
+
+The girl addressed was a little girl, left in Mrs. Mowbray's care while 
+her parents were in Europe. She dimpled and declared she supposed one 
+place was as good as another. 
+
+"But you believe Santa Claus comes down the chimney?" 
+
+"I always knew better, Mrs. Mowbray." 
+
+"You did! You knew better! She knew better, Miss Blodgett. We are growing 
+so wise in this generation. Here's little Miss Farrar does not believe in 
+Santa Claus. I think that's a great loss. Miss Carpenter, what do you 
+think about it? Do you think it is best to let the cold daylight in upon 
+all our dreams?" 
+
+"The sun is not cold, madame." 
+
+"But the sun leaves no mystery." 
+
+"I do not like mystery, madame?" 
+
+"You don't? I think the charm of the stocking hung up, is the mystery. To 
+listen for the sound of the reindeers' feet on the roof, to hear the 
+rustle of the paper packages as Santa Claus comes down the chimney--there 
+is nothing like that! I used to lie and listen and cover up my eyes for 
+fear I should look, and be all in a tremble of delight and mystery." 
+
+"I should have looked," said Rotha. 
+
+"You must never look at Santa Claus. He don't like it." 
+
+"But I always knew it was no Santa Claus." 
+
+"Do you think you, and Miss Farrar here, are the happier for being so 
+wise?" 
+
+"I do not know," said Rotha laughing. "I cannot help it." 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray," said Miss Blodgett, "Miss Carpenter is the only young 
+lady in the house who says 'do not' instead of don't; have you noticed?" 
+
+"My dear Miss Blodgett! don't you go to preaching up preciseness. Life is 
+too short to round all the corners; and there are too many corners. You 
+must cut across sometimes. I say 'don't,' myself." 
+
+She went now into a more business-like inquiry, how the several young 
+ladies present expected to spend the next day; and as they rose from 
+table, asked Rotha if she would like to drive out with her immediately. 
+She had business to attend to. 
+
+The drive, and the business, of that Christmas eve remained a vision of 
+unalloyed pure delight in Rotha's memory for ever. The city was brightly 
+lighted, at least where she and Mrs. Mowbray went; the streets were full 
+of a gay crowd, gay as one sees it at no other time of all the year but 
+around the holidays; everybody was buying or had bought, and was carrying 
+bundles done up in brown paper, and packages of all sizes and shapes; and 
+everybody's face looked as if there were a pleasant thought behind it, 
+for everybody was preparing good for somebody else. Mrs. Mowbray was on 
+such errands, Rotha immediately saw. And the shops were such scenes of 
+happy bustle; happy to the owners, for they were driving a good trade; 
+and happy to the customers, for every one was getting what he wanted. A 
+large grocer's was the first place Mrs. Mowbray stopped at; and even here 
+the scene was exceedingly attractive and interesting to Rotha. It was not 
+much like the little corner grocery near Jane Street, where she once used 
+to buy half pounds of tea and pecks of potatoes for her mother; although 
+the mingled scents of spices and cheese did recall that to mind; the 
+spices and the cheese here were better, and the odours correspondingly. 
+Rotha never lost the remembrance, nor ever entered a large house of this 
+kind again in her life without a sweeping impression of the mysterious 
+bustle and joy of that Christmas eve. 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray had various orders to give. Among them was one specially 
+interesting to Rotha. She desired to have some twenty or thirty pounds of 
+tea done up in half pound packages; also as many pounds of sugar; loaf 
+sugar. As she and Rotha were driving off she explained what all this was 
+for. "It is to go to my poor old people at the Coloured Home," she said. 
+"Did you ever hear of the Old Coloured Home? I suppose not    That is an 
+institution for the care of worn-out old coloured people, who have nobody 
+to look after them. They expect to see me at Christmas. Would you like to 
+go with me to-morrow, after church, when I go to take the tea to them?" 
+
+Rotha answered, most sincerely, that she would like to go anywhere with 
+Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"They think all the world of tea, those poor old women; and they do not 
+get it very good. The tea for them all is brewed in a great kettle and 
+sweetened with molasses, without taking any account of differences of 
+taste," Mrs. Mowbray added laughing; "and many of these old people know 
+what is good as well as I do; and this common tea is dreadful to them. So 
+at Christmas I always carry them a half pound of tea apiece and a pound 
+of loaf sugar; and you have no idea how much they look forward to it." 
+
+"Half a pound of tea will last quite a good while," said Rotha. 
+
+"How do you know, my dear?" 
+
+"I used to get half a pound at a time for mother, and then I used to make 
+it for her always; so I know it will do for a long time, if one is 
+careful." 
+
+"So you have been a housekeeper!" 
+
+"Not much.--I used to do things for mother." 
+
+"Mrs. Busby is her sister?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am; but not like her. O not a bit like her." 
+
+"Where was Mrs. Busby in those days?" 
+
+"Here. Just where she is now." 
+
+"Did she never come to see you?" 
+
+"She did not know where we were. Mother never let her know." 
+
+"Do you know why not, my dear?" 
+
+"She had been so unkind--" Rotha answered in a low voice. 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray thought to herself that probably there had been fault on 
+both sides. 
+
+"You must try and forget all that, my dear, if there were old grievances. 
+It is best to forgive and forget, and Christmas is a capital time to do 
+it. I never dare think of a grudge against anybody at Christmas. And your 
+aunt seems disposed to be kind to you now." 
+
+"No, ma'am, I do not think she does." 
+
+"Don't you!" 
+
+"No, ma'am. I do not" 
+
+"Why, my dear, you must not bear malice." 
+
+"What is 'malice'?" 
+
+"Well,--ill-will." 
+
+"Ill-will--I do not think I wish any harm to her," said Rotha slowly; 
+"but I do not forgive her." 
+
+"What do you want to do to her?" 
+
+"I do not know. I should like to make her feel ashamed of herself--if I 
+knew how." 
+
+"I do not think that lies in your power, my dear; and I would not try. 
+That is a sort of revenge-taking; and all sorts of revenge-taking are 
+forbidden to us. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord." 
+
+"I do not mean vengeance," said Rotha. "I mean, just punishment--a little 
+bit." 
+
+"That is the meaning of the word 'vengeance' in that place;--just 
+punishment; but in your heart, Rotha, it is revenge. Put it away, my 
+dear. It is not the spirit of Christ. You must forgive, if you would be 
+forgiven." 
+
+"I do not know how," said Rotha, low and steadily. 
+
+"See how Jesus did. When they were nailing him to the cross, he said, 
+'Father, forgive them.'" 
+
+"Yes, but he said too, Mrs. Mowbray,--'they know not what they do.'" 
+
+"My dear, nobody knows the evil he does. That does not excuse the evil, 
+but it helps your charity for the sinner. Nobody knows the evil he does. 
+I suppose Mrs. Busby has no notion how much she has hurt you." 
+
+Rotha thought, her aunt had as little _care;_ but she did not say it. She 
+was silent a minute, and then asked if the poor people at the Old 
+Coloured Home were all women? 
+
+"O no!" Mrs. Mowbray answered. "There are a great many men. I give _them_  
+a pound of tobacco each; but I prefer not to take that in the carriage  
+with me. It is all up there now, I suppose, waiting for me and to-morrow." 
+
+With which the carriage stopped again. 
+
+Here it was a bookstore; a large and beautiful one. The light was 
+brilliant; and on every counter and table lay spread about such treasures 
+of printing, engraving, and the book-binder's art, as Rotha had never 
+seen gathered together before. Mrs. Mowbray told her to amuse herself 
+with looking at the books and pictures, while she attended to the 
+business that brought her here; and so began a wonderful hour for Rotha. 
+O the books! O the pictures! what pages of interest! what leaves of 
+beauty! Her eyes were drunk with delight. From one thing to another, with 
+careful fingers and dainty touch she went exploring; sometimes getting 
+caught in the interest of an open page of letterpress, sometimes hanging 
+over an engraving with wondering admiration and sympathy. It seemed any 
+length of time, it was really not more than three quarters of an hour, 
+when Mrs. Mowbray approached her again, having got through her errands. 
+With cheeks red and eyes intent, Rotha was bending over something, the 
+sense of hearing for the present gone into abeyance; Mrs. Mowbray was 
+obliged to touch her. She smiled at Rotha's start. 
+
+"What had you there, my dear?" 
+
+"All sorts of things, Mrs. Mowbray! Just that minute, I was looking at an 
+atlas." 
+
+"An atlas!" 
+
+"Yes, the most perfect I ever saw. O beautiful, and with so many things 
+told and taught in it. A delightful atlas! And then, I was looking at the 
+illustrations in the 'Arabian Nights'--I think that was the name." 
+
+"You never read it?" 
+
+"O no, ma'am. I never had many books to read;--until now." 
+
+"Are you reading anything now, in course?" 
+
+"I haven't much time, there is so much history to read. But I have begun 
+'Waverley.'" 
+
+"Do you like it?" 
+
+"O, a great deal more than I can tell!" 
+
+"Do not let it draw you away from your studies." 
+
+"No, ma'am. There is no danger," said Rotha joyously. 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray did not speak again till the carriage stopped at Stewart's. 
+It was the first time Rotha had ever been inside of those white walls; 
+and this visit finished the bewitchment of the evening. At first the size 
+of the place and the numbers of people busy there engrossed her 
+attention; nor did either thing cease to be a wonder; but by degrees one 
+grows accustomed even to wonders. By degrees Rotha was able to look at 
+what was on the counters, as well as what was before them; for a while 
+she had followed Mrs. Mowbray without seeing what that lady was doing. 
+Mrs. Mowbray had a good deal of business on hand. When Rotha began to 
+attend to it, the two had come into the rotunda room and were standing at 
+the great glove counter. Between what was going on there, and what was 
+doing at the silk counters around her, Rotha was fully engaged, and was 
+only recalled to herself by Mrs. Mowbray's voice asking, 
+
+"What is your number, Rotha?" 
+
+"Ma'am?" said the girl "I did not understand--" 
+
+"What is the number of the size of glove you wear?" 
+
+"I do not know, ma'am--O, I remember! six and a half." 
+
+"Six and a half," Mrs. Mowbray repeated to the shopman; and then 
+proceeded to pull out pairs of gloves from the packages handed her. 
+"There's a dark green, my dear; that is near the shade of your cloak. 
+There is a good colour" throwing down upon the green a dark grey; and a 
+brown followed the green. "Now we want some lighter--do you like that?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+More than the mere affirmative Rotha could not say; she looked on 
+bewildered and confounded, as a pair of pearl grey gloves was laid upon 
+the green, the dark, and the brown, and then came a tan-coloured pair, 
+and then a soft ashes of roses. Half a dozen pair of kid gloves! Rotha 
+had never even contemplated such profusion. She received the little 
+packet with only a half-uttered, low, suppressed word of thanks. Then the 
+two wandered away from that room, and found themselves among holiday 
+varieties. Here Rotha was dazzled. Not indeed by glitter; but by the 
+combinations of use and beauty that met her eyes, look where they would. 
+Mrs. Mowbray was making purchases, Rotha did not know of what, it did not 
+concern her; and she was never tempted by vulgar curiosity. She indulged 
+her eyes with looking at everything else. What fans, and dressing boxes 
+and work boxes, and fancy baskets, and hand mirrors, and combs and 
+brushes, and vials of perfumes, and writing cases, and cigar cases, and 
+Japan ware, and little clocks, and standishes, and glove boxes, and 
+papetries, and desks, and jewel cases---- 
+
+"Have you a handbag for travelling, Rotha?" 
+
+The question made her start. 
+
+"No, ma'am. I never go travelling." 
+
+"You will, some time. How do you like that? Think it is too large?" 
+
+Rotha was speechless. Could Mrs. Mowbray remember that she had given her 
+half a dozen pair of gloves that evening already? 
+
+"I always like a handbag that will carry something," Mrs. Mowbray went 
+on. "You want room for a book, and room for writing materials; you should 
+always have writing materials in your hand-bag, and stamps, and 
+everything necessary. You never know what you may want in a hurry. I 
+think that is about right; do you?" 
+
+"That" was a beautiful brown bag of Russia leather, sweet with the 
+pungent sweetness of birch bark, or of the peculiar process of curing 
+with such bark; and with nickel plated lock and bolts. Rotha flushed 
+high; to speak she was incompetent just then. 
+
+"I think it will do then," said Mrs. Mowbray, herself in a high state of 
+holiday glee; preparing, as she was, pleasure for a vast number of 
+persons, rich and poor, young and old; she was running over with a sort 
+of angel's pleasure in giving comfort or making glad. In Rotha's case she 
+was doing both. 
+
+"Don't you want to take it home with you, my dear?" she went on. "There 
+will be so many things to send from the store to-night that they will 
+never get to their destination; and I always like to make sure of a thing 
+when I have got it. Though you rarely make a mistake here," she added 
+graciously to the foreman who was waiting upon her. 
+
+Rotha took the bag, without a word, for she had not a thing to say; and 
+she dropped her package of gloves into it, for safe keeping and easy 
+transportation. Talk of riches! The thing is comparative. I question if 
+there was a millionaire's wife in the city that night who felt as 
+supremely rich as did Rotha with her bag and her gloves. She tried to say 
+a word of thanks to her kind friend when she got home; but Mrs. Mowbray 
+stopped her. 
+
+"Go to bed, my dear," she said, with a kiss, "and don't forget to hang up 
+your stocking. Are you comfortable up there?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am--O yes!" Rotha answered as she went up the stairs. 
+
+Comfortable! She was alone in her room, all her roommates having gone 
+somewhere for the holidays; the whole house was warm; and Rotha shut her 
+door, and set her bag on a table, and sat down and looked at it; with her 
+heart growing big. Hang up her stocking! She! Had she not had Christmas 
+enough already? 
+
+It all worked oddly with Rotha. To the majority of natures, great 
+pleasure is found to work adversely to the entertaining of serious 
+thoughts or encouraging religious impressions. With her, grief seemed to 
+muddle all her spiritual condition, and joy cleared it up. She sat 
+looking at her treasures, looking mentally at the wonderful good things 
+that surrounded her, contrasted with her previous unhappiness; and the 
+whole generous truth of her nature was aroused. She ought to be such a 
+good girl! And by "goodness" Rotha did not mean an orderly getting of her 
+lessons. Conscience went a great deal further, enlightened by the 
+examples she had known of what was really good. Yes, her mother would 
+have forgiven her aunt; and Mr. Digby would never have been ill-mannerly 
+to her; and supposing him for once to be in such a condition of wrong, he 
+would go straight forward, she knew, to make amends, own the fault and 
+ask pardon. Further than that; for on both their parts such feeling and 
+action would have been but the outcome of their habitual lowly and loving 
+obedience to God. That she ought to be like them, Rotha knew; and tears 
+of sorrow rushed to her eyes to think she was not. "The goodness of God 
+leadeth thee to repentance," was the thought working in her; although she 
+did not clothe it in the Bible words. 
+
+What hindered? 
+
+"My ugly temper," said Rotha to herself; "my wickedness and badness." 
+
+What help? 
+
+Yes, there was help, she knew, she believed. She brought her Bible and 
+turned to the marked passages, brushing away the tears that she might see 
+to read them. "He that hath my commandments and keepeth them--" Well, 
+said Rotha, I will keep them from this time on.--Forgive and all? said 
+something in her heart. _Yes_, forgive and all. I will forgive!--But you 
+cannot?--Then I will ask help. 
+
+And she did. Earnestly, tearfully, ardently, for a long time. She felt as 
+if her heart were a stone. She had to go to bed at last, feeling no 
+better. But that she would be a true servant of God, Rotha was 
+determined. 
+
+So came Christmas morning on; clear, cold, bright and still. Rotha awaked 
+at the bell summons. Her first thought was of last night's determination, 
+to which she held fast; the next thought was, that it was Christmas day, 
+and she must look at her gloves and Russia leather bag. She sprang up, 
+and had half dressed herself before she remarked, lying on the empty bed 
+opposite her own, some peculiar-looking packages done up as usual in 
+brown paper. They must belong to Mrs. Mowbray and have got there by 
+mistake, she thought; and she went over to verify her supposition. No, to 
+her enormous surprise she saw her own name. 
+
+More Christmas things! Rotha hurried her dressing; she dared not stop to 
+open anything till that was done; and then an inner voice said, You will 
+not have much time for your prayers. Her heart beating, she turned away 
+and knelt down. And she would not cut short her prayers, either. She 
+besought help to forgive; she asked earnestly to be made "a new 
+creature"; for the old creature, she felt, would never forgive, to the 
+end of time. She rose then, brushing the moisture from her eyes, and went 
+over to look at those mysterious packages. One was light, square, and 
+shallow; the other evidently a book, and heavy. She opened the lesser 
+package first. Behold, a dozen cambrick handkerchiefs, and upon them a 
+little bright blue silk neck tie. Rotha needed those articles very much; 
+she was ready to scream for joy. The other package now; hands trembling 
+unfolded it. Brown paper, silk paper,--and one of Bagster's octavo Bibles 
+with limp covers was revealed. Rotha was an ardent lover of the beautiful 
+and the perfect; her own Bible was an old volume, much worn by handling, 
+bearing the marks of two generations' use and wear; this was the 
+perfection of a book in every respect. Rotha was struck dumb and still, 
+and nothing but tears could give due vent to her feelings; they were 
+tears of great joy, of repentance, of new purpose, and of very conscious 
+inability to do anything of herself that would be good. She had sunk on 
+her knees to let those tears have the accompaniment of prayer; she rose 
+up again and clasped the Bible in her arms, in heartiest love to it. 
+
+Breakfast was late that morning, and she had time for examining her gifts 
+and for getting a little composed before she had to go down stairs. She 
+went then quite sedately to all appearance. It was to her as if the world 
+had turned round two or three times since last night; other people, 
+however, she observed, had not at all lost their heads and were very much 
+as usual; except that they were dressed for going to church, and had the 
+pleasant freedom of holiday times in their looks and manner. Only Mrs. 
+Mowbray was really festive. She was sparkling with spirits, and smiling 
+with the joy of doing kindness, past and future. Rotha sat next her at 
+the table; and there was a gleam of amusement and intelligence in her eye 
+as she asked her, over her coffee cup, whether Santa Claus had come down 
+her chimney? She gave Rotha no time to answer, but ran on with a question 
+to some one else; only a few minutes after, as she put a chop upon 
+Rotha's plate, gave her a look full of affectionate kindness which said 
+that she understood all and no words were necessary. 
+
+It was time to go to church when breakfast and prayers were over. 
+Immediately after church, Mrs. Mowbray and Rotha took a carriage and 
+drove out to the Old Coloured Home; all the packages of tea and sugar 
+going along; as also a perfect stack of sponge cakes. Arrived at the 
+place, Mrs. Mowbray's first demand was to know whether "the milk" had 
+been delivered, and where "the tobacco" was. Then followed a scene, a 
+succession of scenes rather, that could never be forgotten. Mrs. Mowbray 
+went all through the rooms, dealing out to each poor creature among the 
+women a half pound package of tea, a pound of sugar, a half pint of milk, 
+and a sizeable sponge cake. 
+
+"My dear," she whispered to Rotha, who attended and helped her, "they 
+think all the world of a bit of cake! They never get it now, you know." 
+
+"Don't they get milk?" 
+
+"Some of the ladies bought a cow for them, that they might have it and 
+have it good; but it didn't work. The matron took the cream for herself; 
+they had only the blue watery stuff that was left; and when it was 
+attempted to rectify that abuse, somebody discovered that it cost too 
+much to keep a cow." 
+
+"What a shame!" cried Rotha indignantly. 
+
+"Never mind; you cannot have everything in this world; the Home is a 
+great deal better than being in the streets." 
+
+But Rotha did not like the Home. Its forms and varieties of infirmity, 
+disease, and decay, were very disagreeable to her. She had one of those 
+temperaments to which all things beautiful, graceful, and lovely, speak 
+with powerful influences, and which are correspondingly repelled and 
+distressed by the tokens of pain or want or coarse living. All the 
+delight of these women at the sight of Mrs. Mowbray, and all their 
+intense enjoyment of her gifts, manifested broadly and abundantly, could 
+not reconcile Rotha to the sight of their worn, wrinkled faces, bowed 
+forms, bleared eyes, and dulled expression. Every one was not so; but 
+these were the majority. Certainly Rotha had not had a very dainty 
+experience of life during the years of her abode in New York; she had 
+lived where the poorer classes lived and been accustomed to seeing them. 
+But there the sick and infirm were mostly in their houses, where she did 
+not visit them; and the exceptions were noticed one at a time. Here there 
+was an aggregation of infirmity, which oppressed her young heart and 
+revolted her fastidious sense. It was not pleasant; and Rotha, like most 
+others who have no experience of life, was devoted to what was pleasant. 
+She wondered to see the glee and enjoyment with which Mrs. Mowbray moved 
+about among these poor people; a word, and a word of cheer, for every 
+one; her very looks and presence coming like beams of loving light upon 
+their darkness. She seemed to know them almost all. 
+
+"How's rheumatism, aunty?" she asked cheerily of a little, wrinkled, 
+yellow old woman, sitting in a rocking chair and hovering near a fire. 
+
+"O missus, it's right smart bad! it is surely." 
+
+"Where is it now? in your hands, or your feet?" 
+
+"O missus, it is all places! 'Pears there aint no place where it aint. 
+It's in my hands, and in my feet, and in my head, and in my back; and I 
+can't sleep o' nights; and the nights is powerful long! so they be." 
+
+"Ah, yes; it makes a long night, to have to lie awake aching! I know that 
+by experience. I had rheumatism once." 
+
+"Did you, missus! But it warn't so bad as I be?" 
+
+"No, not quite, and I was stronger to bear it. You know who is strong to 
+help you bear it, aunty?" 
+
+"Yes, missus," said the poor creature with a long sigh;--"I does love de 
+Lord; sartain, I do. He do help. But I be so tired some times!" 
+
+"We'll forget all that when we get to heaven, aunty." 
+
+There was a faint gleam in the old eyes, as they looked up to her; a 
+faint smile on the withered lips. The rays of that morning light were 
+catching the clouds already! 
+
+"Now, aunty, I've brought you some splendid tea. Shall I make you a cup, 
+right off?" 
+
+"You wouldn't have time missus--" 
+
+"Yes, I would! Time for everything. Here, Sabrina, bring a kettle of 
+boiling water here and put it on the fire; mind, it must boil." 
+
+And while the woman went to obey the order, Mrs. Mowbray went on round 
+the room. There were so many to speak to, Rotha thought she would forget 
+the kettle and the tea; but she did not. From the very door which should 
+have let her into another ward, she turned back The kettle was boiling; 
+she ordered several cups; she made the tea, not out of the old woman's 
+particular private store; and then she poured it out, sugared and creamed 
+and gave her her cup; took one herself, and gave the rest to whosoever 
+came for it. They held quite a little festival there round the fire; for 
+Mrs. Mowbray brought out some cake too. 
+
+"Now," she said to Rotha as they hurried away, "they will not forget that 
+for a year to come. I always take a cup of tea with aunty Lois." 
+
+They went now among the men, distributing the tobacco. Rotha admired with 
+unending admiration, the grace and sweetness and tact with which Mrs. 
+Mowbray knew how to season her gifts; the enormous amount of pleasure she 
+gave and good she did which were quite independent of them. Bent figures 
+straightened up, and dull faces shone out, as she talked. The very beauty 
+which belonged to her in so rare measure, Rotha saw how it was a mighty 
+talent for good when brought thoroughly into the service of Christ. She 
+was a fair human angel going about among those images of want and 
+suffering and hopelessness; her light lingered on them after she had 
+passed on. 
+
+"How do you do, uncle Bacchus?" she said as she approached an old, gray-
+haired, very black man in a corner. He rose to his feet and shewed a 
+tall, slim figure, not bent at all, though the indications of his face 
+pointed to very advanced age. He bowed profoundly, and with dignity, 
+before the lovely lady who had extended her hand to him, and then he took 
+the hand. 
+
+"Nearer home, madam," he said; "a year nearer home." 
+
+The hand trembled, and the voice; yet the mental tone of it was very 
+firm. 
+
+"You are not in a hurry to leave us?" 
+
+"It's better on de oder side, madam." 
+
+"Yes, that is true! And it is good to know there _is_ an 'other side,' 
+isn't it? Are you comfortable here, uncle Bacchus?" 
+
+'"Comfortable--" he repeated. "I don' know. I'm sittin' at de gates, 
+waitin' till de Lord say open 'em; and 'pears I'm lookin' dat way all de 
+time. Dis yer's a waitin' place. A waitin' place." 
+
+"Yes, but I want you to be comfortable while you are waiting. What can I 
+do for you? The dear Lord has sent me to ask you." 
+
+He smiled a little, a very sweet smile, though the lips were so withered 
+on which it came. 
+
+"Don't want for not'ing, madam. Dis yer'll do to wait in. When I get 
+home, I'll have all I want; but it's up _dere_." 
+
+"I thought, uncle Bacchus, you would like a very plain page to read the 
+words in that you love. See, I have brought you this. This will almost do 
+without spectacles, hey?" 
+
+She produced a New Testament in four thin volumes, of the very largest 
+and clearest type; presenting a beautiful open page. The old man almost 
+chuckled as he received it. 
+
+"Dat ar's good!" he said. 
+
+"Better than the old one, hey?" 
+
+"Dat ar certainly is good," he repeated. "De old un, de words is so 
+torturous small, if I didn't know what dey was, 'pears dey wouldn't be no 
+use to me." 
+
+"Well, then I made no mistake this time. Now, uncle Bacchus, I know you 
+take no comfort in tobacco; so I've brought you something else--something 
+you like. Must have something to make Christmas gay, you know." 
+
+She put a paper of French bonbons in the old man's hand. He laughed, half 
+at her and half at the sugarplums, Rotha thought; and he bowed again. 
+
+"De Lord give madam sumfin' to make _her_ gay!" he said. 
+
+"Himself, uncle Bacchus!" 
+
+"Dat's so, madam!" he replied, as she took his hand to bid him good bye. 
+
+This was a much longer colloquy than usual; a few words were all there 
+was time for, generally; and Rotha went on wondering and admiring to see 
+how Mrs. Mowbray could make those few words tell for the pleasure and 
+good of her beneficiaries. At last the whole round was made, the last 
+package disposed of, and Mrs. Mowbray and Rotha found themselves in the 
+carriage again. Rotha for her part was glad; she did not like the Home, 
+as I have said; the sight of the people was painful to her, even with all 
+the alleviations of pleasure. She was glad to be driving away from the 
+place. What did they know of Bagster's Bibles and Russia covered 
+travelling bags? Poor creatures! And Rotha's heart was leaping at thought 
+of her own. 
+
+They went in silence for a while. 
+
+"Aren't you very tired, Mrs. Mowbray?" Rotha ventured at last. 
+
+"Tired?" said Mrs. Mowbray brightly, rousing herself. "I don't know! I 
+don't stop to think whether I am tired. There will be plenty of time to 
+rest, by and by." 
+
+"That does not hinder one from feeling tired now," said Rotha, who did 
+not enjoy this doctrine. 
+
+"No, but it hinders one from minding it," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Do all you 
+can for other people, Rotha; it is the greatest happiness you can find in 
+this life." 
+
+"Do you think you had as much pleasure in getting those things for me, 
+Mrs. Mowbray,--my bag and my Bible,--and all my things,--as I had, and 
+have, in receiving them?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray smiled. "Do they give you pleasure?" she asked. 
+
+"More than you can think--more than I can tell. I think I am dreaming!" 
+
+"Then that gives _me_ pleasure. What are you going to do with your  
+Bible?"
+
+"I am going to study it--" said Rotha slowly; "and I am going to live by 
+it." 
+
+"Are you? Have you decided that point?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am. But I am not good yet, Mrs. Mowbray. I do not forgive aunt 
+Serena. It feels to me as if there was a stone where my heart ought to 
+be." 
+
+"Have you found that out?" said Mrs. Mowbray without shewing any 
+surprise. "There is help, my child. Look, when you get home, at the 
+thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel--I cannot tell you what verse--and you 
+will find it there." 
+
+They had no more talk until the carriage stopped at home. And Rotha had 
+no chance then even to open her Bible, but must make herself immediately 
+ready for dinner. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. 
+
+
+FLINT AND STEEL. 
+
+
+That Christmas dinner remained a point of delight in Rotha's memory for 
+ever. The company was small, several of the young ladies having accepted 
+invitations to dine with some friend or acquaintance. It was most 
+agreeably small, to Rotha's apprehension, for she could see more of Mrs. 
+Mowbray and more informally. Everybody was in gala dress and gala humour, 
+nobody more than the mistress of the house; and she had done everything 
+in her power to make the Christmas dinner a gala meal. Flowers and lights 
+were in plenty; the roast turkey was followed by ices, confections and 
+fruits, all of delicious quality; and Mrs. Mowbray's own kind and 
+gracious ministry made everything doubly sweet. Rotha had besides such 
+joy in her heart, that turkey and ices had never seemed so good in her 
+life. The whole day had been rich, full, sweet, blessed; the girl had 
+entered a new sphere where every want of her nature was met and 
+contented; under such conditions the growth of a plant is rapid; and in a 
+plant of humanity it is not only rapid but blissful. 
+
+Christmas joys were not done when the dinner was over. The girls who were 
+present, and the one or two under teachers, repaired to the library, Mrs. 
+Mowbray's special domain; and there she exerted herself unweariedly to 
+give them a pleasant evening. Two of them sat down to a game of chess; 
+two of them were allowed to look over some very rare and splendid books 
+of engravings; one or two were deep in fancy work, and one or two amused 
+themselves with a fine microscope. Rotha received her first introduction 
+to the stereoscope. This was no novelty to the rest, and she was left in 
+undisturbed enjoyment; free to look as long as she liked at any view that 
+excited her interest. Which of them did not! At Rotha's age, with her 
+mind just opening rapidly and her intellectual hunger great for all sorts 
+of food, what were not the revelations of the stereoscope to her! Delight 
+and wonder went beyond all power of words to describe them. And with 
+delight and wonder started curiosity. Rotha's first view was a gorge 
+in the Alps. 
+
+"Where is it?" she asked. And Mrs. Mowbray told her. 
+
+"How high are those hills?" 
+
+"Really, I don't know," said her friend laughing. "I will give you a 
+guide book to study." 
+
+Rotha thought she would like a guide book. Anything so majestic as the 
+sweep of those mountain lines and the lift of their snowy heads, she had 
+never imagined; nor anything so lovely as the peace of that narrow, 
+meadowy valley at the foot of them. 
+
+"Is it as good really, Mrs. Mowbray, as it looks here?" she asked. 
+
+"It is better. Don't you think colour goes for anything? and the sound of 
+a cowbell, and the rush of the torrents that come from the mountains?" 
+
+"I can hear cowbells and the rush of brooks here," said Rotha. 
+
+"It sounds different there." 
+
+Slowly and unwillingly and after long looking at it, Rotha laid the Swiss 
+valley away. Her next view happened to be the ruins of the Church at 
+Fountain's Abbey; and with that a new nerve of pleasure seemed to be 
+stirred. This was something in an entirely new department, of knowledge 
+and interest both. "How came people to let such a beautiful church go to 
+ruin?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray went back to the Reformation, and Henry the Eighth, and the 
+monkish orders; and the historical discussion grew into length. Then a 
+very noble view of the Fountain's Abbey cloisters opened a new field of 
+inquiry; and Rotha's eye gazed along the beautiful arches with an awed 
+apprehension of the life that once was lived under them; gazed and 
+marvelled and queried. 
+
+"That was an ugly sort of life," she said at last; "why do I like to look 
+at these cloisters, Mrs. Mowbray?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray laughed. "I suppose your eye finds beauty in the lines of 
+the architecture." 
+
+"Are they beautiful?" 
+
+"People say so, my dear." 
+
+"But do you think they are?" 
+
+"My dear, I must confess to you, I never paid much attention to 
+architecture. I never asked myself the question." 
+
+"I do not think there is any _beauty_ about them," said Rotha; "but  
+somehow I like to look at them. I like to look at them _very_ much." 
+
+"Here is another cloister," said Mrs. Mowbray; "of Salisbury cathedral. 
+The arches and lines here are less severe. How do you like that?" 
+
+"Not half so well," Rotha answered, after making the comparison. "I think 
+Fountain's Abbey _is_ beautiful, compared with this." 
+
+"It is called, I believe, one of the finest ruins in England. My dear, if 
+you want to study architecture, I shall turn you over to Mr. Fergusson's 
+book. It is in the corner stand in the breakfast room--two octavo 
+volumes. There you can find all your questions answered." 
+
+Which Rotha did not however find to be the case, though Fergusson in 
+after days was a good deal studied by her in her hours of leisure. For 
+this evening it was enough, that she went to her room with the feeling 
+that the world is very rich in things to be seen and things to be known; 
+a vast treasure house of wonders and beauties and mysteries; which 
+mysteries must yet have their hidden truth and solution, delightful to 
+search for, delightful to find. Would she some day see the Alps? and what 
+dreadful things cloisters and the life lived in them must have been! Her 
+eye fell on her Russia leather bag, in which she had placed her Bible for 
+safe keeping; and her thoughts went to the Bible. That told how people 
+should live to serve God; and it was not by shutting themselves up in 
+cloisters. How then? That question she deferred. 
+
+But took it up again the next day. It was a rainy day; low clouds and 
+thick beat of the rain storm against the windows and upon the street. 
+Rotha was well pleased. Good so; yesterday had held novelty and 
+excitement enough for a week; to-day she could be quiet, study Fergusson 
+on architecture, perhaps; and at all events study the life question in 
+her beautiful Bible. She had the morning to herself after breakfast, and 
+her room to herself; the patter and beat of the rain drops made her feel 
+only more securely safe in her solitude and opportunity. Rotha took her 
+Bible lovingly in her hands and slowly turned over the leaves to find the 
+thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel. And unquestionably, the great beauty of 
+the book, of the paper and the limp covers and the type, did help her 
+pleasure and did give an additional zest to the work she was about. 
+Nevertheless, Rotha was in earnest, and it _was_ work. The chapter, when 
+she found it, was an enigma to her. She read on and on, understanding but 
+very dimly what might be meant under the words; till she came to the 
+notable promise and prophecy beginning with the twenty fourth verse. Then 
+her eyes opened, and lingered, slowly going over item after item of the 
+help promised to humanity's wants, and then she read:--
+
+"A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within 
+you; and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will 
+give you an heart of flesh."---- 
+
+It struck Rotha with a strange sort of surprise, the words meeting so 
+exactly the thought and want of her own heart. Did He who gave that 
+promise, long ago, know so well what she would be one day thinking and 
+feeling? But that was the very help she needed; all she needed; if the 
+heart of stone within her were gone, all the rest would fall into train. 
+Rotha waited no longer, but poured out a longing, passionate prayer that 
+this mighty change might be wrought in her. Even with tears she prayed 
+her prayer. She had resolved to be a Christian; yet she was not one; 
+could not be one; till a heart of flesh took the place of that impassive 
+induration which was where a heart should be. As she rose from her knees, 
+she thought she would follow out this subject of a hard heart, and see 
+what else the Bible said of it. She applied to her "Treasury of Scripture 
+Knowledge"; found the thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel, and the twenty 
+sixth verse. The first reference sent her to the eleventh chapter of the 
+same book, where she found the promise already previously given. 
+
+"And I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; 
+and I will take the stony-heart out of their flesh, and I will give them 
+an heart of flesh; _that they may walk in my statutes, and keep mine 
+ordinances, and do them;_ and they shall be my people, and I will be  
+their God." 
+
+That is it! thought Rotha. I knew I could not be a Christian while I felt 
+so as I do. I could not keep the commandments either. If I had a new 
+heart, I suppose I could forgive aunt Serena fast enough. God must be 
+very willing to take people's stony heart away, or he would not promise 
+it so twice over. O my dear "Scripture Treasury"! how good you are! 
+
+Following its indications, she came next to a word of the prophet 
+Zechariah, accusing the people of obduracy:--"They refused to hearken, 
+and pulled away the shoulder, and stopped their ears, that they should 
+not hear. Yea, they made their hearts as an adamant stone, lest they 
+should hear the law, and the words which the Lord of hosts hath sent in 
+his spirit by the former prophets"-- 
+
+Over this passage Rotha lingered, pondering. Could it be true that she 
+herself was to blame for the very hardness of heart she wanted to get rid 
+of? Had she "refused to hearken and pulled away the shoulder and stopped 
+her ears"? What else had she done? when those "former prophets" to her, 
+her mother, and Mr. Digby, had set duty and truth before her? They set it 
+before her bodily, too; and how fair their example had been! and how 
+immoveable she! Rotha lost herself for a while here, longing for her 
+mother, and crying in spirit for her next friend, Mr. Digby; wondering at 
+his silence, mourning his absence; and it was when a new gush of 
+indignation at her aunt seemed to run through all her veins, that she 
+caught herself up and remembered the work in hand, and slowly and 
+sorrowfully came back to it. How angry she was at Mrs. Busby this minute! 
+what a long way she was yet, with all her wishes and resolves, from the 
+loving tenderness of heart which would forgive everything. She went on, 
+hoping always for more light, and willing to take the sharpest charges 
+home to herself. Yet the next reference startled her. 
+
+"Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth; and 
+forthwith they sprang up because they had no deepness of earth: and when 
+the sun was up, they were scorched;"-- 
+
+Was it possible, that she had been like that very bad ground? Yes, she 
+knew the underlying rock too well. Then in her case there was special 
+danger of a flash religion, taken up for the minute's sense of need or 
+perception of advantage merely, and not rooted so that it would stand 
+weather. Hers should not be so; no profession of being a Christian would 
+she make, till it was thorough work; till at last she could forgive her 
+aunt's treachery; it would be pretty thorough if she could do that! But 
+how long first? At present Rotha thought of her aunt in terms that I will 
+not stop to detail; in which there was bitter anger and contempt and no 
+love at all. She knew it, poor child; she felt the difficulty; her only 
+sole hope was in the power of that promise in Ezekiel, which she blessed 
+in her heart, almost with tears. That way there was an outlook towards 
+light; no other way in all her horizon. She would see what more the Bible 
+had to say about it. 
+
+Going on in her researches, after another passage or two she came to 
+those notable words, also in Ezekiel,--
+
+"Cast away from you all your transgressions, whereby ye have 
+transgressed; and make you a new heart and a new spirit: for why will ye 
+die, O house of Israel?" 
+
+Make herself a new heart? how could she? she could not; and yet, here the 
+words were, and they must mean something. And to be sure, she thought, a 
+man is said to build him a new house, who gets the carpenter to make it, 
+and never himself puts hand to tool. But cast away her transgressions?--
+_that_ she could do, and she would. From that day forth. The next passage 
+was in the fifty first psalm; David's imploring cry that the Lord would 
+"create" in him "a new heart"; and then the lovely words in Jeremiah:--
+"After those days, saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward 
+parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God, and they 
+shall be my people." 
+
+Rotha shut her book. That was the very thing wanted. When the law of God 
+should be _in her heart_ so, then all would be right, and all would be 
+easy too. It is easy to do what is in one's heart. What beautiful words! 
+what exquisite promises! what tender meeting of the wants of weak and 
+sinful men! Rotha saw all this, and felt it. Ay, and she felt that every 
+vestige of excuse was gone for persistence in wrong; if God was so ready 
+to put in his hand of love and power to make things right. And one more 
+passage made this conclusively certain. It was the thirteenth verse of 
+the eleventh chapter of Luke. 
+
+The morning's work was a good one for Rotha. She made up her mind. That, 
+indeed, she had done before; now she took her stand with a clearer 
+knowledge of the ground and of the way in which the difficulties were to 
+be met. By a new heart, nothing less; a heart of flesh; which indeed she 
+could not create, but which she could ask for and hope for; and in the 
+mean time she must "cast away from her all her transgressions." No 
+compromise, and no delay. As to this anger at her aunt,--well, it was 
+there, and she could not put it out; but allow it and agree to it, or 
+give it expression, that she would not do. 
+
+She cast about her then for things to be done, neglected duties. No 
+studies neglected were on her conscience; there did occur to her some 
+large holes in the heels of her stockings. Rotha did not like mending; 
+however, here was duty. She got out the stockings and examined them. A 
+long job, and to her a hateful one, for the stockings had been neglected. 
+Rotha had but a little yarn to mend with; she sat down to the work and 
+kept at it until she had used up her last thread. That finished the 
+morning, for the stockings were fine, and the same feeling of duty which 
+made her take up the mending made her do it conscientiously. 
+
+The evening was spent happily over the stereoscope and Fergusson on 
+Architecture. Towards the end of it Mrs. Mowbray whispered to her, 
+
+"My dear, your aunt wishes you to spend a day with her; don't you think 
+it would be a good plan to go to-morrow? A thing is always more graceful 
+when it is done without much delay." 
+
+Rotha could but acquiesce. 
+
+"And make the best of it," Mrs. Mowbray went on kindly; "and make the 
+best of _them_. There is a best side to everybody; it is good to try and 
+get at it. The Bible says 'Overcome evil with good.'" 
+
+"Can one, always?" said Rotha. 
+
+"I think one can always--if one has the chance and time. At any rate, it 
+is good to try." 
+
+"But don't you think, ma'am, one must feel pleasant, before one can act 
+pleasant?" 
+
+"Feel pleasant, then," said Mrs. Mowbray smiling. "Can't you?" 
+
+"You do not know how difficult it is," said Rotha. 
+
+"Perhaps I do. Hearts are alike." 
+
+"O no, Mrs. Mowbray!" said Rotha in sudden protest. 
+
+"Not in everything. But fallen nature is fallen nature, my dear; one 
+person's temptations may be different from another's, but in the longing 
+to do our own pleasure and have our own way, we are all pretty much 
+alike. None of us has anything to boast of. What you despise, is the 
+yielding to a temptation which does not attack you." 
+
+Rotha's look at her friend was intelligent and candid. She said nothing. 
+
+"And if you can meet hatred with love, it is ten to one you can overcome 
+it. Wouldn't that be a victory worth trying for?" 
+
+Rotha knew the victory over herself was the first one to be gained. But 
+she silently acquiesced; and after breakfast next morning, with reluctant 
+steps, she set forth to go to her aunt's in Twenty-third Street. She had 
+been in a little doubt how to dress herself. Should she wear her old 
+things? or subject the new ones to her aunt's criticism? But Antoinette 
+had seen the pretty plaid school dress; it would be foolish to make any 
+mystery of it. She dressed herself as usual. 
+
+Mrs. Busby and her daughter were in the sitting room up stairs. Rotha had 
+knocked, modestly, and as she went in they both lifted up their heads and 
+looked at her, with a long look of survey. Rotha had come quite up to 
+them before her aunt spoke. 
+
+"Well, Rotha,--so it is you?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Have you come to see me at last?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Mowbray said you wished it." 
+
+"What made you choose to-day particularly?" 
+
+"Nothing. Mrs. Mowbray said--" 
+
+"Well, go on. What did Mrs. Mowbray say?" 
+
+"She said you wanted to have me come, some day, and she thought I had 
+better do it to-day." 
+
+"Yes. Did she give no reason?" 
+
+"No. At least--" 
+
+"At least what?" 
+
+Rotha had no skill whatever in prevarication, nor understood the art. 
+Nothing occurred to her but to tell the truth. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray said a thing was more graceful that was done promptly." 
+
+The slightest possible change in the set of Mrs. Busby's lips, the least 
+perceptible air of her head, expressed what another woman might have told 
+by a snort of disdain. Mrs. Busby's manner was quite as striking, Rotha 
+thought. Her own anger was rising fast. 
+
+"O, and I suppose she is teaching you to do things gracefully?" said 
+Antoinette. "Mamma, the idea!" 
+
+"It did not occur to her or you that I might like to see my niece 
+occasionally?" said Mrs. Busby. 
+
+Rotha bit her lips and succeeded in biting down the answer. 
+
+"We have not grown very graceful _yet_," Antoinette went on. "It is  
+usually thought civilized to answer people." 
+
+"You had better take off your things," Mrs. Busby said. "You may lay them 
+up stairs in your room." 
+
+"Is there any reason which makes this an inconvenient day for me to be 
+here?" Rotha asked before moving to obey this command. 
+
+"It makes no difference. The proper time for putting such a question, if 
+you want to do things _gracefully_, is before taking your action, while  
+the answer can also be given gracefully, if unfavourable." 
+
+Rotha went slowly up stairs, feeling that or any other place in the house 
+better than the room where her aunt was. She went to her little cold, 
+cheerless, desolate-looking, old room. How she had suffered there! how 
+thankful she was to be in it no more! how changed were her circumstances! 
+Could she not be good and keep the peace, this one day? She had purposed 
+to be very good, and calm, like Mr. Digby; and now already she felt as if 
+a bunch of nettles had been drawn all over her. What an unmanageable 
+thing was this temper of hers. She went down stairs slowly and 
+lingeringly. The two looked at her again as she entered the room; now 
+that her cloak was off, the new dress came into view. 
+
+"Where did you get that dress, Rotha?" was her aunt's question. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray got it for me." 
+
+"Does she propose to send me the bill by and by?" 
+
+"Of course not! Aunt Serena, Mrs. Mowbray never does mean things." 
+
+"H'm! What induced her then to go to such expense for a girl she never 
+saw before?" 
+
+"I suppose she was sorry for me," said Rotha, with her heart swelling. 
+
+"Sorry for you! May I ask, why?" 
+
+"You know how I was dressed, aunt Serena; and you know how the other 
+girls in school dress." 
+
+"I know a great many of them have foolish mothers, who make themselves 
+ridiculous by the way they let their children appear. It is a training of 
+vanity. I should not have thought Mrs. Mowbray would lend herself to such 
+nonsense." 
+
+"But you do not think Antoinette has a foolish mother?" Rotha could not 
+help saying. Mrs. Busby's daughter was quite as much dressed as the other 
+girls. That she ought not to have made that speech, Rotha knew; but she 
+made it. So much satisfaction she must have. It remained however 
+completely ignored. 
+
+"Who made your dress?" Mrs. Busby went on. 
+
+"A dress-maker. One of the ladies went with me to have it cut." 
+
+"What did you do Christmas?" Antoinette inquired. In reply to which, 
+Rotha gave an account of her visit to the Old Coloured Home. 
+
+"Just like Mrs. Mowbray!" was Mrs. Busby's comment. "She has no 
+discretion." 
+
+"Why do you say that, aunt Serena?" 
+
+"Such an expenditure of money for nothing. What good would a little tea 
+and a little tobacco do those people? It would not last more than a week 
+or two; and then they are just where they were before." 
+
+"But it did not cost so very much," objected Rotha. 
+
+"Have you reckoned it up? Fifty or sixty half-pounds of tea, fifty or 
+sixty pounds of sugar,--why, the sugar alone would be five or six 
+dollars; and the tobacco, and the carriage hire; and I don't know what 
+beside. All for nothing. That woman does not know what to do with money." 
+
+"But is it not something, to make so many poor people happy, if even only 
+for a little while?" 
+
+"It would be a great deal better to give them something to do them good; 
+a flannel petticoat, now, or a pair of warm socks. That would last. Or 
+putting the money in the funds of the Institution, where it would go to 
+their daily needs. I always think of that." 
+
+"_Would_ it go to their daily needs? Some ladies got a cow for them once; 
+and it just gave the matron cream for her tea, and they got no good of 
+it." 
+
+"I don't believe that at all!" exclaimed Mrs. Busby. "I know the matron; 
+Mrs. Bothers; I know her, for I recommended her myself. I have no idea 
+she would be guilty of any such impropriety. It is just the gossip in the 
+house, that Mrs. Mowbray has taken up in her haste and swallowed." 
+
+Rotha tried to hold her tongue. It was hard. 
+
+"Did Mrs. Mowbray give _you_ anything Christmas?" Antoinette asked, 
+pushing her inquiries. Rotha hesitated, but could find no way to answer 
+without admitting the affirmative. 
+
+"What?" was the immediate next question; and even Mrs. Busby looked with 
+ill-pleased eyes to hear Rotha's next words. It seemed like making her 
+precious things common, to tell of them to these unkind ears. Yet there 
+was no help for it. 
+
+"She gave me a travelling hand-bag." 
+
+"What sort?" 
+
+"Russia leather." 
+
+"There, mamma!" Antoinette exclaimed. "Isn't that Mrs. Mowbray all over? 
+When a morocco one, or a canvas one, would have done just as well." 
+
+"As I said," returned Mrs. Busby. "Mrs. Mowbray does not know what to do 
+with money. When are you going travelling, Rotha?" 
+
+"I do not know. Some time in my life, I suppose." 
+
+"What a ridiculous thing to give her!" pursued Antoinette. 
+
+"Yes, I think so," her mother echoed. "Do not let yourself be deluded, 
+Rotha, by presents of travelling bags or anything else. Your future life 
+is not likely to be spent in pleasuring. What I can do for you in the way 
+of giving you an education, will be all I can do; then you will have to 
+make a living and a home for, yourself; and the easiest way you can do it 
+will be by teaching. I shall tell Mrs. Mowbray to educate you for some 
+post in which perhaps she can put you by and by; she or somebody else. So 
+pack up your expectations; you will not need to do much of other sorts of 
+packing." 
+
+"You forget there is another person to be consulted, aunt Serena." 
+
+"What other person?" said Mrs. Busby raising her head and fixing her 
+observant eyes upon Rotha. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"Mr. Southwode!" repeated the lady coldly. "I am ignorant what a stranger 
+like him has to say about our family affairs." 
+
+"He is not a stranger," said Rotha hotly. "He is the person I know best 
+in the world, and love best. He is the person to whom I belong; that 
+mother left me to; and it is for him, not for you, to say what I shall 
+do, or what I shall be." 
+
+Imprudent Rotha! But passion is always imprudent. 
+
+"Very improper language!" said Mrs. Busby coldly. "When a young lady 
+speaks so of a young gentleman, what are we to think?" 
+
+"I am not a young lady," said Rotha; "and he is not a young gentleman; at 
+least, not very young; and you may think the truth, which is what I say." 
+
+"Do you mean that you have arranged to marry Mr. Southwode?" said the 
+lady, fixing her keen little eyes upon Rotha's face. 
+
+Rotha's face flamed, with mingled indignation and shame; she deigned no 
+answer. 
+
+"She doesn't speak, mamma," said Antoinette mischievously. "You may 
+depend, that's the plan. Rotha and Mr. Southwode! I declare, that's too 
+good! So that's the arrangement!" 
+
+"I am so ashamed that I cannot speak to you," said Rotha in her passion 
+and humiliation. "How can you say such wicked things! I wish Mr. 
+Southwode was here to give you a proper answer." 
+
+"What, you think he would take your part?" said her aunt. 
+
+"He always did. He would now. He will yet, aunt Serena." 
+
+"That is enough!" said Mrs. Busby, becoming excited a little on her part. 
+"Hush, Antoinette; I will have no more of this very unedifying 
+conversation. But you, Rotha, may as well know that you will never see 
+Mr. Southwode again. He is engaged in England with the affairs of his 
+father's business; he will probably soon marry; and then there is no 
+chance whatever that he will ever return to America. So you had best 
+consider whether it is worth while to offend the friends you have left, 
+for the sake of one who is nothing to you any more." 
+
+"I know Mr. Southwode better than that," was Rotha's answer. But the 
+girl's face was purple with honest shame. 
+
+"You expect he will come back and make you his wife?" said Mrs. Busby 
+scornfully. 
+
+"I expect he will come back and take care of me. You might as well talk 
+of his making that pussy cat his wife. I am just a poor girl, and no 
+more. But he will take care of me. I know he will, if I have to wait ten 
+years first." 
+
+"How old are you now?" 
+
+"Sixteen, almost." 
+
+"Then in ten years you will be twenty six. My dear, there is only one way 
+in which Mr. Southwode could take care of you then; he must make you his 
+wife, or leave it to somebody else to take care of you. He knows that as 
+well as I do; and so he put you in my hands. Now let us make an end of 
+this disgraceful scene. Before ten years are past, you will probably be 
+the wife of somebody else. All this talk is very foolish." 
+
+Rotha thought it _was_, but also thought the fault was not in her part of 
+it. She sat glowing with confusion; she felt as if the blood would verily 
+start through her skin; and angry in proportion. Still she was silent, 
+though Antoinette laughed. 
+
+"What a farce, mamma! To think of Rotha being in love with Mr. 
+Southwode!" 
+
+"Hold your tongue, Nettie." 
+
+"To love, and to be in love, are two things," said Rotha hotly. "I do not 
+know what being in love means; I _do_ know the other." 
+
+"O mamma!--she doesn't know what it means!" 
+
+"I told you to be quiet, Antoinette." 
+
+"I didn't hear it, mamma. But I think you might reprove Rotha for saying 
+what is not true." 
+
+"That is what I never do," said Rotha. 
+
+Mrs. Busby here interfered, and ordered Rotha to go up stairs to her room 
+and stay there till she could command herself. Rotha went. 
+
+"Mamma," said Antoinette then, "I do believe it is earnest about her and 
+Mr. Southwode. In her mind, I mean. Did you see how she coloured?" 
+
+"I should not be at all surprised," said, Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"When is he coming back, mamma?" 
+
+"I cannot say. I think he does not know himself. He writes that he is 
+very busy at present." 
+
+"But he will come back, you think?" 
+
+"He says so. Antoinette, say nothing--not a word more--about him to 
+Rotha. She has got her head turned, and it is best she should hear 
+nothing whatever about him. I shall take good care that she never sees 
+him again." 
+
+"Mamma, _he_ don't care for her?" 
+
+"Of course not. He is too much a man of the world." 
+
+There was silence. 
+
+"Mamma," Antoinette began after a pause, "do you think Rotha is 
+handsome?" 
+
+"She is very well," said Mrs. Busby in an indifferent tone. 
+
+"They think at school, that is, the teachers do, that she is a beauty." 
+
+"I dare say they have told her so." 
+
+"And you see how Mrs. Mowbray has dressed her up." 
+
+"I would not have sent her there, if I had known how it would be. 
+However, I could not arrange for her so cheaply anywhere else." 
+
+"What would you do, mamma, if Mr. Southwode were coming back?" 
+
+"I should know, in that case. He will not come yet a while. Now 
+Antoinette, let this subject alone." 
+
+"Yes, mamma. You are a clever woman. I don't believe even Mr. Southwode 
+could manage you." 
+
+"I can manage Mr. Southwode!" said Mrs. Busby contentedly. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. 
+
+
+A NEW DEPARTURE. 
+
+
+Rotha found her room too cold to stay in, after the first heat of her 
+wrath had passed off. The only warm place that she knew of, beside her 
+aunt's dressing room, was the parlour; and after a little hesitation and 
+shivering, she softly crept down the stairs. The warm, luxurious place 
+was empty, of people, that is; and before the glowing grate Rotha sat 
+down on the rug and looked at the situation. Or she looked at that and 
+the room together; the latter made her incensed. It was so full of 
+luxury. The soft plush carpet, the thick rug on which she was crouching; 
+how they glowed warm and rich in the red shine of the fiery grate; how 
+beautiful the crimson ground was, and how dainty the drab tints of the 
+flowers running over it. How stately the curtains fell to the floor with 
+their bands of drab and crimson; and the long mirror between them, 
+redoubling all the riches reflected in it. What a magnificent extension 
+table, really belonging in the dining room, but doing duty now as a large 
+centre table, only it was shoved up in one corner; and upon it the gas 
+fixture stood, with its green glass shaft and its cut glass shade full of 
+bunches of grapes. Nothing else was on the table; not a book; not a 
+trinket; and so all the rest of the room was bare of everything _but_ 
+furniture. The furniture was elegant; but the chairs stood round the 
+sides of the room with pitiless regularity and seemed waiting for 
+somebody that would never come. Empty riches! nothing else. At Mrs. 
+Mowbray's Rotha was in another world, socially and humanly. Books swarmed 
+from the shelves and lay on every table; pictures hung on the walls and 
+stood on the mantelpieces; here and there some lovely statuette delighted 
+the eye by its beauty or the mind by its associations; flowers were sure 
+to be in a glass or a dish somewhere; and all over there were traces of 
+travel and of cultivation, in bits of marble, or bits of bronze, or 
+photographs, or relics, telling of various ages and countries and 
+nationalities. Here, in Mrs. Busby's handsome rooms, the pretty hanging 
+lamps were exceedingly new, and they were the only bronze to be seen. 
+Rotha studied it all and made these comparisons for a while, in a vague, 
+purposeless reverie, while she was getting warm; but then her thoughts 
+began to come to a point. Everything and everybody in this house was 
+utterly unsympathetic to her; animate or inanimate; was this her home? In 
+no sense of the word. Had not her aunt just informed her, in effect, that 
+she had no home; that if she lived to grow up she must make her own way 
+and earn her own bread, or have none. Antoinette would grow up to all 
+this luxury, and in all this luxury; while she would be penniless, and 
+homeless. Had she brought this upon herself? Well, she might have been 
+more conciliating; but in her heart of hearts Rotha did not wish she had 
+been other than she had been. A home or friends to be gained only by 
+subserviency and truckling, she did not covet. There came a little 
+whisper of conscience here, suggesting that a medium existed between 
+truckling and defiance; that it was a supposable case that one might be 
+so pure and fair in life and spirit, that the involuntary liking and 
+respect of friends and acquaintances would follow of necessity. Was not 
+Mr. Digby such a person? did not Mrs. Mowbray win good-will wherever she 
+appeared? and Rotha was just enough to acknowledge to herself that her 
+own demeanour had been nothing less than love-winning. Alas, how could 
+she help it, unless she were indeed made over new; a different creature. 
+How else could she bear what must be borne in this house? But in this 
+house she was an outcast; they would have nothing to do with her more 
+than to see her through her schooling; there was no shelter or refuge 
+here to which she could ever look. Nor did she care for it, if only Mr. 
+Digby would come again. Was he lost to her? Had he really forgotten her? 
+would he forget his promise? Rotha did not believe it; her faith in him 
+was steadfast; but she did conceive it possible that business and 
+circumstances might keep him where his promise would be rendered of 
+little avail; and her heart was wrung with distress at the thought of 
+this possibility. Distress, which but for Mrs. Mowbray would have been 
+desolation. Even as it was, Rotha felt very desolate, very blank; and she 
+remembered again what Mr. Digby had said, about a time that might come 
+when all other help would fail her and she would be _driven_ to seek God. 
+All help had not failed yet; Mrs. Mowbray was a blessed good friend; but 
+she was all, and Rotha had no claim upon her. I will not wait to be 
+_driven_, she thought; I will not wait to be driven by extremity; things 
+are bad enough as it is; I will seek God now.--I have been seeking him.--
+Mr. Digby said I must keep on seeking, until I found. I will. But in the 
+mean time I choose. I choose I will be a Christian, and that means, a 
+servant of Jesus. I will be his servant, no matter what he bids me do. 
+From this time on, I will be his servant. And then, some time, he will 
+keep his word and take the stony heart out of me, and give me a new 
+heart; a heart of flesh, I wonder how I came to be so hard!----
+
+It was a step in advance of all Rotha had made yet. It was _the_ step, 
+which introduces a sinner into the pathway of a Christian; before which 
+that path is not entered, however much it may be looked at and thought 
+desirable. Rotha had made her choice and given her allegiance; for she at 
+once told it to the Lord and asked his blessing. 
+
+And then, forthwith, came the trial of her sincerity. The cross was 
+presented to her; which the Lord says those must take up and bear daily 
+who would follow him. People think that crosses start up in every path; 
+it is a mistake; they are only found in the way of following Christ and 
+in consequence of such following. They are things that may be taken up 
+and carried along; that _must_ be, if the Christian follows his Master; 
+but that he may escape if he will turn aside from following him and go 
+with the world. They are of many kinds, but all furnished by the world 
+and Satan without, or by self-will within. The form which the cross took 
+on this occasion for Rotha was of the latter kind. Conscience whispered a 
+reminder--"If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest 
+that thy brother hath ought against thee--" And instantly Rotha's whole 
+soul rose up in protest. Make an apology to her aunt _now?_ Humble 
+herself to confess herself wrong, when the wrong done to her was so 
+manyfold greater? Bend to the hardness that would crush her? Justify 
+another's evil by confessing her own? Self-will gave her an indignant 
+"Impossible!" And conscience with quiet persistence held forth the cross. 
+Rotha put both hands to her face and swayed up and down, with a kind of 
+bodily struggle, which symbolized that going on in her mind. It was hard, 
+it was hard! Nature cried out, with a repulsion that seemed 
+unconquerable, against taking up this cross; yet there it was before her, 
+in the inexorable hands of conscience, and Grace said, "Do it; take it up 
+and bear it." And Nature and Grace fought. But all the while, down at the 
+bottom of the girl's heart, was a certain knowledge that the cross must 
+be borne; a certain prevision that she would yield and take it up; that 
+she must, if her new determination meant anything; and Rotha felt she 
+could not afford to let it vanish in air. She struggled, rebelled, 
+repined, and ended with yielding. Her will submitted, and she said in her 
+heart, "I must, and I will." 
+
+There came a sort of tired lull over her then, which was grateful, after 
+the battle. She considered _when_ she should do this thing, which it was  
+so disagreeable to do. She could not quite make up her mind; but at the 
+first opportunity, whenever that might be. Before she left the house at 
+any rate, if even she had to make the opportunity she wanted. 
+
+Then she thought she would return to her little cold room again, before 
+anybody found her in the parlour. She was thoroughly warmed up, she had 
+no more thinking to do just then; and if need be she would lay herself on 
+the bed and cover herself with blankets, and so wait till luncheon time. 
+As she went up stairs, something happened that she did not expect; there 
+stole into her heart as it were a rill of gladness, which swelled and 
+grew. "Yes, Jesus _is_ my King, she thought, and I am his child. O I 
+don't care now for anything, for Jesus is my King, and He will help and 
+take care." She went singing that Name in her heart all the way up 
+stairs; for the first time in her life the sweetness of it was sweet to 
+her; for the first time, the strength of it was something to lean upon. 
+Ay, she was right; she had stepped over the narrow boundary line between 
+the realm of the Prince of this world and the kingdom of Christ. She had 
+submitted herself to the one Ruler; she was no longer under the dominion 
+of the other. And with her first entrance into the kingdom of the Prince 
+of peace, she had stepped out of the darkness into the light, and the air 
+of that new country blew softly upon her. O wonderful! O sweet! O 
+strange!--that such a change should be so quickly made, and yet so hard 
+to make. Rotha had not fought all her battles nor got rid of all her 
+enemies, but that the latter should have no more _dominion_ over her she 
+felt confident. She was a different creature from the Rotha who had fled 
+down stairs an hour or two before in wrath and bitterness. 
+
+It was very cold up stairs. She lay down and covered herself with 
+blankets and went to sleep. 
+
+She was called to luncheon; got up and smoothed her hair as well as she 
+could with her hands, and thought over what she had to do. She had to set 
+her teeth and go at it like a forlorn-hope upon a battery, but she did 
+not flinch at all. 
+
+Mr. Busby was at luncheon, which was unusual and she had not counted 
+upon. He was gracious. 
+
+"How do you do, Rotha? Bless me, how you have improved! grown too, I 
+declare." 
+
+"There was no need of that, papa," said Antoinette, who was going to be a 
+dumpy. 
+
+"What has Mrs. Mowbray done to you? I really hardly know you again." 
+
+"Fine feathers, papa." 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray has been very kind to me," Rotha managed to get in quietly. 
+
+"She's growing handsome, wife!" Mr. Busby declared as he took his seat at 
+the table. 
+
+"You shouldn't say such things to young girls, Mr. Busby," said his wife 
+reprovingly. 
+
+"Shouldn't I? Why not? It is expected that they will hear enough of that 
+sort of thing when they get a little older." 
+
+"Why should they, Mr. Busby?" asked Rotha, innocently curious. 
+
+"Yes indeed, why should they?" echoed her aunt. 
+
+"Why should they? I don't know. As I said, it is expected. Young ladies 
+usually demand such tribute from their admirers." 
+
+"To tell them they are handsome?" said Rotha. 
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Busby looking at her. "Ladies like it. Wouldn't you like 
+it?" 
+
+"I should not like it at all," said Rotha colouring with a little 
+excitement. "I don't mind your saying so, Mr. Busby; you have a right to 
+say anything you like to me; but if any stranger said it, I should think 
+he was very impertinent." 
+
+"You don't know much yet," said Mr. Busby. 
+
+"There is small danger that Rotha will ever be troubled with that sort of 
+impertinence," said Mrs. Busby, with that peculiar air of her head, which 
+always meant that she thought a good deal more than she spoke out at the 
+minute. 
+
+"Maybe," returned her husband; "but she is going to deserve it, I can 
+tell you. She'll be handsomer than ever Antoinette will." 
+
+Which remark seemed to Rotha peculiarly unlucky for her just that day. 
+Mrs. Busby reddened with displeasure though she held her tongue. 
+Antoinette was not capable of such forbearance. 
+
+"Papa!" she said, breaking out into tears, "that is very unkind of you!" 
+
+"Well, don't snivel," said her father. "You are pretty enough, if you 
+keep a smooth face; but don't you suppose there are other people in the 
+world handsomer? Be sensible." 
+
+"It is difficult not to be hurt, Mr. Busby," said his wife, pressing her 
+lips together. 
+
+"Mamma!" cried Antoinette in a very injured tone, "he called me 
+'pretty'?" 
+
+"Aint you?" said her father, becoming a little provoked. "I thought you 
+knew you were. But Rotha is going to be a beauty. It is no injury to you, 
+my child." 
+
+"You seem to forget it may be an injury to Rotha, Mr. Busby." 
+
+Whether Mr. Busby forgot it, or whether he did not care, he made no reply 
+to this suggestion. 
+
+"I _never_ tell Antoinette she will be a beauty," Mrs. Busby went on 
+severely. 
+
+"Well, I don't think she will. Not her style." 
+
+"Is it my style to be ugly, papa?" cried the injured daughter. 
+
+"Where will you see such a skin as Antoinette's?" asked the mother. 
+
+"Skin isn't everything. My dear, don't be perverse," said Mr. Busby, in 
+his husky tones which sounded so oddly. "Nettie's a pretty little girl, 
+and I am glad of it; but don't you go to making a fool of her by making 
+her think she is more. You had just as fine a skin when I married you; 
+but that wasn't what I married you for." 
+
+Rotha wondered what her aunt had married Mr. Busby for! However, if there 
+had once been a peach-blossom skin at one end of the table, perhaps there 
+had been also some corresponding charm at the other end; a sweet voice, 
+for instance. Both equally gone now. Meantime Antoinette was crying, and 
+Mrs. Busby looking more annoyed than Rotha had ever seen her. Her self-
+command still did not fail her, and she pursed up her lips and kept 
+silence. Rotha wanted a potatoe, but the potatoes were before Mrs. Busby, 
+and she dared not ask for it. The silence was terrible. 
+
+"What's the matter, Nettie?" said her father at length. "Don't be silly. 
+I don't believe Rotha would cry if I told her her skin was brown." 
+
+"You've said enough to please Rotha!" Antoinette sobbed. 
+
+"And it is unnecessary to be constantly comparing your daughter with some 
+one else," said Mrs. Busby. "Can't we talk of some other subject, more 
+useful and agreeable?" 
+
+Then Rotha summoned up her courage, with her heart beating. 
+
+"May I speak of another subject?" she said. "Aunt Serena, I have been 
+wanting to tell you--I have been waiting for a chance to tell you--that I 
+want to beg your pardon." 
+
+Mrs. Busby made no answer; it was her husband who asked, "For what?" 
+
+"To-day, sir, and a good while ago when I was here--different times--I 
+spoke to aunt Serena as I ought not; rudely; I was angry. I have been 
+wanting to say so and to beg her pardon." 
+
+"Well, that's all anybody can do," said Mr. Busby. "Enough's said about 
+that. It's very proper, if you spoke improperly, to confess it and make 
+an apology; that's all that is necessary. At least, as soon as Mrs. Busby 
+has signified that she accepts the apology." 
+
+But Mrs. Busby signified no such thing. She kept silence. 
+
+"My dear, do you want Rotha to say anything more? Hasn't she apologized 
+sufficiently?" 
+
+"I should like to know first," Mrs. Busby began in constrained tones, 
+"what motive prompted the apology?" 
+
+"Motive!--" Mr. Busby began; but Rotha struck in. 
+
+"My motive was, that I wanted to do right; and I knew it was right that I 
+should apologize." 
+
+"Then your motive was not that you were sorry for what you said?" Mrs. 
+Busby inquired magisterially. 
+
+Rotha was so astonished at this way of receiving her words that she 
+hesitated. 
+
+"I am sorry, certainly, that I should have spoken rudely," she said. 
+
+"But not sorry for what you said?" 
+
+"You are splitting hairs, my dear!" said Mr. Busby impatiently. 
+
+"Let her answer--" said his wife. 
+
+"I do not know how to answer," said Rotha slowly, and thinking how to 
+choose her words. "I am sorry for my ill-manners and unbecoming 
+behaviour; I beg pardon for that. Is there anything else to ask pardon 
+for?" 
+
+"You do not answer." 
+
+"What else can I say?" Rotha returned with some spirit. "I am not 
+apologizing for thoughts or feelings, but for my improper behaviour. 
+Shall I not be forgiven?" 
+
+"Then your _feeling_ is not changed?" said the lady with a sharp look at 
+her. 
+
+Rotha thought, It would be difficult for her feeling to change, under the 
+reigning system. She did not answer. 
+
+"Pish, pish, my dear!" said the master of the house,--"you are splitting 
+straws. When an apology is made, you have nothing to do but to take it. 
+Rotha has done her part; now you do yours. Has Santa Claus come your way 
+this year, Rotha?" 
+
+"Yes, sir." 
+
+"What did he bring you, hey?" 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray gave me a Bible." 
+
+"A Bible!" Mrs. Busby and her daughter both exclaimed at once; "you said 
+a bag?" 
+
+"I said true," said Rotha. 
+
+"She gave you a Bible and a bag too?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"What utter extravagance! Had you no Bible already?" 
+
+"I had one, but an old one that had no references." 
+
+"What did you want with references! That woman is mad. If she gives to 
+everybody on the same scale, her pocket will be empty enough when the 
+holidays are over." 
+
+"But she gets a great deal of pleasure that way--" Rotha ventured. 
+
+"You do, you mean." 
+
+"Well, I am not so rich as Mrs. Mowbray," Mr. Busby said; "but I must 
+remember you, Rotha." And he rose and went to a large secretary which 
+stood in the room; for that basement room served Mr. Busby for his study 
+at times when the table was not laid for meals. Three pair of eyes 
+followed him curiously. Mr. Busby unlocked his secretary, opened a 
+drawer, and took out thence a couple of quires of letter paper: 'sought 
+out then some envelopes of the right size, and put the whole, two quires 
+of paper and two packages of envelopes, into Rotha's astonished hands. 
+
+"There, my dear," said he, "that will be of use to you." 
+
+"What is she to do with it, papa?" Antoinette asked in an amused manner. 
+"Rotha has nobody to write letters to." 
+
+"That may be. She will have writing to do, however, of some kind. You 
+write themes in school, don't you?" 
+
+"But then, what are the envelopes for, papa? We don't put our 
+compositions in envelopes." 
+
+"Never mind, my dear; the envelopes belong to the paper. Rotha can keep 
+them till she finds a use for them." 
+
+"They won't match other paper, papa," said Antoinette. But Rotha 
+collected her wits and made her acknowledgments, as well as she could. 
+
+"Has Nettie shewn you her Christmas things?" 
+
+"No, sir." 
+
+"Well, it will please you to see them. You are welcome, my dear." 
+
+Rotha carried her package of paper up stairs, wondering what experiences 
+would till out the afternoon. Her aunt and cousin seemed by no means to 
+be in a genial mood. They all went up to the dressing room and sat down 
+there in silence; all, that is, except Mr. Busby. Rotha's thoughts went 
+with a spring to her bag and her books at Mrs. Mowbray's. Two o'clock, 
+said the clock over the chimney piece. In three hours more she might go 
+home. 
+
+Mrs. Busby took some work; she always had a basket of mending to do. 
+Apologies did not seem to have wrought any mollification of her temper. 
+Antoinette went down to the parlour to practise, and the sweet notes of 
+the piano were presently heard rumbling up and down. Rotha sat and looked 
+at her aunt's fingers. 
+
+"Do you know anything about mending your clothes, Rotha?" Mrs. Busby at 
+last broke the silence. 
+
+"Not much, ma'am." 
+
+"Suppose I give you a lesson. See here--here is a thin place on the 
+shoulder of one of Mr. Busby's shirts; there must go a patch on there. 
+Now I will give you a patch--" 
+
+She sought out a piece of linen, cut a square from it with great 
+attention to the evenness of the cutting, and gave it to Rotha. 
+
+"It must go from here to here--see?" she said, shewing the place; "and 
+you must lay it just even with the threads; it must be exactly even; you 
+must baste it just as you want it; and then fell it down very neatly." 
+
+Rotha thought, as she did not wear linen shirts, that this particular 
+piece of mending was rather for her aunt's account than for her own. Lay 
+it by the threads! a good afternoon's work. 
+
+"I have no thimble,--" was all she said. 
+
+Mrs. Busby sought her out an old thimble of her own, too big for Rotha, 
+and it kept slipping off. 
+
+The rest of the history of that afternoon is the history of a patch. How 
+easy it is, to an unskilled hand, to put on a linen patch by a thread, 
+let anyone who doubts convince herself by trying. Rotha basted it on, and 
+took it off, basted it on again and took it off again; it would not lie 
+smooth, or it would not lie straight; and when she thought it would do, 
+and shewed it to her aunt, Mrs. Busby would point out that what 
+straightness there was belonged only to one side, or that there was a 
+pucker somewhere. Rotha sighed and began again. She did not like the job. 
+Neither had she any pleasure in doing it for her aunt. Her impatience was 
+as difficult to straighten out as the patch itself, but Rotha thought it 
+was only the patch. Finally, and it was not long first, either, she began 
+to grow angry. Was her aunt trying her, she questioned, to see if she 
+would not forget herself and be ill-mannerly again? And then Rotha saw 
+that the cross was presented to her anew, under another form. Patience, 
+and faithful service, involving again the giving up of her own will. And 
+here she was, getting angry already. Rotha dropped her work and hid her 
+face in her hands, to send up one silent prayer for help. 
+
+"You won't get your patch done that way," said Mrs. Busby's cold voice. 
+
+Rotha took her hands down and said nothing, resolved that here too she 
+would do what it was right to do. She gave herself to the work with 
+patient determination, and arranged the patch so that even Mrs. Busby 
+said it was well enough. Then she received a needle and fine thread and 
+was instructed how to sew the piece on with very small stitches. But now 
+the difficulty was over. Rotha had good eyes and stitched away with a 
+good will; and so had the work done, just before the light failed too 
+much for her to see any longer. She folded up the shirt, with a gleeful 
+feeling that now the afternoon was over. Antoinette came up from her 
+practising, or whatever else she had been doing, just as Rotha rose. 
+
+"Aunt Serena," said the girl, and she said it pleasantly, "my stockings 
+some of them want mending, and I have no darning cotton. If you would 
+give me a skein of darning cotton, I could keep them in order." 
+
+"Do you know how?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I know how to do that. Mother taught me. I can darn 
+stockings." 
+
+Mrs. Busby rummaged in her basket and handed to Rotha a ball of cotton 
+yarn. 
+
+"This is too coarse, aunt Serena," Rotha said after examining it. 
+
+"Too coarse for what?" 
+
+"To mend my stockings with." 
+
+"It is not too coarse to mend mine." 
+
+"But it would not go through the stitches of mine," said Rotha looking 
+up. "It would tear every time." 
+
+"How in the world did you come to have such ridiculous stockings? Such 
+stockings are expensive. I do not indulge myself with them; and I might, 
+better than your mother." 
+
+"Poor people always think they must have things fine, I suppose," said 
+Antoinette. "I wonder what sort of shoes she has, to go with the 
+stockings?" 
+
+The blood flushed to Rotha's face; and irritation pricked her to retort 
+sharply; yet she did not wish to speak Mr. Digby's name again. She 
+hesitated. 
+
+"Whose nonsense was that?" asked Mrs. Busby; "yours, or your mother's? I 
+never heard anything equal to it in my life. I dare say they are 
+Balbriggans. I should not be at all surprised!" 
+
+"I do not know what they are," said Rotha, striving to hold in her wrath, 
+"but they are not my mother's nonsense, nor mine." 
+
+"Whose then?" said Mrs. Busby sharply. 
+
+Rotha hesitated. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray's!" cried Antoinette. "It is Mrs. Mowbray again! Mamma, I 
+should think you would feel yourself insulted. Mrs. Mowbray is 
+ridiculous! As if you could not get proper stockings for Rotha, but she 
+must put her hand in." 
+
+"I think it is very indelicate of Mrs. Mowbray; and Rotha is welcome to 
+tell her I say so," Mrs. Busby uttered with some discomposure. Rotha's 
+discomposure on the other hand cooled, and a sense of amusement got up. 
+It is funny, to see people running hard after the wrong quarry; when they 
+have no business to be running at all. However, she must speak now. 
+
+"It is not Mrs. Mowbray's nonsense either," she said. "Mr. Southwode got 
+them for me." 
+
+"Mr. Southwode!"--Mrs. Busby spoke out those two words, and the rest of 
+her mind she kept to herself. 
+
+"Mamma," said Antoinette, "Mr. Southwode is as great a goose as other 
+folks. But then, gentlemen don't know things--how should they?" 
+
+"You are a goose yourself, Antoinette," said her mother. 
+
+"Have you no cotton a little finer? I mean a good deal finer?" said 
+Rotha, going back to the business question. 
+
+"There are no stockings in my house to need it." 
+
+"Then what shall I do? There are two or three little holes in the toes." 
+
+"I will tell you. I will get you some stockings fit for you; and you may 
+bring those to me. I will take care of them till you want them, which 
+will not be for a long time." 
+
+Rotha turned cold with dismay. This was usurpation and oppression at 
+once; against both which it was in her nature to rebel furiously. She was 
+fond of the stockings, as of everything which Mr. Southwode had got for 
+her; moreover they suited her, and she liked the delicate comfort of 
+them. And though nothing less than suspicious, Rotha had a sudden feeling 
+that the time for her to see her stockings again would never come; they 
+would be put to other use, and Mrs. Busby would think it was a fair 
+exchange. _She_ would wear the coarse and Antoinette would have the fine. 
+There was a terrible tempest in Rotha's soul, which nevertheless she did 
+not suffer to burst out. She would appeal to Mrs. Mowbray. She took leave 
+somewhat curtly, carrying her two quires of paper with her, but leaving 
+the coarse darning cotton which she did not intend to use. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. 
+
+
+STOCKINGS. 
+
+
+Rotha went home in a storm of feelings, so tumultuous and conflicting 
+that her eyes were dropping tears all the way. All the strength there was 
+in her rose against this new injury; while a feeling of powerlessness 
+made her tremble lest after all, she would be obliged to submit to it. 
+She writhed under the bonds of circumstance. Could Mrs. Mowbray protect 
+her? and if not, must her fine stockings go, to be worn upon her cousin's 
+feet, or her aunt's? The up-rising surges of Rotha's rage were touched 
+and coloured by just one ray of light; she had entered a new service, she 
+had therewith got a new Protector and Helper. That thought made the tears 
+come. She was no longer a hopeless slave to her own passions; there was 
+deliverance. "Jesus is my King now! he will take care of me, and he will 
+help me to do right." So she thought as she ran along. For, precisely 
+what Adam and Eve lost by disobedience, in one respect, their descendants 
+regain as soon as they return to their allegiance and become obedient. 
+The riven bond is united again; the lost protection is restored; they 
+have come "from the power of Satan, to God"; and under his banner which 
+now floats over them, the motto of which is "Love," they are safe from 
+all the wiles and the force of the enemy. Rotha was feeling this already; 
+already rejoicing in the new peace which is the very air of the kingdom 
+she had entered; glad that she was no longer to depend on herself, to 
+fight her battles alone. For between her aunt and her own heart, the 
+battle threatened to be hot. 
+
+It was dinner-time when she got home, and no time to speak to Mrs. 
+Mowbray. And Rotha had to watch a good while before she could find a 
+chance to speak to her in private. At last in the course of the evening 
+she got near enough to say in a low tone, 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray, can I see you for a minute by and by?" 
+
+"Is it business?" the lady asked in the same tone, at the same time 
+opening a Chinese puzzle box and putting it before another of her pupil-
+guests. 
+
+"It is business to me," Rotha answered. 
+
+"Troublesome business?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"We cannot talk it over here, then. I will come to your room by and by." 
+
+Which indeed she did. She came when the work of the day was behind her; 
+and what a day! She had entertained some of her girls with a visit to the 
+book-making operations of the American Bible Society; she had taken 
+others to a picture gallery; she had packed a box to send to a poor 
+friend in the country; she had looked over a bookseller's stock to see 
+what he had that could be of service to her in her work; she had paid two 
+visits to relations in the city; she had kept the whole group of her 
+pupils happily entertained all the evening with pictures and puzzles; and 
+now she came to be a sympathizing, patient, helpful friend to one little 
+tired heart. She came in cheery and bright; looked to see if the room 
+were comfortable and entirely arranged as it should be, and then took a 
+seat and an air of expectant readiness. Was she tired? Perhaps--but it 
+did not appear. What if she were tired? if here was more work that God 
+had given her to do. She did not shew fatigue, in look or manner. She 
+might have just risen after a night's sleep. 
+
+"Are you comfortable here, my dear?" 
+
+"O very, ma'am, thank you." 
+
+"Now what is the business you want to speak about?" 
+
+"I want you to tell me what I ought to do!" 
+
+"About what? Have you had a pleasant day?" 
+
+"Not at all pleasant." 
+
+"How happened that?" 
+
+"It was partly my fault." 
+
+"Not altogether?" Mrs. Mowbray asked with a smile that was very kindly. 
+
+"I do not think it was all my fault, ma'am. Partly it was. I lost my 
+temper, and got angry, and said what I thought, and aunt Serena banished 
+me. Then at luncheon I apologized and asked pardon; I did all I could. 
+But that wasn't the trouble. Aunt Serena told me to bring her all my nice 
+stockings, and she would get me coarser and commoner ones. Must I do it?" 
+And Rotha's eyes looked up anxiously into the lace of her oracle. 
+
+"What made her give you such an order?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated, and said at last she did not know. 
+
+"Are your stockings too fine for proper protection to your feet in cold 
+weather?" 
+
+"O, no, ma'am! nothing was said about _that_ at all; only I am a poor 
+girl, and have no business to have fine stockings." 
+
+"How came you to have them so fine?" 
+
+"They were given to me. They were got for me; by a friend who was not 
+poor. Are they not mine now?" 
+
+"And you say your aunt wants them?" 
+
+"Says I must bring them to her, and she will get me some more fit for 
+me." 
+
+"What does she want with them?" cried Mrs. Mowbray sharply. 
+
+"She says _she_ has none so fine, and she will keep them till I want 
+them; but when would that be?" 
+
+"What did you say?" 
+
+"I said nothing. I was too terribly angry. I got out of the house without 
+saying anything. It all came from asking her for some darning cotton to 
+mend them; and what she gave me was too coarse." 
+
+"I have got fine darning cotton," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will give you 
+some." 
+
+"Then you do not think I need let her have them? Dear Mrs. Mowbray, has 
+she any _right_ to take my things from me?" 
+
+"I should say not," Mrs. Mowbray answered. 
+
+"Then you think I may refuse when she asks me for them?" said Rotha, 
+joyfully. 
+
+"What is your rule of action, my dear?" 
+
+"My rule?" said Rotha, growing grave again. "I think, Mrs. Mowbray, I 
+want to do what is right." 
+
+"There is a further question. Do you want to do what I think right, or 
+what you think right, or--what God thinks right?" 
+
+"I want to do _that_," said Rotha, with her heart beating very 
+disagreeably. "I want to do what God thinks right." 
+
+"Then I advise you, my dear, to ask him." 
+
+"Ask him what, madame?" 
+
+"Ask what you ought to do in the circumstances. I confess I am not ready 
+with the answer. My first feeling is with you, that your aunt has no 
+right to take such a step; but, my dear, it is sometimes our duty to 
+suffer wrong. And you are under her care; she is the nearest relative you 
+have; you must consider what is due to her in that connection. She stands 
+to you in the place of your parents--" 
+
+"O no, ma'am!" Rotha exclaimed. "Never! Not the least bit." 
+
+"Not as entitled to affection, but as having a right to respect and 
+observance. You cannot change that fact, my dear. Whether you love her or 
+not, you owe her observance; and within certain limits, obedience. She 
+stands in that place with regard to you." 
+
+"But my own mother gave me to Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"He could not take care of you properly; as he shewed that he was aware 
+when he placed you under the protection of your aunt." 
+
+"She will never protect me," said Rotha. "She will do the other thing." 
+
+"Well, my dear, that does not change the circumstances," said Mrs. 
+Mowbray rising. 
+
+"Then you think"--said Rotha in great dismay--"you think I ought to pray, 
+to know what I ought to do?" 
+
+"Yes. I know no better way. If you desire to do the will of the Lord, and 
+not your own." 
+
+"But how shall I get the answer?" 
+
+"Look in the Bible for it. You will get it. And now, good night, my dear 
+child! Don't sit up to-night to think about it; it is late. Start fresh 
+to-morrow. You have a good time for that sort of study, now in the 
+holidays." 
+
+She gave a kind embrace to Rotha; and the girl went to bed soothed and 
+comforted. True, her blood boiled when she thought of her stockings; but 
+she tried not to think of them, and soon was beyond thinking of anything. 
+
+The next day was filled with a white snow storm; with flurries of wind 
+and thick, driving atoms of frost, that chased everybody out of the 
+streets who was brought thither by anything short of stern business. A 
+lovely day to make the house and one's own room seem cosy and cheery. It 
+was positive delight to hear the sharp crystals beat on the window panes 
+and to see the swirling eddies and gusts of them as the wind carried them 
+by, almost in mass. It made quiet and warmth and comfort feel so much the 
+more delicious. Rotha had retreated to her room after breakfast and 
+betaken herself to her appointed work. 
+
+Her Bible had a new look to her. It was now not simply a book Mrs. 
+Mowbray had given her; that was half lost in the feeling that it was a 
+book God had given her. As such, something very dear and reverent, 
+precious and wonderful, and most sweet. Not any longer an awesome book of 
+adverse law, with which she was at cross purposes; but a letter of love, 
+containing the mind and will of One whom it was her utter pleasure to 
+obey. The change was so great, Rotha lingered a little, in admiring 
+contemplation of it; and then betook herself to the business in hand. How 
+should she do? She thought the best way would be to ask earnestly for 
+light on her duty; then to open the Bible and see what she could find. 
+She prayed her prayer, honestly and earnestly, but she hoped, quite as 
+earnestly, that it would not be her duty to let her aunt have her fine 
+stockings. 
+
+And here lies the one great difficulty in the way of finding what the 
+Bible really says on any given subject which concerns our action. Looking 
+through a red veil, you do not get the right colour of blue; and looking 
+through blue, you will easily turn gold into green. Or, to change the 
+figure; if your ears are filled with the din of passion or the clamour of 
+desire, the soft, fine voice of the Spirit in the word or in the heart is 
+easily drowned and lost. So says F?nelon, and right justly--"O how rare a 
+thing is it, to find a soul still enough to hear God speak!" 
+
+The other supposed difficulty, that the Bible does not speak directly of 
+the subject about which you are inquiring, does not hold good. It may be 
+true; nevertheless, as one or two notes, clearly heard, will give you the 
+whole chord, even so it is with this heavenly music of the Lord's will. 
+Rotha did not in the least know where to look for the decision she 
+wanted; she thought the best thing therefore would be to go on with that 
+same chapter of Matthew from which she had already got so much light. She 
+had done what in her lay to be "reconciled to her brother," alias her 
+aunt; she was all ready to go further. Would the next saying be as hard? 
+
+She read on, for a number of verses, without coming to anything that 
+touched her present purpose. Then suddenly she started. What was this? 
+
+"Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for 
+a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall 
+smite thee on the one cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man 
+will sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak 
+also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain."--
+
+Rotha stared at the words first, as if they had risen out of the ground 
+to confront her; and then put both hands to her face. For there was 
+conflict again; her whole soul in a tumult of resistance and rebellion. 
+Let her aunt do her this wrong! But there it stood written--"That ye 
+resist not evil." "O why, thought Rotha, why may not evil be resisted? 
+And people _do_ resist it, and go to law, and do everything they can, to 
+prevent being trampled upon? Must one let oneself be trampled upon? Why? 
+Justice should be done; and this is not justice. I wish Mrs. Mowbray 
+would come in, that I might ask her! I do _not_ understand it." 
+
+At the moment, as if summoned by her wish, Mrs. Mowbray tapped at the 
+door; she wanted to get something out of a closet in that room, and 
+apologized for disturbing Rotha. 
+
+"You are not disturbing--O Mrs. Mowbray, are you _very_ busy?" cried the 
+girl. 
+
+"Always busy, my dear," said the lady pleasantly. "I am always busy. What 
+is it?" 
+
+"Nothing--if you are _too_ busy," said Rotha. 
+
+"I am never too busy when you want my help. Do you want help now?" 
+
+"O very much! I can_not_ understand things." 
+
+"Well, wait a moment, and I will come to you." 
+
+Rotha straightened herself up, taking hope; set a chair for Mrs. Mowbray, 
+and received her with a face already lightened of part of its shadow of 
+care. 
+
+"It is this, Mrs. Mowbray. I was looking, as you told me, to see what I 
+ought to do; and look here,--I came to this:--'That ye resist not evil.' 
+Why? Is it not right to resist evil?" 
+
+"Read the passage; read the whole passage, to the end of the chapter." 
+
+Rotha read it; the verses she had been studying, and then, "Ye have heard 
+that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine 
+enemy: but I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, 
+do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use 
+you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which 
+is in heaven:"--Rotha read on to the end of the chapter. 
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray then, "do you think you could love your 
+enemies and pray for them, if you were busy fighting and resisting them?" 
+
+"I do not know," said Rotha. "Perhaps not. I do not think it would be 
+easy any way." 
+
+"It is not easy. Do you not see that it would be simply impossible to do 
+the two things at once? You must take the one course or the other; either 
+do your best to repel force with force, resist, struggle, go to law, give 
+people what they deserve; or, you must go with your hands full of 
+forgiveness and your heart full of kindness, passing by offence and even 
+suffering wrong, if perhaps you may conquer evil with good, and win 
+people with love, and so save them from great loss. It is worth bearing a 
+little loss oneself to do that." 
+
+"But is it _right_ to let people do wrong things and not stop them? Isn't 
+it right to go to law?" 
+
+"Sometimes, where the interests of others are at stake. But if it is only 
+a little discomfort for you or me at the moment, I think the Bible says, 
+Forgive,--let it pass,--and love and pray the people into better 
+behaviour, if you can." 
+
+"I never can, aunt Serena," said Rotha low. 
+
+"My dear, you cannot tell." 
+
+"Then I ought to let her have my stockings?" Rotha said again after a 
+pause. 
+
+"That is a question for you to judge of. But can you forgive and love 
+her, and resist her at the same time? You could, if what she asks 
+demanded a wrong action from you; but it is only a disagreeable one." 
+
+"Is it only because it is so disagreeable, that it seems to me so wrong?" 
+
+"I think it _is_ wrong in your aunt; but that is not the question we have 
+to deal with." 
+
+"And if one man strikes another man--do you think he ought to give him a 
+chance to strike him again?" 
+
+"What do the words _say?_" 
+
+Rotha looked at the words, as if they ought to mean something different 
+from what they said. 
+
+"I will tell you a true story," Mrs. Mowbray went on. "Something that 
+really once happened; and then you can judge. It was in a large 
+manufacturing establishment, somewhere out West. The master of the 
+establishment--I think he was an Englishman?-had occasion to reprove one 
+of his underlings for something; I don't know what; but the man got into 
+a great rage and struck him a blow flat in the face. The master turned 
+red, and turned pale; stood still a moment, and then offered the man the 
+other side of his face for another blow. The man's fist was already 
+clenched to strike,--but at seeing that, he wavered, his arm fell down, 
+and he burst into tears. He was conquered.--
+
+"What do you think?" 
+
+"He was a very extraordinary man!" said Rotha. 
+
+"Which?" said Mrs. Mowbray smiling. 
+
+"O I mean the master." 
+
+"But what do you think of that plan of dealing with an injury?" 
+
+"But does the Bible really mean that we should do so?" 
+
+"What does it _say_, my dear? It is always quite safe to conclude that  
+God means what he says." 
+
+"People don't act as if they thought so." 
+
+"What then?" 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray, I don't see how a man _could_." 
+
+"By the grace of God." 
+
+"I suppose, by that one could do anything," said Rotha thoughtfully. 
+
+Silence fell, which Mrs. Mowbray would not break. She watched the girl's 
+face, which shewed thoughts working and some struggle going on. The 
+struggle was so absorbing, that Rotha did not notice the silence, nor 
+know how long it lasted. 
+
+"Then--you think--" she began,--"according to--that I ought--" 
+
+The words came slowly and with some inner protest. Mrs. Mowbray rose. 
+
+"It is no matter what I think. The decision must be made by yourself 
+independently. Study it, and pray over it; and I pray you may decide 
+rightly." 
+
+"But if _you_ thought, Mrs. Mowbray--" Rotha began. 
+
+"It is not I whom you have to obey, my child. I think your case is not an 
+easy one; it would not be for me; I believe it would rouse all the 
+wickedness there is in me; but, as you said, by the grace of God one can 
+do anything. I shall pray for you, my dear." 
+
+She left the room, though Rotha would fain have detained her. It was much 
+easier to talk than to act; and now she was thrown back upon the 
+necessity for action. She sat leaning over the Bible, looking at the 
+words; uncompromising, simple, clear words, but so hard, so hard, to 
+obey! "If he compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain." And then 
+Rotha's will took such a hold of her stockings, that it seemed as if she 
+never could let them go. It was injustice! it was oppression! it was 
+extortion! it was more, something else that Rotha could not define. Yes, 
+true, but--"if he take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also." 
+
+A long while Rotha worried over those words; and then stole into her mind 
+another thought, coming with the subtlety and the peace of a sunbeam.--It 
+is not for aunt Serena; it is for Christ; you are his servant, and these 
+are his commands.--It is true! thought Rotha, with a sudden casting off 
+of the burden that was upon her; I _am_ his servant; and since this is his 
+pleasure, why, it is mine. Aunt Serena may have the things; what does it 
+signify? but I have a chance to please God in giving them up; and here I 
+have been trying as hard as I could to fight off from doing it. A pretty 
+sort of a Christian I am! But--and O what a joy came with the 
+consciousness--I think the Lord is beginning to take away my stony heart. 
+
+The feeling of being indeed a servant of the Lord Christ seemed to 
+transform things to Rotha's vision. And among other things, the words of 
+the Bible, which were suddenly become very bright and very sweet to her. 
+The question in hand being settled, and no fear of the words any longer 
+possessing her, it occurred to her to take her "Treasury of Scripture 
+Knowledge" and see what more there might be about this point of not 
+resisting evil. She found first a word back in Leviticus---- 
+
+"Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy 
+people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."--Lev. xix. 18. 
+
+It struck Rotha's conscience. This went even further than turning the 
+cheek and resigning the cloak; (or she thought so) for it forbade her 
+withal to harbour any grudge against the wrong doer. Not have a grudge 
+against her aunt, after giving up the stockings to her? Yet Rotha saw and 
+acknowledged presently that only so could the action be thoroughly sound 
+and true; only so could there be no danger of nullifying it by some 
+sudden subsequent action. But bear _no grudge?_ Well, by the grace of 
+God, perhaps. Yes, that could do everything. 
+
+She went on, meanwhile, and read some passages of David's life; telling 
+how he refused to take advantage of opportunities to avenge himself upon 
+Saul, who was seeking his life at the time. The sweet, noble, humble 
+temper of the young soldier and captain, appeared very manifest and very 
+beautiful; at the same time, Rotha thought she could easier have forgiven 
+Saul, in David's place, than in her own she could forgive Mrs. Busby. 
+Some other words about not avenging oneself she passed over; _that_ was  
+not the point with her; and then she came to a word in Romans,----
+
+"If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all 
+men." 
+
+That confirmed her decision, and loudly. If she would live peaceably with 
+Mrs. Busby, no doubt she must do her will in the matter of the stockings. 
+But "with all men," and "as much as lieth in you"; those were weighty 
+words, well to be pondered and laid to heart. Evidently the Lord would 
+have his servants to be quiet people and kindly; not so much bent on 
+having their own rights, as careful to put no hindrance in the way of 
+their good influence and example. And I am one of his people, thought 
+Rotha joyously. I will try all I can. And it is very plain that I must 
+not bear a grudge in my heart; for if it was there, I could never keep it 
+from coming out. 
+
+Then she read a verse in 1 Corinthians vi. 7. "Now therefore there is 
+utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. _Why do 
+ye not rather take wrong?_ why do ye not rather suffer yourselves to be 
+defrauded?" It did not stumble her now. Looking upon all these 
+regulations as opportunities to make patent her service of Christ and to 
+please him, they won quite a pleasant aspect. The words of the hymn, so 
+paradoxical till one comes to work them out, were already verified in her 
+experience-- 
+
+   "He always wins who sides with God; 
+   To him no chance is lost. 
+   _God's will is sweetest to him when 
+   It triumphs at his cost_." 
+
+
+Ay, for then he tastes the doing of it, pure, and unmixed with the 
+sweetness of doing his own will. 
+
+And then came,--"Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing; but 
+contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye 
+should inherit a blessing."--1 Peter iii. 9. 
+
+"Contrariwise, _blessing_." According to that, she must seek out some way 
+of helping or pleasing her aunt, as a return for her behaviour about the 
+stockings. And strangely enough, there began to come into her heart, for 
+the first time, a feeling of pity for Mrs. Busby. Rotha did not believe 
+she was near as happy, with all her money, as her little penniless self 
+with her Bible. No, nor half as rich. What could she do, to shew good 
+will towards her? 
+
+There was nobody at the dinner table that evening, who looked happier 
+than Rotha; there was nobody who enjoyed everything so well. For I am the 
+servant of Christ she said to herself. A little while later, in the 
+library, whither they all repaired, she was again lost in the 
+architecture of the 13th and 14th centuries, and in studying Fergusson. 
+She started when Mrs. Mowbray spoke to her. 
+
+"How did you determine your question, my dear?" 
+
+Rotha lifted her head, threw back the dark masses of her hair, and 
+cleared the arches of Rivaulx out of her eyes. 
+
+"O,--I am going to let her have them," she said. 
+
+"What she demanded?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"How did you come to that conclusion?" 
+
+"The words seemed plain, madame, when I came to look at them. That about 
+letting the cloak go, you know; and, 'If it be possible, . . . live 
+peaceably with all men.' If I was going to live peaceably, I knew I 
+must." 
+
+"And you are inclined now to live peaceably with the person in question?" 
+
+"O yes, ma'am," said Rotha. She smiled frankly in Mrs. Mowbray's face as 
+she said it; and she was puzzled to know what made that lady's eyes 
+swiftly fill with tears. They filled full. Rotha went back to her 
+stereoscope. 
+
+"What have you there, my dear?" 
+
+"O this old abbey, Mrs. Mowbray; it is just a ruin, but it is so 
+beautiful! Will you look?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray put the glass to her eye. 
+
+"It is a severe style--" she remarked. 
+
+"Is it?" 
+
+"And it was built at a severe time of religious strictness in the order 
+to which it belonged. They were a colony from Clairvaux; and the prior of 
+Clairvaux, Bernard, was the most remarkable man of his time; remarkable 
+through his goodness. In all Europe there was not another man, crowned or 
+uncrowned, who had the social and political power of that man. Yet he was 
+a simple monk, and devoted to God's service." 
+
+"I do not know much about monks," Rotha remarked. 
+
+"You can know a good deal about them, if you will read that work of 
+Montalembert on the monks of the Middle Ages. Make haste and learn to 
+read French. You must know that first." 
+
+"Is it in French?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+Rotha thought as she laid down Rivaulx and took up Tintern abbey, that 
+there was a good deal to learn. Pier next word was an exclamation. 
+
+"O how beautiful, how beautiful! It is just a door, Mrs. Mowbray, 
+belonging to Tintern abbey, a door and some ivy; but it is so pretty! How 
+came so many of these beautiful abbeys and things to be in ruins?" 
+
+"Henry the Eighth had the monks driven out and the roofs stripped off. 
+When you take the roof off a building, the weather gets in, and it goes 
+to ruin very fast." 
+
+Henry the Eighth was little more than a name yet to Rotha. "What did he 
+do that for?" she asked. 
+
+"I believe he wanted to turn the metal sheathing of the roofs into money. 
+And he wanted to put down the monastic orders." 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray, this abbey was pretty old before it was made a ruin." 
+
+"How do you know?" 
+
+"Because, I see it. Only half of the door was accustomed to be opened; 
+and the stone before the door on that side is ever so much worn away. So 
+many feet had gone in and out there." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray took the glass to look. "I never noticed that before," she 
+said. 
+
+So went the days of the vacation, pleasantly and sweetly after that. 
+Rotha enjoyed herself hugely. She had free access to the library, which 
+was rich in engravings and illustrations, and in best works of reference 
+upon every subject that she could wish to look into. Sometimes she went 
+driving with Mrs. Mowbray. Morning, evening, and day were all pleasant to 
+her; the leisure was busily filled up, and the time fruitful. With the 
+other young ladies remaining in the house for the holidays, she had 
+little to do; little beyond what courtesy demanded. Their pleasures and 
+pursuits were so diverse from her own that there could be little 
+fellowship. One was much taken up with shopping and visits to her mantua-
+maker; several were engrossed with fancy work; some went out a great 
+deal; all had an air of dawdling. They fell away from Rotha, quite 
+naturally; all the more that she was getting the name of being a 
+favourite of Mrs. Mowbray's. But Rotha as naturally fell away from them. 
+None of them cared for the stereoscope, or shared in the least her 
+pleasure in the lines and mouldings and proportions of glorious 
+architecture. And Rotha herself could not have talked of lines or 
+mouldings; she only knew that she found delight; she did not know why. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. 
+
+
+EDUCATION. 
+
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, the last day of  December, "would you like 
+to have the little end room?" 
+
+Rotha looked up. "Where Miss Jewett sleeps?" 
+
+"That room. I am going to place Miss Jewett differently. Would you like 
+to have it?" 
+
+"For myself?"--Rotha's eyes brightened. 
+
+"It is only big enough for one. You may have it, if you like. And move 
+your things into it to-day, my dear. The young ladies who live in this 
+room will be coming back the day after to-morrow." 
+
+With indescribable joy Rotha obeyed this command. The room in question 
+was one cut off from the end of a narrow hall; very small accordingly; 
+there was just space for a narrow bed, a wardrobe, a little washstand, a 
+small dressing table with drawers, and one chair. But it was privacy and 
+leisure; and Rotha moved her clothes and books and took possession that 
+very day. Mrs. Mowbray looked in, just as she had finished her 
+arrangements. 
+
+"Are you going to be comfortable here?" she said. "My dear, I thought, in 
+that other room you would have no chance to study your Bible." 
+
+"Thank you, dear Mrs. Mowbray! I am so delighted." 
+
+"There is a rule in Miss Manners' school at Meriden, that at the ringing 
+of a bell, morning and evening, each young lady should go to her room to 
+be alone with her Bible for twenty minutes. The house is so arranged that 
+every one can be alone at that time. It is a good rule. I wish I could 
+establish it here; but it would do more harm than it would good in my 
+family. My dear, your aunt has sent word that she wishes to see you." 
+
+Rotha's colour suddenly started. "I suppose I know what that means!" she 
+said. 
+
+"The stockings?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"What are you going to do?" 
+
+"O I am going to take them." 
+
+"And, my dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, kissing Rotha, "pray for grace to do 
+it _pleasantly_." 
+
+Yes, that was something needed, Rotha felt as she went through the 
+streets. Her heart was a little bitter. 
+
+She found her aunt's house in a state of preparation; covers off the 
+drawing-room furniture, greens disposed about the walls, servants busy. 
+Mrs. Busby was in her dressing-room; and there too, on the sofa, in mere 
+wantonness of idleness, for she was not sick, lay Antoinette; a somewhat 
+striking figure, in a dress of white silk, and looking very pretty 
+indeed. Also looking as if she knew it. 
+
+"Good morning, Rotha!" she cried. "This is the dress I am to wear to-
+morrow. I'm trying it on." 
+
+"She's very ridiculous," Mrs. Busby remarked, in a smiling tone of 
+complacency. 
+
+"What is to be to-morrow?" Rotha inquired pleasantly. The question 
+brought Antoinette up to a sitting posture. 
+
+"Why don't you know?" she said. "_Don't_ you know? Mamma, is it possible 
+anybody of Rotha's size shouldn't know what day New Year's is?" 
+
+"New Year's! O yes, I remember; people make visits, don't they?" 
+
+"Gentlemen; and ladies receive visits. It is the greatest day of all the 
+year, if you have visitors enough. And I eat supper all day long. We have 
+a supper table set, and hot oysters, and ice cream, and coffee, and cake; 
+and I never want any dinner when it comes." 
+
+"That is a very foolish way," said her mother. "Did you bring the 
+stockings, Rotha?" 
+
+Silently, she could not say anything "pleasantly" at the moment, Rotha 
+delivered her package of stockings neatly put up. Mrs. Busby opened and 
+examined, Antoinette running up to look too. 
+
+"Mamma! how ridiculously nice!" she exclaimed. "You never gave me any as 
+good as those." 
+
+"No, I should hope not," said her mother. "Here are eleven pair, Rotha." 
+
+"Yes, ma'am." 
+
+"Were there not twelve?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am. The other pair I have on." 
+
+"They are a great deal too thin for this time of year. Here are some 
+thicker I have got for you. Sit down and put a pair of these on, and let 
+me have those." 
+
+Every fibre of her nature rebelling, Rotha sat down to unbutton her boot. 
+It was hard to keep silence, to speak "pleasantly" impossible. Tears were 
+near. Rotha bent over her boot and prayed for help. And then the thought 
+came, fragrant and sweet,--I am the servant of Christ; this is an 
+opportunity to obey and please _him_. 
+
+And with that she was content. She put on the coarse stockings, which 
+felt extremely uncomfortable. But then she could not get her boot on. She 
+tugged at it in vain. 
+
+"It is no use," she said at last. "It will not go on, aunt Serena. I 
+cannot wear my boots with these stockings." 
+
+"The boots must be too small," said Mrs. Busby. She came herself, and 
+pushed and pinched and pulled at the boot. It would not go on. 
+
+"What do you get such tight-fitting boots for?" she said, sitting back on 
+the floor, quite red in the face. 
+
+"They are not tight; they fit me perfectly." 
+
+"They won't go on!" 
+
+"That is the stockings." 
+
+"Nonsense! The stockings are proper; the boots are improper. What did you 
+pay for them?" 
+
+"I did not get them." 
+
+"What did they cost, then? I suppose you know." 
+
+"Six and a half." 
+
+"I can get you for three and a half what will do perfectly," said Mrs. 
+Busby, rising up from the floor. But she sat down, and did not fetch any 
+boots, as Rotha half expected she would. 
+
+"What are you going to do to-morrow, Rotha?" her cousin asked. 
+
+"I don't know. What I do every day, I suppose," Rotha answered, trying to 
+make her voice clear. 
+
+"What is Mrs. Mowbray going to do?" 
+
+"I do not know." 
+
+"I wonder if she receives? Mamma, do you fancy many people would call on 
+Mrs. Mowbray?" 
+
+"Why not?" Rotha could not help asking. 
+
+"O, because she is a school teacher, you know. Mamma, do you think there 
+would?" 
+
+"I dare say. Your father will go, I have no doubt." 
+
+"O, because she teaches me. And other fathers will go, I suppose. What a 
+stupid time they will have!" 
+
+"Who?" said Rotha. 
+
+"All of you together. I am glad I'm not there." 
+
+"I shall not be there either. I shall be up stairs in my room." 
+
+"Looking at your Russia leather bag. Why didn't you bring it for us to 
+see? But your room means three or four other people's room, don't it?" 
+
+It was on Rotha's lips to say that she had a room to herself; she shut 
+them and did not say it. A sense of fun began to mingle with her inward 
+anger. Here she was in her stockings, unable to get her feet into her 
+boots. 
+
+"How am I to get home, ma'am?" she asked as demurely as she could. 
+
+"Antoinette, haven't you a pair of old boots or shoes, that Rotha could 
+get home in?" 
+
+"What should I do when I got there? I could not wear old boots about the 
+house. Mrs. Mowbray would not like it." 
+
+"Nettie, do you hear me?" Mrs. Busby said sharply. "Get something of 
+yours to put on Rotha's feet." 
+
+"If she can't wear her own, she couldn't wear mine--" said Miss Nettie, 
+unwilling to furnish positive evidence that her foot was larger than her 
+cousin's. Her mother insisted however, and the boots were brought. They 
+went on easily enough. 
+
+"But these would never do to walk in," objected Rotha. "My feet feel as 
+if each one had a whole barn to itself. Look, aunt Serena. And I could 
+not go to the parlour in them." 
+
+"I don't see but you'll have to, if you can't get your own on. You'll 
+have worse things than that to do before you die. I wouldn't be a baby, 
+and cry about it." 
+
+For Rotha's lips were trembling and her eyes were suddenly full. Her neat 
+feet transformed into untidy, shovelling things like these! and her 
+quick, clean gait to be exchanged for a boggling and clumping along as if 
+her feet were in loose boxes. It was a token how earnest and true was 
+Rotha's beginning obedience of service, that she stooped down and laced 
+the boots up, without saying another word, though tears of mortification 
+fell on the carpet. She was saying to herself, "If it be possible, as 
+much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men." She rose up and made 
+her adieux, as briefly as she could. 
+
+"Are you not going to thank me?" said Mrs. Busby. A dangerous flash came 
+from Rotha's eyes. 
+
+"For what, aunt Serena?" 
+
+"For the trouble I have taken for you, not to speak of the expense." 
+
+Rotha was silent, biting in her words, as it were. 
+
+"Why don't you speak? You can at least be civil." 
+
+"I don't know if I can," said Rotha. "It is difficult. I think my best 
+way of being civil is to hold my tongue. I must go--Good bye, ma'am!--" 
+and she staid for no more, but ran out and down the stairs. She paused as 
+she passed the open parlour door, paused on the stairs, and then went on 
+and took the trouble to go a few steps back through the hall to get the 
+interior view more perfectly. The grate was heaped full of coals in a 
+state of vivid glow, the red warm reflections came from, crimson carpet 
+and polished rosewood and gilding of curtain ornaments. Antoinette's 
+piano gave back the shimmer, and the thick rug before the hearth looked 
+like a nest of comfort. So did the whole room. A feeling of the security 
+and blessedness of a home came over Rotha. This was home to Antoinette. 
+It was not home to herself, nor was any other place in all the earth. Not 
+Mrs. Mowbray's kind house; it was kind, but it was not _home;_ and a keen 
+wish crept into the girl's heart. To have a home somewhere! Would the 
+time ever be? Must she perhaps, as her aunt foretold, be a houseless 
+wanderer, teaching in other people's homes, and having none? Rotha looked 
+and ran away; and as her feet went painfully clumping along the streets 
+in Antoinette's big boots, some tears of forlornness dropped on the 
+pavement. They were hot and bitter. 
+
+But I am a servant of Christ--thought Rotha,--I _am_ a servant of Christ;  
+I have been fighting to obey him this afternoon, and he has helped me. He 
+will be with me, at any rate; and he can take care of my home and give it 
+me, if he pleases. I needn't worry. I'll just let him take care. 
+
+So with that the tears dried again, and Rotha entered Mrs. Mowbray's 
+house more light-hearted than she had left it. She took off her 
+wrappings, and sought Mrs. Mowbray out. 
+
+"Madame," she said, looking at her feet, "I wanted you to know, that if I 
+do not look nice as I should, it is not my fault." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray's eyes likewise went to the boots, and staid there. She had 
+a little struggle with herself, not to speak what she felt. 
+
+"What is the matter, Rotha?" 
+
+"You see, Mrs. Mowbray. My boots would not go on over the thick 
+stockings; so I have had to put on a pair of Antoinette's boots. So if I 
+walk queerly, I want you to know I cannot help it." 
+
+"You have more stockings than that pair, I suppose?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am; enough to last a good while." 
+
+"Let me see them." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray examined the thick web. 
+
+"Did you and your aunt have a fight over these?" 
+
+"No, madame," said Rotha softly. 
+
+"How was it then? You put them on quietly, and without remonstrance?" 
+
+"Not exactly without remonstrance. But I didn't say much. I did not trust 
+myself to say much. I knew I should say too much." 
+
+"What made you fear that?" 
+
+"I was so angry, ma'am." 
+
+There came some tears again, dropping from Rotha's eyes. Mrs. Mowbray 
+drew her down with a sudden movement, into her arms, and kissed her over 
+and over again. 
+
+"My dear," she said with a merry change of tone, "thick stockings are not 
+the worst things in the world!" 
+
+"No, ma'am." 
+
+"You don't think so." 
+
+"No, ma'am." 
+
+"It will be a good check to your vanity, eh?" 
+
+"Am I vain, Mrs. Mowbray?" 
+
+"I don't know! most people are. Isn't it vanity, that makes you dislike 
+to see your feet in shoes too large for them?" 
+
+"Is it?" said Rotha. "But it is right to like to look nice, Mrs. Mowbray, 
+is it not?" 
+
+"It is right to like to see everything look nice, therefore of course 
+oneself included." 
+
+"Then that is not vanity." 
+
+"No,--but vanity is near. It all depends on what you want to look nice 
+for." 
+
+Rotha looked an inquiry. 
+
+"What _do_ you want to look nice for?" Mrs. Mowbray asked smiling. 
+
+"I suppose," Rotha said slowly, "one likes to have people like one." 
+
+"And you think the question of dress has to do with that?" 
+
+"Yes, ma'am, I do." 
+
+"Well, so do I. But then--_why_ do you want people to like you? What  
+for?"
+
+"One cannot help it," said Rotha, her eyes opening a little at these 
+self-evident questions. 
+
+"Perhaps that is true. However, Rotha, there are two reasons for it and 
+lying back of the wish; one is one's own pleasure or advantage simply. 
+The other is--the honour and service of God." 
+
+"How, ma'am? I do not see." 
+
+"Just using dress like everything else, as--a means of influence. I knew 
+a lady who told me that since she was a child, she had never dressed 
+herself that she did not do it for Christ." 
+
+Rotha was silent and pondered. "Mrs. Mowbray, I think that is beautiful," 
+she said then. 
+
+"So do I, my dear." 
+
+"But that would not make me like these boots any better." 
+
+"No," said Mrs. Mowbray laughing. "Naturally. But I think nevertheless, 
+in the circumstances, it would be better for you to wear them, at least 
+during some of this winter weather, than to discard them and put on 
+others. You shall judge yourself. What would be the effect, if, being 
+known to have plenty of shoes and stockings to cover your feet, you cast 
+them aside, and I procured you others, better looking?" 
+
+"O you could not do that!" cried Rotha. 
+
+"If I followed my inclinations, I should do it    But what would the 
+effect be?" 
+
+Rotha considered. "I suppose,--I should be called very proud; and you, 
+madame, very extravagant, and partial." 
+
+"Not a desirable effect." 
+
+"No, madame. O no! I must wear these things." Rotha sighed. 
+
+"Especially as we are both called Christians." 
+
+"Yes, madame. There are a good many right things that are hard to do, 
+Mrs. Mowbray!" 
+
+"Else there would be no taking up the cross. But we ought to welcome any 
+occasion of honouring our profession, even if it be a cross." 
+
+Rotha went away much comforted. Yet the clumsy foot gear remained a 
+constant discomfort to her, every time she put them on and every time she 
+felt the heavy clump they gave to her gait. Happily, she had no leisure 
+to dwell on these things. 
+
+The holidays were ended, and the girls came trooping back from their 
+various homes or places of pleasure. They came, as usual, somewhat 
+disorganized by idleness and license. Study went hard, and discipline 
+seemed unbearable; tempers were in an uncertain and irritable state. 
+Rotha hugged herself that she had her own little corner room, in which 
+she could be quite private and removed from all share in the dissensions 
+and murmurings, which she knew abounded elsewhere. It was a very little 
+room; but it held her and her books and her modest wardrobe too; and 
+Rotha bent herself to her studies with great ardour and delight. She knew 
+she was not popular among the girls; the very fact of her having a room 
+to herself would almost have accounted for that; "there was no reason on 
+earth why she should have it," as one of them said; and Mrs. Mowbray was 
+accused of favouritism. Furthermore, Rotha was declared to be "nobody," 
+and known to be poor; there was no advantage to be gained by being her 
+adherent; and the world goes by advantage. Added to all which, she was 
+distancing in her studies all the girls near her own age, and becoming 
+known as the cleverest one in the house. No wonder Rotha had looks 
+askance and frequently the cold shoulder. Her temperament, however, made 
+her half unconscious of this, and when conscious, comfortably 
+independent. She was one of those natures which live a concentrated life; 
+loving deeply and seeking eagerly the good opinion of a few; to all the 
+rest of the world careless and superior. She was polite and pleasant in 
+her manners, which was easy, she was so happy; but she was hardly winning 
+or ingratiating; too independent; and too outspoken. 
+
+The rule was that at the ringing of a bell in the morning all the girls 
+should rise; and at the ringing of a second bell everybody should repair 
+to the parlours for prayers and reading the Bible. The interval between 
+the two bells was amply sufficient to allow the most fastidious dresser 
+to make her toilette. But the hour was early; and the rousing bell an 
+object of great detestation; also, it may be said, the half hour given to 
+the Scriptures and prayer was a weariness if not to the flesh to the 
+spirit, of many in the family. So it sometimes happened that one and 
+another was behind time, and came into the parlour while the reading was 
+going on, or after prayers were over. Mrs. Mowbray remarked upon this 
+once or twice. Then came an outbreak; which allowed Rotha to see a new 
+side of her friend's character, or to see it more plainly than 
+heretofore. It was one morning a week or two after school had begun 
+again; a cold morning in January. The gas was lit in the parlours; Mrs. 
+Mowbray was at the table with her books; the girls seated in long lines 
+around the rooms, each with a Bible. 
+
+"Where is Miss Bransome?" Mrs. Mowbray asked, looking along the lines of 
+faces. "And Miss Dunstable?" 
+
+Nobody spoke. 
+
+"Miss Foster, will you have the kindness to go up to Miss Bransome and 
+Miss Dunstable, and tell them we are waiting for them?" 
+
+The young lady went. Profound silence. Then appeared, after some delay, 
+the missing members of the family; they came in and took their seats in 
+silence. 
+
+"Good morning, young ladies!" said Mrs. Mowbray. "Have you slept well?" 
+
+"Quite well, madame,"--one of them answered, making an expressive facial 
+sign to her neighbours on the other side, which Rotha saw and greatly 
+resented. 
+
+"So well that you did not hear the bell?" Mrs. Mowbray went on. 
+
+Silence. 
+
+"Answer, if you please. Did you hear the bell?" 
+
+"I did, madame," came in faint tones from one of the young ladies; and a 
+still more smothered affirmative from the other. 
+
+"Then why were you late?" 
+
+Again silence. Profound attention in all parts of the rooms; nobody 
+stirring. 
+
+"It has happened once or twice before. Now, young ladies, please take 
+notice," said Mrs. Mowbray, raising her voice somewhat. "If any young 
+lady is not in her place here at seven o'clock, I shall go up for her 
+myself; and if I go up for her, she will have to come down with me, just 
+as she is. I will bring you down in your nightgown, if you are not out of 
+it before I come for you; you shall come down in your night dress, here, 
+to the parlour. So now you know what you have to expect; and remember, I 
+always keep my promises." 
+
+The silence was awful, Rotha thought. It was unbroken, even by a 
+movement, until Mrs. Mowbray turned round to her book and took up the 
+interrupted reading. Very decorously the reading went on and ended; in 
+subdued good order the girls came to the table and eat their breakfast; 
+but there were smouldering fires under this calm exterior; and it was to 
+be expected that when the chance came the fire would break forth. 
+
+The chance came that same evening before tea. The girls were gathered, 
+preparatory to that ceremony, in the warm, well lighted rooms; and as the 
+custom was, each one had her favourite bit of ornamental work in hand. It 
+was a small leisure time. No teacher, as it happened, was in the front 
+parlour where Rotha sat, deep in a book; and a conversation began near 
+her, in under tones to be sure, which she could not but hear. Several new 
+scholars had come into the family at the New Year. One of these, a Miss 
+Farren, made the remark that Mrs. Mowbray had "showed out" that morning. 
+
+"Didn't she!" said another girl. "O that's what she is! You'll see. 
+That's _just_ what she is." 
+
+"She is an old cat!" 
+
+This last speaker was Miss Dunstable, and the spitefulness of the words 
+brought Rotha's head up from her book, with ears pointed and sharpened. 
+
+"I thought she looked so sweet," the new comer, Miss Farren, remarked 
+further. "I was quite taken with her at first. I thought she looked so 
+pleasant." 
+
+"Pleasant! She's as pleasant as a mustard plaster, and as sweet as 
+cayenne pepper. I'll tell you, Miss Farren; you're a stranger; you may 
+as well know what you have to expect--" 
+
+"Hush, girls!" 
+
+"What's the matter?" said the Dunstable, looking round. "There's nobody 
+near. Jewett has gone off into the other room. No, it is a work of 
+charity to let Miss Farren into the secrets of her prison house, 'cause 
+there are two sides to every game. Mrs. M. is a tyrannical, capricious, 
+hypocritical, domineering, fiery old cat. O she's fiery; you have got to 
+take care how you rise up and sit down; and she's stiff, she thinks 
+there's only one way and that's her way; and she's unjust, she has 
+favourites--" 
+
+"They all have favourites!" here put in another. 
+
+"She has ridiculous favourites. And she is pious, you'll be deluged with 
+the Bible and prayers; and  she's sanctimonious, you won't get leave to 
+go to the opera or the theatre, or to do anything lively; and she's 
+stingy, you'll learn that you must take all the potatoes you want the 
+first time the dish is handed you, for it won't come a second time; and 
+she's prudish, she won't let you receive visitors; and she's passionate, 
+she'll fly out like a volcano if you give her a chance; and she's 
+obstinate, she'll be as good--or as bad--as her word."
+
+By this time Rotha had sprung to her feet, with ears tingling and cheeks 
+burning, and stood there like Abdiel among the fallen angels, only indeed 
+that is comparing great things with small She was less patient and 
+prudent than Abdiel might have been. 
+
+"Miss Farren," she said, speaking with the calmness of intensity, "there 
+is not one bit of truth in all that Miss Dunstable has been saying to 
+you." 
+
+The young lady addressed looked in surprise at the new speaker. Rotha's 
+indignant eyes were sending out angry fires. The other girls looked on 
+too, in scorn and anger, but some awe. 
+
+"Miss Carpenter is polite!" said one. 
+
+"Her sort," said another, "What you might expect from her family."
+
+"She is a favourite herself," cried a third. "Of course, Mrs. M. is 
+smooth as butter to her."
+
+"You may say what you like of me," said Rotha; "but you shall not tell a 
+stranger all sorts of false things about Mrs. Mowbray, without my telling 
+her that they are false."
+
+"Don't speak so loud!" whispered a stander-by; but Sotha went on, 
+overpowering and silencing her opponents for the moment by the moral 
+force of her passionate utterance,-- 
+
+"She is as kind as it is possible to be. She is kinder than ever you can 
+think. She is as generous as a horn of plenty, and there is not a small 
+thread in all her composition. She knows how to govern, and she will 
+govern you, if you stay in her house; and she will keep her promises, as 
+you will find to your cost if you break her laws; but she is good, and 
+sweet, and bountiful, as a goddess of mercy. And whoever says anything 
+else of her, you may be sure is not worthy of her Kindness; and speaks 
+not true, but meanly, falsely, ungratefully, and mischievously!"
+
+Rotha stood and blazed at them; and incensed and resentful as they were, 
+the others were afraid now to say anything; for Mrs. Mowbray herself had 
+come into the centre room, and other ears were near, which they did not 
+wish to arouse. It passed for the time; but the next day another of her 
+companions attacked Rotha on the subject. 
+
+"You made Miss Dunstable awfully angry at you last evening, Rotha." 
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"What did you do it for?" 
+
+"Because she was telling a pack of lies!" said Rotha. "I'm not going to 
+sit by and hear anybody talk so of Mrs. Mowbray. And you ought not; and 
+nobody ought." 
+
+"Miss Dunstable will hate you, I can tell you. She'll be your enemy after 
+this." 
+
+"That is nothing to me." 
+
+"Yes, it's all very well to say that, but you won't think so when you 
+come to find out. She belongs to a very rich family, and she is worth 
+having for a friend." 
+
+"A girl like that?" cried Rotha. "A low spirited, false girl? Worth 
+having for a friend? Not to anybody who is worth anything herself." 
+
+"But she is ever so rich." 
+
+"What's that to me? Do you think I am going to sit by and hear Mrs. 
+Mowbray slandered, or anybody else, because the story teller has plenty 
+of money? What is her money to me?" 
+
+"Well, I don't know," said the other deprecatingly. "It puts things in 
+her power. Her family is one of the best in New York." 
+
+"Then the other members of it are much superior to this one!--that's all 
+I have got to say." 
+
+"But Rotha, she can hurt you." 
+
+"How?" 
+
+"She can make the other girls treat you ill." 
+
+"I can bear as much as that for Mrs. Mowbray, I guess." 
+
+"What makes you like her so much?" 
+
+Rotha's eyes gave a wondering, very expressive, glance at her 
+interlocutor. 
+
+"Because she is so unspeakably good, and beautiful, and generous. She 
+is a kind of a queen!" 
+
+"She likes to rule." 
+
+"She _has_ to rule. What sort of a place would the house be, if she did  
+not rule?" 
+
+"But, Julia Dunstable could do you good, if she liked." 
+
+"Could she? How?" said Rotha drily. 
+
+"O she could put pleasant things in your way. She gave some of us a 
+lovely invitation to a Christmas party; we had a royal time; and she asks 
+the girls every now and then." 
+
+"And you would have me be a traitor for the sake of an invitation? Bell 
+Savage, I do not want invitations from such people." 
+
+"La, Rotha, the world is full of such people; you cannot pick and 
+choose." 
+
+"But I will. I will pick and choose those whom I honour with my 
+friendship. And I can assure you of one thing; _my_ family would be very 
+much ashamed of such a one belonging to it, as the one you want me to 
+court. I court nobody. And I will expose a lie wherever I find it, if 
+it's my business." 
+
+I think Rotha forgot at the moment that Mrs. Busby belonged to "her 
+family." However, Miss Savage was not wrong in supposing that her 
+interference with Miss Dunstable would come back upon her own head. She 
+was made to feel that a large number of the girls looked down upon her 
+and that they refused all community with her. Even from people one does 
+not care for, this sort of treatment is more or less painful; and it 
+certainly made Rotha's school days less joyous in some respects than they 
+might otherwise have been. From one reason and another, the greater 
+proportion of her companions turned her the cold shoulder. Some for 
+partisanship, some for subserviency, some to be in the fashion, and 
+others again for pure envy. 
+
+For Rotha sprang forward in her learning and surpassed all who were 
+associated with her, in their mutual studies. Her partial isolation 
+contributed, no doubt, to this end; having little social distraction, no 
+home outside her school walls, and no delight in the things which 
+occupied most of the minds within them, she bent to her books; drank, and 
+drank deep, of the "Castalian spring," and with ever increasing 
+enjoyment. She studied, not to get and keep a high position, or to gain 
+distinction, or to earn praise or prizes, but for pure pleasure in study 
+and eagerness to increase knowledge and to satisfy Mrs. Mowbray. So her 
+progress was not only rapid but thorough; what she gained she kept; and 
+her mental growth was equal to her physical. 
+
+The physical was rapid and beautiful. Rotha shot up tall, and developed 
+into a very noble-looking girl; intelligent, spirited, sweet and strong 
+at once. Her figure was excellent; her movement graceful and free, as 
+suited her character; colour clear and brunette, telling of flawless 
+health; and an eye of light and force and fire and honesty, which it was 
+at all times a pleasure to meet, speaking of the active, brave and true 
+spirit to which it belonged. By degrees, as all this became manifest, 
+shewed itself also the effect of culture, and the blessing of real 
+education. Refinement touched every line of Rotha's face, and marked 
+every movement and every tone. She gained command over her impetuous 
+nature, not so but that it broke bounds occasionally; yet the habit 
+became moderation, and something of the beautiful quiet of manner which 
+Rotha had always admired in Mr. Southwode, did truly now belong to 
+herself. Mrs. Mowbray had perpetual delight in her. Was it wonderful, 
+when so many faces were only carelessly obtuse, or stupidly indifferent, 
+or obstinately perverse, that the mistress should turn to the bright eye 
+which was sure to have caught her meaning, and watch for the answer from 
+lips which were sure to give it with rare intelligence. 
+
+Those lessons from her beloved teacher were beyond all other lessons 
+prized and delighted in by Rotha. They gave incentive to a vast deal of 
+useful reading, more or less directly connected with the subject in hand. 
+Some of the girls followed out this 'reading extensively; and no one so 
+much as Rotha. Her great quickness and diligence with her regular lessons 
+made this possible. 
+
+Meanwhile, it is not to be supposed that Rotha's feet remained 
+permanently in their coarse habiliments. When the cold and the snows were 
+gone, and lighter airs and warmer weather came in with spring, Mrs. 
+Mowbray exchanged the uncomely boots and thick stockings for others which 
+better suited Rotha's need and comfort. No more animadversions were heard 
+on the subject from Mrs. Busby, who indeed seemed rather inclined to let 
+Rotha alone. 
+
+And so went by two years; two years of growth and up-building and varied 
+developement; years of enjoyment and affection and peace. The short 
+intervals during which she was an inmate of her aunt's family served only 
+as enhancement of all the rest; foils to the brightness of Mrs. Mowbray's 
+house, and sharpeners of the appetite that was fed there. Nothing was 
+ever heard of Mr. Digby, not by Rotha at least; and this was her only 
+grief. For Rotha was true to her affections; and where she had loved 
+once, did not forget   Once she asked Mrs. Mowbray if it was not strange 
+she never got any word from Mr. Southwode? "Why should you, my dear?" 
+Mrs. Mowbray replied, with an impenetrable face. 
+
+"Because--I suppose, because I loved him so much," said Rotha innocently; 
+"and I think he is true." 
+
+"He has done a friend's part by you; and now there is nothing more for 
+him to do. I see no reason why he should write to you." 
+
+I do!--thought Rotha; but Mrs. Mowbray's tone did not invite her to 
+pursue the subject; and she let it thenceforth alone. 
+
+
+CHAPTEK XXII. 
+
+
+A CHANGE. 
+
+
+The two years of smooth sailing along the stream of life, were ended. 
+What was coming next? But how should the sailor learn navigation, if he 
+had never anything but calm weather and quiet airs? 
+
+It was spring, late in May; when one evening Mrs. Mowbray came into 
+Rotha's little room, shut the door, and sat down. Rotha looked up from 
+her book and smiled. Mrs. Mowbray looked down at the book and sighed. A 
+heavy sigh, it seemed to Rotha, and her smile died away. 
+
+"You want to speak to me, madame?" she said, and laid her book away. 
+
+"I am going to send you home--" said the lady abruptly. 
+
+"Home!--" the word was but half uttered. What was this? The term was not 
+near at an end. 
+
+"You must go, my dear," Mrs. Mowbray went on more softly; for the first 
+word had been spoken with the sternness of pain. "I must send you all 
+away from me." 
+
+"Whom?" 
+
+"All of you! It has pleased heaven to visit me with a great calamity. You 
+must all go." 
+
+"What is it, Mrs. Mowbray?" said Rotha, trembling with a fear to which 
+she could give no form. 
+
+"I do not know, but I think it too probable, that a contagious disease 
+has broken out in my family. The little Snyders are both ill with scarlet 
+fever." 
+
+"They are at home." 
+
+"But Miss Tremont is taken in just the same way, and Miss de Forest is 
+complaining. I have isolated them both; but I have no choice but to send 
+all the rest of you away, till I shall know how the thing will go." 
+
+Rotha looked terribly blank. 
+
+"It is hard, isn't it?" said Mrs. Mowbray, noticing this with a faint 
+smile; "but it is not best for us to have things go too smooth. I have 
+had no rubs for two years or more." 
+
+That this was a hard "rub" was evident. Mrs. Mowbray sat looking before 
+her with a troubled face. 
+
+"Why is it best for us that things should not go smooth?" Rotha ventured. 
+To her sense the possible good of this disturbance was not apparent, 
+while the positive evil was manifold. 
+
+"The Lord knows!" said Mrs. Mowbray. "He sees uses, and needs, which we 
+do not suspect. I am sorry for you, my dear child." 
+
+"And I am sorry you are troubled, dear Mrs. Mowbray!" 
+
+"I know you are. Your sympathy is very sweet to me.--We have had a 
+pleasant two years together, have we not?" 
+
+"Oh so pleasant!" echoed Rotha, almost in tears. "But--this sickness will 
+pass over; and then we may come back again, may we not?" 
+
+"It is too near the end of term, to come back this spring. It cannot be 
+before next September now; and that is a long way off. One never knows 
+what will happen in so many months!" 
+
+Rotha had never seen Mrs. Mowbray look or speak so despondently. She was 
+too utterly downhearted herself to say another word of hope or 
+confidence. Four months of interval and separation! Four months with her 
+aunt! What would become of her? What might happen in the mean time? 
+
+"When must I go, Mrs. Mowbray?" she asked sadly. 
+
+"To-night. Yes, my child, I must send you away from me. You have been a 
+comfort to me ever since you came into my house; and now I must send you 
+away." She folded Rotha in her arms and kissed her almost passionately. 
+Then let her go, and spoke in business tones again. 
+
+"Put up whatever you wish to take with you. The carriage will be at the 
+door at half past eight. I shall go with you." 
+
+With which words she departed. 
+
+The tears came now, which had been carefully kept back until Mrs. Mowbray 
+was gone; and it was under a very shower of heavy drops that Rotha folded 
+and stowed away all her belongings. 
+
+Stowed them in her trunk, which Mrs. Mowbray had at once sent up to her 
+room. Amidst all her tears, Rotha worked like a sprite; she would leave 
+nothing on her kind friend's hands to do for her, not even anything to 
+think of. She packed all away, wondering the while why this sudden 
+interruption to her prosperous course of study and growth should have 
+been allowed to come; wondering when and how the interrupted course would 
+be allowed to go on again. Happily she did not know what experiences 
+would fill the next few months, in which Mrs. Mowbray's fostering care 
+would not help her nor reach her; nor what a new course of lessons she 
+would be put upon. Not knowing all this, Rotha shed bitter tears, it is 
+true, but not despairing. And when the summons came, she was ready, and 
+joined Mrs. Mowbray in the carriage with calm self-possession restored. 
+
+The drive was almost silent. Once Mrs. Mowbray asked if there was 
+anything Rotha had left to be done for her in her room or in the house? 
+Rotha said "Nothing; all was done"; and then the carriage rolled on 
+silently as before; the one of its occupants too busy with grave thoughts 
+to leave her tongue free, the other sorrowfully wishing she would talk, 
+yet not daring to ask it. Arrived at the door, however, Mrs. Mowbray 
+folded the girl in her arms, giving her warm kisses and broken words of 
+love, and ending with bidding her write often. 
+
+"I may be unable to answer you, but do not let that stop you. Write 
+always; I shall want to hear everything about you." 
+
+And Rotha answered, it would be the greatest joy to her; and they parted. 
+
+She went in at a somewhat peculiar moment. Half an hour sooner, 
+Antoinette had returned from a friend's house where she had been dining, 
+and burst into the parlour with news. 
+
+"Mamma!" she exclaimed, before the door was shut behind her,--"Guess what 
+is coming." 
+
+"What?" said her mother calmly. She was accustomed to Antoinette's 
+superlatives. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode is coming back.--" 
+
+Now Mrs. Busby did prick up her ears. "How do you know?" 
+
+"There was a Mr. Lingard at dinner--a prosy old fellow, as tiresome as 
+ever he could be; but he is English, and knows the Southwodes, and he 
+told lots about them." 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"O I don't know!--a lot of stuff. About the business and the property, 
+and how old Mr. Southwode left it all to this son; and he carries it on 
+in some ridiculous way that I didn't understand; and the uncle tried to 
+break the will, and there has been a world of trouble; but now Mr. Digby 
+Southwode is coming back to New York." 
+
+"When?" 
+
+"O soon; any day. He may be here any day. And then, mamma--" 
+
+"And was the will broken?" 
+
+"No, I believe not. At any rate, Mr. Southwode, our Mr. Southwode, has it 
+all. But he's absurd, mamma; he pays people, workmen, more than they 
+ought to have; and he sells, or makes them sell, for less; less than the 
+market price; and he gives away all his income. So Mr. Lingard says." 
+
+"He will learn better," said Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"Well, mamma, he's coming back; and what will you do?" 
+
+"Welcome him," said her mother. "I always liked Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"Yes, yes, but I mean, about Rotha. He will look her up, the first thing; 
+and she will fly ecstatically to meet him--I remember their parting 
+salute two years ago, and their _meeting_.  I don't doubt, will be  
+equally tender. Mamma, are you prepared to come down with something   
+handsome in the way of wedding presents?"  
+
+"Nonsense!" 
+
+"It's _not_ nonsense!" said Antoinette vehemently. "It will be the absurd 
+truth, before you know where you are; and papa, and you, and I, we shall 
+all have the felicity of offering congratulations and holding receptions. 
+If you don't prevent it, mamma! _Can't_ you prevent it? _Won't_ you  
+prevent it? O mamma! won't you prevent it?" 
+
+"Get up, Antoinette"--for the young lady had thrown herself down on the 
+floor in her urgency, at her mother's feet. "Get up, and take off your 
+things; you are extremely silly. I have no intention of letting them meet 
+at all." 
+
+"Mamma, how are you going to help it? He will find out where she is at 
+school--he will go straight there, and then you may depend Rotha will 
+snap her fingers at you. So will he; and to have two people snapping 
+their fingers at us will just drive me wild." 
+
+Mrs. Busby could not help laughing. At the same time, she as well as 
+Antoinette regarded the matter from a very serious point of view. She 
+knew Rotha had grown up very handsome; and all her mother's partiality 
+did not make her sure that men like Mr. Southwode might not prefer the 
+sense and grace and spirit which breathed from every look and motion of 
+Rotha's, to the doll beauty of her own daughter. Yet it was not insipid 
+beauty either; the face of Antoinette was exceedingly pretty, the smile 
+very captivating, and the white and peach-blossom very lovely in her 
+cheeks. But for sense, or dignity, or sympathy with any thoughts high and 
+noble, if one looked to Antoinette one would look in vain. No matter; 
+hers was just a style which captivates men, Mrs. Busby knew; even 
+sensible men,--the only danger as in possible comparison or contrast. 
+That danger should be avoided. 
+
+"Nobody will snap fingers at me," she complacently remarked. 
+
+"But how will you help it?" 
+
+"I dare say there is no danger. Get up, Antoinette! there is the door 
+bell." 
+
+And then in walked Rotha. 
+
+It struck her that her aunt and cousin were a little more than ordinarily 
+stiff towards her; but of course they had no reason to expect her then, 
+and the surprise was not agreeable. So Rotha dismissed the matter with a 
+passing thought and an unbreathed sigh; while she told the cause of her 
+unlooked-for appearance. Mrs. Busby sat and meditated. 
+
+"It is very unfortunate!" she said at last, with her eyebrows 
+distressingly high. 
+
+"What?" said Rotha. "My coming? I am sorry, aunt Serena; as sorry as you 
+can be. Is my being here _particularly_ inconvenient just at this time?" 
+
+"Yes!" said Mrs. Busby, with the same deeply considerative air. "I am 
+thinking what will be the best way to manage. We have a plan of going to 
+Chicago--Mr. Busby's family is mostly there, and he wants us to visit 
+them; we should be gone all June and part of July, for I know Mr. Busby 
+wants to go further, if once he gets so far; and we may not be back till 
+the end of July. I don't know what to do with Rotha." 
+
+Not a word of this plan had Antoinette ever heard before, but she kept 
+wise silence; only her small blue eyes sparkled knowingly at the fire. 
+Rotha was silent too at first, with vexation. 
+
+"I am very sorry--" she repeated. 
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Busby. "I thought I could leave you in safe quarters 
+with Mrs. Mowbray for a week or two after school broke up; now that 
+possibility is out of the question. Well, we will sleep upon it. Never 
+mind, Rotha; don't trouble yourself. I shall find some way out of the 
+difficulty. I always do." 
+
+These words were spoken with so much kindness of tone that they quite 
+comforted Rotha as to the immediate annoyance of being in the way. She 
+went up to her little third-story room, threw open the blinds, to let the 
+stars look in, and remembered that neither she nor yet her aunt Busby was 
+the guide of her fortunes. Yet, yet,--what a hard change this was! All 
+the pursuits in which she had taken such delight, suddenly stopped; her 
+peaceful home lost; her best friend separated from her. It was difficult 
+to realize the fact that God knew and had allowed it. Yet no harm, no 
+real harm, comes to his children, unless they bring it upon themselves; 
+so this change could not mean harm. How could it mean good? Sense saw 
+not, reason could not divine; but faith said "yes"; and in the quietness 
+of that confidence Rotha went to sleep. 
+
+At breakfast the ladies' faces had regained their wonted brightness. 
+
+"I have settled it all!" Mrs. Busby announced, when her husband had left 
+the breakfast table and the room. Rotha looked up and waited; Antoinette 
+did not look up; therefore it may be presumed she knew what was coming. 
+
+"I am going to send Rotha to the country while we are gone." 
+
+"Where in the country?" asked the person most concerned. 
+
+"To my place in the country--my place at Tanfield. _I_ have a place in  
+the country."--Mrs. Busby spoke with a very alert and pleased air. 
+
+"Tanfield--" Rotha repeated with slow recollection. "O I believe I know. 
+I think I have heard of Tanfield." 
+
+"Of course. It is the old place where I lived when I was a girl; and a 
+lovely place it is." 
+
+"And just think!" put in Antoinette. "Isn't it funny? I have never seen 
+it." 
+
+"Who is there?" Rotha asked. 
+
+"O the old house is there, and the garden; and somebody who will make you 
+very comfortable. I will take care that she makes you comfortable. I 
+shall see about that." 
+
+"Who is that? old Janet?" asked Antoinette. 
+
+"No. Janet is not there?" 
+
+"Who then, mamma?" 
+
+"Persons whom I have put in charge." 
+
+"Do I know them?" 
+
+"You know very little about them--not enough to talk." 
+
+"Mamma! As if one couldn't talk without knowing about things! Who is it, 
+mamma? I want to know who will have the care of Rotha." 
+
+"It is not necessary you should know at present. Rotha can tell you, when 
+she has tried them." 
+
+"I suppose I shall have the care of myself," said Rotha; to whom all this 
+dialogue somehow sounded unpromising. To her remark no answer was made. 
+
+"Mamma, what will Rotha do there, all by herself?" 
+
+"She will have people all round her." 
+
+"She don't know them. You mean the Tanfield people?" 
+
+"Who else should live at Tanfield. I was one of the Tanfield people 
+myself once." 
+
+"What sort of people are they, mamma?" 
+
+"Excellent people." 
+
+"Country people!--" 
+
+"Country people can be a very good sort. You need not sneer at them." 
+
+"I remark that you have not been anxious to go back and see them, mamma." 
+
+Rotha was dumb meanwhile, and during a longer continuance of this sort of 
+talk; with a variety of feelings at work in her, among which crept a 
+certain flavouring of suspicion. Was she to be _alone_ in her mother's 
+old home at Tanfield? Alone, with companions that could not be 
+companions? Was it any use to question her aunt further? She feared not; 
+yet the questions would come.
+
+"What sort of persons are those in the house, aunt Serena?" 
+
+"Quite sufficient to take good care of you. A man and his wife. Honest 
+people, and kind." 
+
+"Servants!" 
+
+"In so far as they are serving me." 
+
+Antoinette again pressed to be told who they were, was again put off. 
+From the little altercation resulting, Mrs. Busby turned to Rotha with a 
+new theme. 
+
+"You will not want your New York wardrobe there,--what will you do? Leave 
+your trunk here? That will be best, I think, till you come back again." 
+
+"O no," said Rotha hastily. "I will take it with me." 
+
+"You will not want it, my dear. Summer is just here; what, you need up 
+there is some nice calico dresses; those will be just the thing. I will 
+get some for you this very day, and have them cut out; and then you can 
+take them and make them up. It will give you something to do. Your winter 
+wardrobe would be of no service to you there, and to carry it back and 
+forward would be merely trouble and risk." 
+
+"To leave it here would be risk." 
+
+"Not at all. There will be somebody in charge of the house." 
+
+"I prefer to have the charge of my own clothes myself." 
+
+"My dear, I am not going to take it from you; only to guard the things 
+for you while you are away. They would be out of place in the summer and 
+at Tanfield." 
+
+"Some would; but they are all mixed up," said Rotha, trying to keep her 
+patience, though the blood mounted into her cheeks dangerously. 
+
+"They can be separated," said Mrs. Busby coolly. "When your trunks come, 
+I will do that for you." 
+
+Not if I am alive! thought Rotha; but she remembered the old word--"If it 
+be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably--" and she held her 
+tongue. However, later in the day when Mrs. Busby came in after buying 
+the calicos, the proposition was renewed. She came to Rotha and demanded 
+the keys of the boxes. 
+
+"Thank you, aunt Serena--I would rather do what I want done, myself." 
+
+"Very well," said Mrs. Busby pleasantly; "but if you will give me the 
+keys, I will see what I think ought to be done. I can judge better than 
+you can." 
+
+"I would rather not," said Rotha. "If you please, and if you do not mind, 
+ma'am, I would rather nobody went into my trunk but myself." 
+
+"Don't be a child, Rotha!" 
+
+"No, aunt Serena. I remember that I am one no longer." 
+
+"But I wish to have your keys--do you understand?" 
+
+"Perfectly; and I do not wish to give them. You understand that." 
+
+"Your wish ought to give way to mine," said Mrs. Busby severely. 
+
+"Why?" said Rotha, looking at her with a frank face. 
+
+"Because you are under my care, and I stand in the place of a mother to 
+you." 
+
+Hot words sprang to Rotha's lips, hot and passionate words of denial; but 
+she did not speak them; her lips opened and closed again. 
+
+"Do you refuse me?" Mrs. Busby asked, after waiting a moment. 
+
+"Entirely!" said Rotha looking up again. 
+
+"Then you defy me!" 
+
+"No, I mean nothing of the kind. You are asking a thing which no one has 
+a right to ask. I am simply holding my rights; which I will do." 
+
+"So shall I hold mine," said Mrs. Busby shortly; "and you do not seem to 
+know what they are. Your trunk will not leave this house; you may make 
+such arrangements as it pleases you. And I shall give myself no further 
+trouble about one who is careless what annoyance she makes me. I had 
+intended to accompany you myself and see you comfortably settled; but it 
+appears that nothing I could do would be of any pleasure to you. I shall 
+let you go without me and make your own arrangements." 
+
+With which speech Mrs. Busby ended the interview; and Rotha was left to 
+think what she would do next. 
+
+Her trunk must be left behind. It was too plain that here power was on 
+the side of her aunt. Without coming to downright fighting, this point 
+could not be carried against her. Rotha longed to go and talk to Mrs. 
+Mowbray; alas, that was not to be thought of. Mrs. Mowbray's hands and 
+head were full, and her house was a forbidden place. How swiftly 
+circumstances can whirl about in this world! Yesterday a refuge, to-day a 
+danger. Rotha must leave her trunk. But many things in it she must not 
+leave. What to do? I will not deny that her thoughts were bitter for a 
+while. A little matter! Yes, a little matter, compared with Waterloo or 
+Gravelotte; but _not_ a little matter to a girl in every day life and 
+having a girl's every day liking for being neat and feeling comfortable. 
+And right is right; and the infringing of right is hard to bear, perhaps 
+equally hard, whether it concerns a nation's boundaries or a woman's 
+wardrobe. If Rotha had been more experienced, perhaps the wisdom of doing 
+nothing would have suggested itself; but she was young and did not know 
+what to do. So she laid out of her trunk certain things; her Bible and 
+Scripture Treasury; her writing materials; her underclothes; and her 
+gloves. If Rotha had a weakness, it was for neat and _suitable_ gloves.  
+The rest of her belongings she locked up carefully, and sat down to await  
+the course of events. 
+
+It was swift, as some intuition told her it would be. There was no more 
+disputing. Mrs. Busby let the subject of the trunk drop, and was as 
+benign as usual; which was never benign except exteriorly. She was as 
+good as her word in purchasing calicos; brought home what seemed to Rotha 
+an unnecessary stock of them; and that afternoon and the next day kept a 
+dress-maker cutting and basting, and Rotha at work to help. These cut and 
+basted dresses, as they were finished, Mrs. Busby stowed with her own 
+hands in a little old leather trunk. Then, when the last one went in, she 
+told Rotha to bring whatever she wished to have go with her. 
+
+"To put in that?" Rotha asked. 
+
+"Certainly. It will hold all you want." 
+
+Rotha struggled with herself with the feeling of desperate indignation 
+which came over her; struggled, grew red and grew pale, but finally did 
+go without another word; and brought down, pile by pile, her neat under 
+wardrobe. Mrs. Busby packed and packed. Her trunk was leather, and 
+strong, but its capacities were bounded by that very strength. 
+
+"All these!" she exclaimed in a sort of despair. "There is no use 
+whatever in having so much linen under wear." 
+
+Rotha was silent. 
+
+"It is _much_ better to have fewer things, and let them be washed as  
+often as necessary. A family would want a caravan at this rate." 
+
+"This is Mrs. Mowbray's way," said Rotha. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray's way is not a way to be copied, unless you are a 
+millionaire. She is the most extravagant woman I ever met, without 
+exception." 
+
+"But aunt Serena, it costs no more in the end, whether you have a dozen 
+things for two years, and comfort, or half a dozen a year, and 
+discomfort." 
+
+"You don't know that you will live two years to want them." 
+
+"You don't know that you will live one, for that matter," said 
+Antoinette, who always spoke her mind, careless whom the words touched. 
+"At that rate, mamma, we ought to do like savages,--have one dress and 
+wear it out before getting another; but it strikes me that would be 
+rather disagreeable." 
+
+"You will not find anybody at Tanfield to do all this washing for you," 
+Mrs. Busby went on. 
+
+"I shall have no more washing done than if I had fewer things," Rotha 
+said. 
+
+"Then there is no sort of use in lugging all these loads of linen up 
+there just to bring them back again. The trunk will not hold them. Here, 
+Rotha--take back these,--and these, and these--" 
+
+Rotha received them silently; silently carried them up stairs and came 
+down for more. She was in a kind of despair. Her Bible and most precious 
+belongings she had put carefully in her travelling bag, rejoicing in its 
+beauty and security. 
+
+"Mamma," said Antoinette now, "does Rotha know when she is going?" 
+
+"I do not know." 
+
+"Well, that's funny. I should think you would tell her. Why it's almost 
+time for her to put on her bonnet." 
+
+Rotha's eyes went from one to the other. She was startled. 
+
+"I am going to send you off by the night train to Tanfield,"--Mrs. Busby 
+said without looking up from the trunk. 
+
+"The _night_ train!" exclaimed Rotha. 
+
+"It is the best you can do. It brings you there by daylight. The night 
+train is as pleasant as any." 
+
+"If you have company"--said Rotha. 
+
+"And if the cars don't run off nor anything," added Antoinette. "All the 
+awful accidents happen in the night." 
+
+"I would not have Rotha go alone," said Mrs. Busby grimly; "but she don't 
+want my companionship." 
+
+Rotha would have been glad of it; however, she did not say so. She stood 
+confounded. What possible need of this haste? 
+
+"Put your things away, Rotha," said Mrs. Busby glancing up,--"and come 
+down to dinner. You must leave at seven o'clock, and I have had dinner 
+early for you." 
+
+The dinner being early, Mr. Busby was not there; which Rotha regretted. 
+From him she hoped for at least one of his dry, sensible remarks, and 
+possibly a hint of sympathy. She must go without it. Dinner had no taste, 
+and the talk that went on no meaning. Very poor as this home was, it was 
+better than an unknown country, and uncongenial as were her companions, 
+she preferred them to nobody. Gradually there grew a lump in her throat 
+which almost choked her. 
+
+Meantime she was silent, seemed to eat, and did quietly whatever she was 
+told She put up sandwiches in a paper; accepted an apple and some figs; 
+looked curiously at the old basement dining room, which she had never 
+liked, but which had never seemed to her so comfortable as now; and at 
+last left it to get herself ready. Taking her Russia bag in her hand, she 
+seemed to grasp Mrs. Mowbray's love; and it comforted her. 
+
+Her aunt and she had a silent drive through the streets, already dark and 
+lamp-lit. All necessary directions were given her by the way, and a 
+little money to pay for her drive out from Tanfield. Then came the 
+confusion of the Station--not the Grand Central by any means; the bustle 
+of getting her seat in the cars; her aunt's cold kiss. And then she was 
+alone, and the engine sounded its whistle, and the train slowly moved 
+away into the darkness. 
+
+For a while Rotha's mind was in a tumult of confusion. If Mrs. Mowbray 
+knew where she was at that minute! She had had no chance to write to her. 
+If she only knew! What then? she could not help matters. O but she could! 
+Mrs. Mowbray could always find help. Love that would not rest, energy 
+that would not tire, a power of will that would not be denied, and a 
+knowledge and command of men and things which enabled her always to lay 
+her hand on the right means and apply them; all this belonged to Mrs. 
+Mowbray, and made her the most efficient of helpers. But just now, 
+doubtless, the affairs of her own house laid full claim to all her 
+energies; and then, she did not know about Rotha's circumstances. How 
+strange, thought Rotha, that she does not--that things should have come 
+together so that she cannot! I seem to be cut off designedly from her, 
+and from everybody. 
+
+There crept slowly into her heart the recollection that there was One who 
+did know the whole; and if there were design in the peculiar collocation 
+of events, as who could doubt, it was _His_ design. This gave a new view  
+of things. Rotha looked round on the dingy car, dingy because so dimly 
+lighted; filled, partly filled, with dusky figures; and wondered if one 
+there were so utterly alone as she, and marvelled greatly why she had 
+been brought into such a strange position. Separated from everything! 
+Then her Russia bag rebuked her, for her Bible was in it. Not separated 
+from God, whose message was there; perhaps, who knows? she was to come 
+closer to him, in the default of all other friends. She remembered the 
+words of a particular psalm which not long ago had been read at morning 
+prayers and commented on by Mrs. Mowbray; it came home to her now. 
+
+"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My 
+help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." 
+
+If he made heaven and earth, he surely can manage them. And Mrs. Mowbray 
+had said, that whoever could honestly adopt and say those first words of 
+the psalm, might take to himself also all the following. Then how it went 
+on!--
+
+"He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not 
+slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." 
+
+The tears rushed into Rotha's eyes. So he would watch the night train in 
+which she journeyed, and let no harm come to it without his pleasure. The 
+words followed,--
+
+"The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand; the 
+sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall 
+preserve thee from all evil, he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall 
+preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth, and even 
+for evermore." 
+
+It was to Rotha as if she had suddenly seen a guard of angels about her. 
+Nay, better than that. She was a young disciple yet, she had not learned 
+all the ins and outs of faith; but this night her journey was sweet to 
+her. The train rumbled along through the darkness; but "darkness and the 
+light are alike to him," she remembered. Now and then the cars stopped at 
+a village or wayside station; and a few lights shone upon boards and 
+platforms and bits of wall; sometimes shone from within a saloon where 
+refreshments were set out; there were switches to be turned on or off; 
+there was a turn-out place where the train waited three quarters of an 
+hour for the down train. All the same! Rotha remembered that switches and 
+turnouts made no manner of difference, no more than the darkness, if the 
+Lord was keeping her. It was somehow a sweet kind of a night that she 
+had; not alone nor unhappy; faith, for the moment at least, laying its 
+grasp on the whole wide realm of promise and resting satisfied and quiet 
+in its possessions. After a while she slept and dozed, waking up 
+occasionally to feel the rush and hear the rumble of the cars, to 
+remember in whose hand she was, and then quietly to doze off again. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. 
+
+
+TANFIELD. 
+
+
+The last time she awoke, the rush and the roar had ceased; the train was 
+standing still in the darkness. Not utterly in the dark, for one or two 
+miserable lamps were giving a feeble illumination; and there was a stir 
+and a hum of voices. Another station, evidently. "What is it?" she asked 
+somebody passing her. 
+
+"Tanfield." 
+
+Tanfield! and this darkness still. "What o'clock is it, please?" she 
+asked the conductor, who just then appeared. 
+
+"Three o'clock in the morning. You stop here, don't you?" 
+
+"Yes; but how can I get to the hotel?" 
+
+"It's just by; not a dozen steps off. Here, give me your bag--I'll see 
+you there. We don't go on; change cars, for whoever wants to go further. 
+You don't go further?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then come on." 
+
+Half awake, and dazed, Rotha gratefully followed her companion; who 
+piloted the way for her out of the train and through the station house 
+and across a street, or road rather, for it was not paved. A hotel of 
+some pretension faced them on the other side of the street. The kind 
+conductor marched in like one at home, sent for the sleepy chambermaid, 
+and consigned Rotha to her care. 
+
+"You would like a room and a bed, ma'am?" 
+
+"A room, yes, and water to wash the dust off; but I do not want a bed. 
+How early can you give me breakfast?" 
+
+"Breakfast? there's always breakfast full early, ma'am, for the train 
+that goes out at half past six. You'll get breakfast then. Going by the 
+half past six train, ma'am?" 
+
+"No. I shall want some sort of a carriage by and by, to drive me out to 
+Mrs. Busby's place; do you know where that is? And can I get a carriage 
+here?" 
+
+"You can get carriages enough. I don't know about no places. Then you'll 
+take breakfast at six, ma'am? You'll be called." 
+
+With which she shewed Rotha into a bare little hotel room, lit a lamp, 
+and left her. 
+
+Rotha refreshed herself with cold water and put her hair in order. It 
+must be half past three then. She went to the window, pulled up the shade 
+and opened the sash and sat down. At half past three in the morning, when 
+the season is no further advanced than May, the world is still nearly 
+dark. Yet two cocks were answering each other from different roosts in 
+the neighbourhood, and announcing that morning was on its way. The sky 
+gave little token yet, however; and the stars sparkled silently out of 
+its dark depths. The rush and the roar of the train, and of life itself, 
+seemed to be left behind; the air had the fresh sweetness which it never 
+can have where human beings do greatly congregate; there was a spice in 
+it which Rotha had not tasted for a long while. That sort of spice is 
+enlivening and refreshing; there is a good tonic in it, which Rotha felt 
+and enjoyed; at the same time it warned her she was in new circumstances. 
+She had an uneasy suspicion, or intuition rather, that these new 
+circumstances were not intended, so far as her aunt's intentions affected 
+them, to be of transient duration. It was all very well to talk of July 
+or the beginning of August; truth has a way of making itself known 
+independent of words and even athwart them; and so it had been now; and 
+while Mrs. Busby talked of the middle of summer, some subtle sense in 
+Rotha's nature translated the words and made them signify an indefinite 
+and distant future, almost as uncertain as indefinite. Rotha could not 
+help feeling that it might be long before she saw New York or Mrs. 
+Mowbray again; and anew the wondering thought arose, why Mrs. Mowbray 
+should have been incapacitated for helping her precisely at this 
+juncture? It was mysterious. It was evident that a higher rule than Mrs. 
+Busby's was taking effect here; it was plain that not her aunt alone had 
+willed to put her away from all she trusted and delighted in, and bring 
+her to this strange place; where she would be utterly alone and uncared-
+for and shut off from all her beloved pursuits. But why? 
+
+It is the vainest of questions; yet one which in such circumstances 
+mortals are terribly tempted to ask. If they could be told, _then_, the 
+design of the movement would be lost upon their mental and spiritual 
+education; and ten to one the ulterior developments would be hindered 
+also which are meant to turn to their temporal advantage. It is in the 
+nature of things, that the "why" should be hidden in darkness; without 
+being omniscient we cannot see beforehand the turns that things will 
+take; and so now is Faith's time to be quiet and trust and believe. And 
+somehow faith is apt to find it hard work. Most of us know what it is to 
+trust a human fellow creature absolutely, implicitly; with so full a 
+trust that we are not afraid nor doubtful nor unwilling; but with one 
+hand in the trusted one's hand are ready to go blindly anywhere, or to 
+dare or to do gladly, counting with certainty that there is no hazard 
+about it. So children can trust their father or their mother; so friends 
+and lovers can trust one another. But it is very hard, somehow, to trust 
+God so. Precisely such trust is what he wants of us; but--we do not know 
+him well enough! "They that know thy name _will put their trust in  
+thee_." Yet it is rare, rare, to find a Christian who can use Faber's 
+words--
+
+   "I know not what it is to doubt; 
+   My mind is ever gay; 
+   I run no risk, for come what will, 
+   Thou always hast thy way." 
+
+
+Rotha at any rate had not got so far. Her mind was in a troubled state, 
+as she sat at the window of the Tanfield hotel and stared out into the 
+dewy dusk of the morning. It was indignant besides; and that is a very 
+disturbing element in one's moods. She felt wronged, and she felt 
+helpless. The sweet trust of the night seemed to have deserted her. A 
+weary sense of loneliness and forlornness came instead, and at last found 
+its safest expression in a good hearty fit of weeping. That washed off 
+some of the dust from her tired spirit. 
+
+When she raised her head again and looked out, the dawn was really coming 
+up in the sky. Things were changed. There was a sweeter breath in the 
+air; there was an indefinable stir of life in all nature. The grey soft 
+light was putting out the stars; the tops of the trees swayed gently in a 
+morning breeze; scents came fresher from flowers and fields; scents so 
+rarely spicy and fragrant as dwellers in towns never know them, as all 
+towns of men's building banish them. Birds were twittering, cocks were 
+crowing; and soon a stir of humanity began to make itself known in the 
+neighbourhood; a soft, vague stir and movement telling of the awaking to 
+life and business and a new day. Feet passed along the corridor within 
+doors, and doors opened and shut, voices sounded here and there, horses 
+neighed, dogs barked. Rotha sat still, looking, watching, listening, with 
+a growing spring of life and hope in herself answering to the movement 
+without her. And then the light broadened; dusky forms began to take 
+colour; the eastern sky grew bright, and the sun rose. 
+
+Now Rotha could see about her. She was in a well-built village. Well-to-
+do looking house tops appeared between the leafy heads of trees that were 
+much more than "well-to-do"; that were luxuriant, large, and old, and 
+rich in their growth and thriving. The road Rotha could not see from her 
+window; however, what she did see shewed that the place was built 
+according to the generous roomy fashion of New England villages; the 
+houses standing well apart, with gardens and trees around and between 
+them; and furthermore there was an inevitable character of respectability 
+and comfort apparent everywhere. Great round elm heads rose upon her 
+horizon; and the roof trees which they shadowed were evidently solid and 
+substantial. This town, to be sure, was not Rotha's place of abode; yet 
+she might fairly hope to find that, when she got to it, of the like 
+character. 
+
+She sat at the window almost moveless, until she was called to her early 
+breakfast. It was spread in a very large hall-like room, where small 
+tables stood in long rows, allowing people to take their meals in a sort 
+by themselves. Rotha placed herself at a distance from all the other 
+persons who were breakfasting there, and was comfortably alone. 
+
+She never forgot that meal in all her life. She wanted it; that was one 
+thing; she was faint and tired, with her night journey and her morning 
+watch. The place was brilliantly clean; the service rendered by neat 
+young women, who went back and forth to a room in the rear whence the 
+eatables were issued. And very excellent they were, albeit not in the 
+least reminding one of Delmonico's; if Delmonico had at that day existed 
+to let anybody remember him. No doubt, it might have been difficult to 
+guess where the coffee was grown; but it was well made and hot and served 
+with good milk and cream; and Rotha was exhausted and hungry. The coffee 
+was simply nectar. The corn bread was light and sweet and tender; the 
+baked potatoes were perfect; the butter was good, and the ham, and the 
+apple sauce, and the warm biscuit. There was a pleasant sensation of 
+independence and being alone, as Rotha sat at her little table in the not 
+very brightly lit room; and it seemed as if strength and courage came 
+back to her heart along with the refitting of her physical nature. She 
+was not in a hurry to finish her breakfast. The present moment was 
+pleasant, and afforded a kind of lull; after it must come action, and 
+action would plunge her into she could not tell what. The lull came to an 
+end only too soon. 
+
+"Do you know where Mrs. Busby's place is?" she inquired of the girl that 
+served her. 
+
+"Place? No, I don't. Is it in Tanfield?" 
+
+"It is near Tanfield." 
+
+"You are not going by the train, then?" 
+
+"No. I am going to this place. Can I get a carriage to take me there?" 
+
+"I'll ask Mr. Jackson." 
+
+Mr. Jackson came up accordingly, and Rotha repeated her question. He was 
+a big, fat, comfortable looking man. 
+
+"Busby?" he said with his hand on his chin--"I don't seem to recollect no 
+Busbys hereabouts. O, you mean the old Brett place?" 
+
+"Yes, I believe I do. Mrs. Busby owns it now." 
+
+"That's it. Mrs. Busby. She was the old gentleman's daughter. The family 
+aint lived here this long spell." 
+
+"But there is somebody there? somebody in charge?" 
+
+"Likely. Somebody to look arter things. You're a goin' there?" 
+
+"If I can get a carriage to take me." 
+
+"When'll you want it?" 
+
+"Now. At once." 
+
+"There aint no difficulty about that, I guess. Baggage?" 
+
+"One small trunk." 
+
+"All right I'll have the horse put to right away." 
+
+So a little before eight o'clock Rotha found herself in a buggy, with her 
+trunk behind her and a country boy beside her for a driver, on the way to 
+her aunt's place. 
+
+Eight o'clock of a May morning is a pleasant time, especially when May is 
+near June. All the world was fresh and green and dewy; the very spirit of 
+life in the air, and the very joy of life too, for a multitude of birds 
+were filling it with their gleeful melody. How they sang! and how utterly 
+perfumed was every breath that Rotha drew. She sniffed the air and tasted 
+it, and breathed in full long breaths of it, and could not get enough. 
+Breathing such air, one might put up with a good deal of disagreeableness 
+in other things. The country immediately around Tanfield she found was 
+flat; in the distance a chain of low hills shut in the horizon, blue and 
+fair in the morning light; but near at hand the ground was very level. 
+Fields of springing grain; meadows of lush pasture; orchards of apple 
+trees just out of flower; a farmhouse now and then, with its comfortable 
+barns and outhouses and cattle in the farmyard. Every here and there one 
+or two great American elms, lifting their great umbrella-like canopies 
+over a goodly extent of turf. Barns and houses, fences and gateways, all 
+in order; nothing tumble-down or neglected to be seen anywhere; an 
+universal look of thrift and business and comfort. The drive was 
+inexpressibly sweet to Rotha, with her Medwayville memories all stirred 
+and quickened, and the contrast of her later city life for so many years. 
+She half forgot what lay behind her and what might be before; and with 
+her healthy young spirit lived heartily in the present. The drive however 
+was not very long. 
+
+At the end of two miles the driver stopped and got down before a white 
+gate enclosed in thick shrubbery. Nothing was to be seen but the gate and 
+the green leafage of trees and shrubs on each side of it. The boy opened 
+the gate, led his horse in, shut the gate behind him, then jumped up to 
+his seat and drove on rapidly. The road curved in a semi-circle from that 
+gate to another at some distance further along the road; and midway, at 
+the point most distant from the road, stood a stately house. The approach 
+was bordered with beds of flowers and shrubbery; a thick hedge of trees 
+and shrubs ran along the fence that bordered the road and hid it from the 
+house, sheltering the house also from the view of passers-by; and tall 
+trees, some of them firs, increased the bowery and bosky effect. The 
+house was well shut in. And the flower borders were neglected, and the 
+road not trimmed; so that the impression was somewhat desolate. All 
+windows and blinds and doors moreover were close and fastened; the look 
+of life was entirely wanting. 
+
+"Is there anybody here?" said Rotha, a little faint at heart. 
+
+"I'll find out if there aint," said her boy companion, preparing to 
+spring out of the wagon. 
+
+"O give me the reins!" cried Rotha. "I'll hold them while you are gone." 
+
+"You can hold 'em if you like, but he won't do nothin'," returned Jehu. 
+And dashing round the corner of the house, he left Rotha to her 
+meditations. All was still, only the birds were full of songs and pouring 
+them out on all sides; from every tree and bush came a warble or a 
+twitter or a whistle of ecstasy. The gleeful tones half stole into 
+Rotha's heart; yet on the whole her spirit thermometer was sinking. The 
+place had the neglected air of a place where nobody lives, and that has 
+always a depressing effect. Her charioteer's absence was prolonged, too; 
+which of itself was not cheering. At last he came dashing round the 
+corner again. 
+
+"Guess it's all right," he said. "But you'll have to git down, fur's I 
+see; I can't git you no nearer, and she won't come to the front door. 
+They don't never open it, ye see. So they says." 
+
+Rotha descended, and bag in hand followed the boy, who piloted her round 
+the corner of the house and along a weedy walk overhung with lilacs and 
+syringas and overgrown rosebushes, until they were near another corner. 
+The house seemed to be square on the ground. 
+
+"There!" said he,--"you go jist roun' there, and you'll see the kitchen 
+door--leastways the shed; and so you'll git in. Mrs. Purcell is there." 
+
+"Who is Mrs. Purcell?" said Rotha stopping. 
+
+"I d'n' know; she's the woman what stops here; her and Joe Purcell. She's 
+Joe Purcell's wife. I'll git your trunk out, but you must send some un 
+roun' to fetch it, you see." 
+
+Rotha turned the second corner, while the boy went back; and a few steps 
+more brought her round to the back of the house, where there was a broad 
+space neatly paved with small cobble stones. An out-jutting portion of 
+the building faced her here, and a door in the sane. This must be the 
+"shed," though it had not really that character. Rotha went in. It seemed 
+to be a small outer kitchen. At the house side an open ladder of steps 
+led up to another door. Going up, Rotha came into the kitchen proper. A 
+fire was burning in the wide chimney, and an old-fashioned dresser 
+opposite held dishes and tins. Between dresser and fire stood a woman, 
+regarding Rotha as she came in with a consideration which was more 
+curious than gracious. Rotha on her part looked eagerly at her. She was a 
+tall woman, very well formed; not very neatly dressed, for her sleeves 
+were worn at the elbows, and a strip torn from her skirt and not torn 
+off, dangled on the floor. The dress was of some dark stuff, too old to 
+be of any particular colour. But what struck Rotha immediately was, that 
+the woman was not a white woman. Very light she was, undoubtedly, and of 
+a clear good colour, but she had not the fair tint of the white races. 
+Red shewed in her cheeks, through the pale olive of them; and her hair, 
+black and crinkly, was not crisp but long, and smoothly combed over her 
+temples. She was a very handsome woman; a fact which Rotha did not 
+perceive at first, owing to a dark scowl which drew her eyebrows 
+together, and under which her eyes looked forth fiery and ominous. They 
+fixed the new-comer with a steady stare of what seemed displeasure. 
+
+"Good morning!" said Rotha. "Are you Mrs. Purcell?" 
+
+"Who wants Mrs. Purcell?" was the gruff answer. 
+
+"I was told that Mrs. Purcell is the name of the person who lives here?" 
+
+"There's two folks lives here." 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha, "I understood so. You and your husband work for Mrs. 
+Busby, do you not?" 
+
+"No," said the woman decidedly. "Us don't work for nobody. Us works for 
+our ownselves;"--with an accent on the word "own." 
+
+"This is Mrs. Busby's house?" 
+
+"Yes, this is her house, I reckon." 
+
+"And she pays you for taking care of it." 
+
+"Who told you she does?" 
+
+"Nobody told me; but I supposed it, of course." 
+
+"She don't pay nothin'. Us pays her; that's how it is. Us pays her, for 
+all us has; the land and the house and all." 
+
+"I am Mrs. Busby's niece. Did she send you any word about me?" 
+
+"Sent Joseph word--" said the woman mutteringly. "He said as some one was 
+comin'. I suppose it's you. I mean, Mr. Purcell." 
+
+"Then you expected me. Did Mrs. Busby tell you what you were to do with 
+me?" 
+
+"I didn't read the letter," said the woman, turning now from her 
+examination of Rotha to take up her work, which had been washing up her 
+breakfast dishes. "Joseph didn't tell me nothin'."  
+
+"I suppose you know where to put me," said Rotha, getting a little out of 
+patience. "I shall want a room. Where is it to be?" 
+
+"_I_ don' know," said Mrs. Purcell, whose fingers were flying among her 
+pots and dishes in a way that shewed laziness was no part of her 
+character. "There aint no room but at the top o' the house. Joseph and me 
+has the only room that's down stairs. I s'pose you wouldn't like one o' 
+the parlours. The rest is all at the top." 
+
+"Can I go to the parlour in the mean time, till my room is ready?--if it 
+is not ready." 
+
+"It aint ready. I never heerd you was comin', till last night. How was I 
+to have the room ready? and I don' know which room it's to be." 
+
+"Then can I go to the parlour? where is it?" 
+
+"It's all the next floor. There's nothin' but parlours. You can go there 
+if you like; but they aint been opened in a year. I never was in 'em but 
+once or twice since I lived here." 
+
+Rotha was in despair. She set her bag on one chair and placed herself on 
+another, and waited. This was far worse even than her fears. O if she had 
+but a little money, to buy this woman's civility! perhaps it could be 
+bought. But she was thrown from one dependence to another; and now she 
+was come to depend on this common person. She did not know what more to 
+say; she could not do anything to propitiate her. She waited. 
+
+"Have you had any breakfast?" said Mrs. Purcell, after some ten minutes 
+had passed with no sound but that of her cups and plates taken up and set 
+down. This went on briskly; Mrs. Purcell seemed to be an energetic 
+worker. 
+
+"Yes, thank you. I took breakfast at the hotel in Tanfield." 
+
+"I didn't know but I had to cook breakfast all over again." 
+
+"I will not give you any more trouble than I can help--if you will only 
+give me a room by and by." 
+
+"There's nothin' fur I to _give_--you can pick and choose in the whole 
+house. Us has only these rooms down here; there's the whole big barn of a 
+house overhead. Folks meant it to be a grand house, I s'pose; it's big 
+enough; but I don't want no more of it than I can take care of." 
+
+"You can take care of my room, I suppose?" said Rotha. 
+
+The woman gave a kind of grunt, which was neither assent nor denial, but 
+rather expressed her estimation of the proposal. She went on silently and 
+rapidly with her kitchen work; putting up her dishes, brushing the floor, 
+making up the fire, putting on a pot or two. Rotha watched and waited in 
+silence also, trying to be patient. Finally Mrs. Purcell took down a key, 
+and addressing herself to Rotha, said, 
+
+"Now I'm ready. If you like to come, you can see what there is." 
+
+She unlocked a door and led the way up a low flight of steps. At the top 
+of them another door let them out upon a wide hall. The hall ran from one 
+side of the house to the other. With doors thrown open to let in the air 
+and light this might have been a very pleasant place; now however it was 
+dark and dank and chilly, with that dismal closeness and rawness of 
+atmosphere which is always found in a house long shut up. Doors on the 
+one hand and on the other hand opened into it, and at the end where the 
+two women had entered it, ran up a wide easy staircase. 
+
+"Will you go higher?" said Mrs. Purcell; "or will you have a room here?" 
+
+Rotha opened one of the doors. Light coming scantily in through chinks in 
+the shutters revealed dimly a very large, very lofty apartment, furnished 
+as a drawing-room. She opened another door; it gave a repetition of the 
+same thing, only the colour of the hangings and upholsteries seemed to be 
+different. A third, and a fourth; they were all alike; large, stately 
+rooms, fit to hold a great deal of company, or to accommodate an 
+exceedingly numerous family with sitting and dining and receiving rooms. 
+The four saloons took up the entire floor. 
+
+"There is no bedroom here," said Rotha. 
+
+"The folks that lived here didn't make no 'count o' sleepin', I guess. 
+They put all the house into their parlours. I suppose the days was longer 
+than the nights, when they was alive." 
+
+"But there must be bedrooms somewhere?" 
+
+"You can go up and see. _Us_ wouldn't sleep up there for nothin'. Us 
+could ha' took what we liked when us come; but I said to Mr. Purcell,--I 
+said,--I wasn't goin' to break my back runnin' up and down stairs; and if 
+he wanted to live up there, he had got to live without I. So us fixed up 
+a little room down near the kitchen. These rooms is awful hot in summer, 
+too. I can dry fruit in 'em as good as in an oven." 
+
+They had reached the top story of the house by this time, after climbing 
+a long flight of stairs. Here there were a greater number of rooms, and 
+indeed furnished as bedrooms; but they were low, and immediately under 
+the roof. The air was less dank than in the first story, but excessively 
+close. 
+
+"Is this all the choice I have?" Rotha asked. 
+
+"Unless us was to give you our room." 
+
+"But nobody else sleeps in all this part of the house!" 
+
+"No," said Mrs. Purcell, with an action that answered to a Frenchman's 
+shrug of the shoulders; "you can have 'em all, and sleep in 'em all, one 
+after the other, if you like. There's nobody to object." 
+
+"But suppose I wanted something in the night?" said Rotha, who did not in 
+the least relish this liberty. 
+
+"You'd have to holler pretty loud, if you wanted I to do anything for 
+you. I guess you'll have to learn to wait on yourself." 
+
+"O it isn't that," said Rotha; "I can wait on myself; but if I wanted--
+something I couldn't do for myself--if I was frightened--" 
+
+"What's to frighten you?" 
+
+"I do not know--" 
+
+"If you got frightened, all you'd have to do would be to take your little 
+feet in your hand and run down to we; that's all you could do." 
+
+Rotha looked somewhat dismayed. 
+
+"I could ha' told you, it wasn't a very pleasant place you was a comin' 
+to," Mrs. Purcell went on. "Sick o' your bargain, aint ye?" 
+
+"What bargain?" 
+
+"I don' know! Which o' these here rooms will you take? You've seen the 
+whole now." 
+
+Rotha was very unwilling to make choice at all up there. Yet a thought of 
+one of those great echoing drawing rooms was dismissed as soon as it 
+came. At last she fixed upon a room near the head of the stairs; a corner 
+room, with outlook in two directions; flung open the windows to let the 
+air and the light come, in; and locked up her bag in a closet. 
+
+"There aint nobody to meddle with your things," observed Mrs. Purcell, 
+noticing this action,--"without it's me; and I've got enough to do down 
+stairs. There's nothin' worse than rats in the house." 
+
+"Have you some sheets and towels for me?" said Rotha. "And can you give 
+me some water by and by?" 
+
+"I've got no sheets and towels but them as us uses," replied Mrs. 
+Purcell. "Mrs Busby haint said nothin' about no sheets and towels. Those 
+us has belongs to we. They aint like what rich folks has." 
+
+"I have brought none with me, of course. Mrs. Busby will pay you for the 
+use of them, I have no doubt." 
+
+"Mrs. Busby don't pay for nothin'," said the woman. 
+
+"Will you bring me some water?" 
+
+"I'll give you a pail, and you can fetch some for your own self. I can't 
+go up and down them stairs. It gives me a pain in my back. I'll let you 
+have some o' us's sheets, if you like." 
+
+"If you please," said Rotha. 
+
+"But I can't come up with 'em. I'd break in two if I went up and down 
+there a few times. I'll let you have 'em whenever you like to come after 
+'em." 
+
+And therewith Mrs. Purcell vanished, and her feet could be heard 
+descending the long stair. I think in all her life Rotha had never felt 
+much more desolate than she felt just then. She let herself drop on a 
+chair and buried her face in her hands. Things were worse, a hundred 
+fold, than ever she could have imagined them. She was of rather a nervous 
+temperament; and the idea of being lodged up there at the top of that 
+great, empty, echoing house, with nobody within call, and neither help 
+nor sympathy to be had if she wanted either, absolutely appalled her. 
+True, no danger was to be apprehended; not real danger; but that 
+consideration did not quiet fancy nor banish fear; and if fear possessed 
+her, what sort of consolation was it that there was no cause? The fear 
+was there, all the same; and Rotha thought of the yet distant shades of 
+night with absolute terror. After giving way to this feeling for a little 
+while, she began to fight against it. She raised her head from her hands, 
+and went and sat down by the open window. Soft, sweet, balmy air was 
+coming in gently, changing the inner condition of the room by degrees; 
+Rotha put her head half out, to get it unmixed. It was May, May in the 
+country; and the air was bringing May tokens with it, of unseen 
+sweetness. There were lilies of the valley blooming somewhere, and 
+daffodils; and there was the smell of box, and spice from the fir trees, 
+and fragrance from the young leaf of oaks and maples and birches and 
+beeches. There was a wild scent from not distant woods, given out from 
+mosses and wild flowers and turf, and the freshness of the upturned soil 
+from ploughed fields. It was May, and May whispering that June was near. 
+The whisper was so unspeakably sweet that it stole into Rotha's heart and 
+breathed upon its disturbance, almost breathing it away. For June means 
+life and love and happiness. 
+
+   "Everything is happy now; 
+   Everything is upward striving; 
+   'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true, 
+   As for grass to be green or skies to be blue; 
+   'Tis the natural way of living!" 
+
+
+June was coming, and May was here; more placid and more pensive, but 
+hardly less fair; that is, in her good moods; and Rotha insensibly grew 
+comforted. _This_ delight would remain, whatever she had or had not 
+within the house; there was all out of doors, and the Spring! and Rotha's 
+heart made a great bound to meet it. She could live out of doors a great 
+deal; and in the house--well, she would make the best of things. 
+
+She drew in her head to take a survey. Yes, it was a snug room enough, 
+once in nice order; and the first thing to do, she decided, was to put it 
+in nice order. She must do it herself. O for one of those calicos, lying 
+at present cut and basted in her trunk. She must make them up as fast as 
+possible. With the feeling of a good deal of business on hand, Rotha's 
+spirits rose. She went down to the kitchen again, and begged the loan of 
+a big apron. Mrs. Purcell silently gave it. Then Rotha desired brushes 
+and a broom and dusters, and soap and water and towels. One after another 
+Mrs. Purcell placed these articles, such as she had, at her disposal. 
+
+"My trunk is in the road by the front steps," she remarked. "Can you get 
+it taken up for me?" 
+
+"A trunk?" said Mrs. Purcell, knitting her brows again into the scowl 
+which had greeted Rotha at the first. A very black scowl the latter 
+thought it. 
+
+"Yes, my trunk. It's a little one. Not much for anybody to carry." 
+
+"Whatever did you want of a trunk?" 
+
+"Why, to hold my things," said Rotha quietly. 
+
+"Are you goin' to stay all summer?" 
+
+"I hope not; but I do not know how long. My aunt is going on a journey; I 
+must stay till she comes back." 
+
+"Why didn't she let you go along?" 
+
+"I suppose it was not convenient." 
+
+A grunt from Mrs. Purcell. "Rich folks only thinks what's convenient for 
+their own selves!" 
+
+"But she will pay you for your trouble." 
+
+"She'll pay Mr. Purcell, if she pays anybody. It don't come into _my_ 
+pocket, and the trouble don't go into his'n." 
+
+"I shall not be much trouble." 
+
+"Where is you goin' to eat? You won't want to eat along o' we?" 
+
+No, certainly, that was what Rotha did not want. She made no reply. 
+
+"Mis' Busby had ought to send folks to take care o' her company, when she 
+sends company. _I_ haint got no time. And us hasn't got no place. There's 
+no place but us's kitchen--will you like to eat here? I can't go and tote 
+things up to one o' them big parlours." 
+
+"Do the best you can for me," said Rotha. "I will try and be content." 
+And staying no further parley, which she felt just then unable to bear, 
+she gathered together her brushes and dusters and climbed up the long 
+stairs again. But it was sweet when she got to her room under the roof. 
+The May air had filled the room by this time; the May sunshine was 
+streaming in; the scents and sounds of the spring were all around; and 
+they brought with them inevitably a little bit of hope and cheer into 
+Rotha's heart. Without stopping to let herself think, she set about 
+putting the place in order; brushed and dusted everything; washed up the 
+furniture of the washstand; made up the bed, and hung towels on the rack. 
+Then she drew an old easy chair to a convenient place by one of the 
+windows; put a small table before it; got out and arranged in order her 
+writing materials, her Bible and Scripture Treasury; put her bonnet and 
+wrappings away in a closet; and at last sat down to consider the 
+situation. 
+
+She had got a corner of comfort up there, private to herself. The room 
+was large and bright; one window looked out into the top of a great tulip 
+tree, the other commanded a bit of meadow near the house, and through the 
+branches and over the summits of firs and larches near at hand and apple 
+trees further off, looked along a distant stretch of level country. No 
+extended view, and nothing remarkable; but sweet, peaceful nature, green 
+turf, and leafy tree growths; with the smell of fresh vegetation and the 
+spiciness of the resiny evergreens, and the delicious song and chipper 
+and warble of insects and birds. It all breathed a breath of content into 
+Rotha's heart. But then, she was up here alone at the top of the house; 
+there was all that wilderness of empty rooms between her and the rest of 
+the social world; and at the end of it, what? Mrs. Purcell and her 
+kitchen; and doubtless, Mr. Purcell. And what was Rotha to do, in the 
+midst of such surroundings? The girl grew almost desperate by the time 
+she had followed this train of thought a little way. It seemed to her 
+that her pleasant room was a prison and Mr. and Mrs. Purcell her jailers; 
+and her term of confinement one of unknown duration. If she had only a 
+little money, then she would not be so utterly helpless and dependent; 
+even money to buy Mrs. Purcell's civility and good-will; or if she had a 
+little more than that, she might get away. Without any money, she was 
+simply a prisoner, and at the mercy of her jailers. O what had become of 
+her friends! Where was Mr. Southwode, and how could he have forgotten 
+her? and how was it that Mrs. Mowbray had been taken from her just now, 
+just at this point when she was needed so dreadfully? Rotha could have 
+made all right with a few minutes' talk to Mrs. Mowbray; to write and 
+state her grievances, she justly felt, was a different thing, not so easy 
+nor so manifestly proper. She did not like to do what would be in effect 
+asking Mrs. Mowbray to send for her and keep her during her aunt's 
+absence. No, it was impossible to do that. Rotha could not Better bear 
+anything. But then,--here she was with no help! 
+
+It all ended in some bitter weeping. Rotha was too young yet not to find 
+tears a relief. She cried herself tired; and then found she was very much 
+in need of sleep. She gave herself up to it, and to forgetfulness. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. 
+
+
+THE PURCELLS. 
+
+
+Rotha's sleep had not lasted two hours when it was interrupted. There 
+came a pounding at her door. She jumped up and unlocked it. 
+
+"Joseph said, he guessed you'd want some dinner. I told him, I didn't 
+know as you'd care for the victuals us has; but it's ready, if you like 
+to come and try." 
+
+The extreme rudeness of the woman acted by way of a counter irritant on 
+Rotha, and gave her self-command and composure. She answered civilly; 
+waited to put her hair and dress in order, wisely resolving to lose no 
+means of influence and self-assertion that were within her reach; and 
+went down. 
+
+A small table was set in the kitchen, coarsely but neatly, as Rotha saw 
+at a glance. It was set for three; and the third at the table was the 
+hitherto unseen Mr. Purcell. He was a white man; not so good-looking as 
+his wife, but with a certain aspect of sense and shrewdness that was at 
+least not unkindly. He nodded, did not trouble himself to rise as Rotha 
+came in; indeed he was busily occupied in supplying himself with such 
+strength and refreshment as viands can give; and to judge by his manner 
+he needed a great deal of such strength and was in a hurry to get it. He 
+nodded, and indicated with a second nod the place at table which Rotha 
+was expected to take. 
+
+"It's an unexpected pleasure," he said. "Prissy and me doesn't often have 
+company. Hope you left Mis' Busby well?" 
+
+Rotha had an instant's hesitation, whether she should accept the place in 
+the household thus offered her, or claim a different one. It was an 
+instant only; her sense and her sense of self-respect equally counselled 
+her not to try for what she could not accomplish; and she quietly took 
+the indicated seat, and answered that Mrs. Busby was well. 
+
+"Now, what'll you eat?" Mr. Purcell went on. "We're plain folks--plainer 
+'n you're accustomed to, I guess; and we eat what we've got; sometimes 
+it's one thing and sometimes it's another. Prissy, she gen'lly fixes it 
+up somehow so's it'll do, for me, anyhow; but I don' know how it'll be 
+with you. Now to-day, you see, we've got pork and greens; it's sweet 
+pork, for I fed it myself and I know all about it; and the greens is 
+first-rate. I don' know what they be; Prissy picked 'em; but now, will 
+you try 'em? If you're hungry, they'll go pretty good."
+
+"They's dandelions--" said Mrs. Purcell. 
+
+Pork and dandelions! Rotha was at first dumb with a sort of perplexed 
+dismay; then she reflected, that to carry out her propitiating policy it 
+would be best not to shew either scorn or disgust. She accepted some of 
+the greens and the pork; found the potatoes good, and the bread of 
+capital quality, and the butter sweet; and next made the discovery that 
+Mr. Purcell had not overrated his wife's abilities in the cooking line; 
+the dinner was really, of its kind, excellent. She eat bread and butter, 
+then conscious that two pair of eyes were covertly watching her, nibbled 
+at her greens and pork; found them very passable, and ended by making a 
+good meal. 
+
+"You was never in these parts before?" Mr. Purcell asked meanwhile. 
+
+"No," said Rotha. "Never." 
+
+"Mis' Busby comin' along, some o' these days?" 
+
+"No, I think not. I have not heard anything about her coming here." 
+
+"'Spect she likes grand doings. Does she live very fine, down to New 
+York?" 
+
+"How do you mean?" 
+
+"All the folks does, in the City o' Pride," remarked Mrs. Purcell. 
+
+"Do Mis' Busby?" persisted her husband. "Be they all highflyers, to her 
+house?" 
+
+"I do not know what you mean by 'highflyers.'" 
+
+"Folks that wears heels to their shoes," put in Mrs. Purcell. "They can't 
+set foot to the ground, like common folks. And they puts their hair up in 
+a bunch on the top." 
+
+"Anybody can do that," said Mr. Purcell, sticking his knife in the butter 
+to detach a portion of it. 
+
+"Anybody can't, Joe! that's where you're out. It takes one o' them 
+highflyers. And then they thinks, when their heels and their heads is all 
+right, they've got up above the rest of we." 
+
+"You can put your hair any way you've a mind to," returned her husband. 
+"There can't none of  'em get ahead o' you there." 
+
+Both parties glanced at Rotha. Her long hair was twisted up in a loose 
+knot on the top of her head; very becoming and very graceful; for without 
+being in the least disorderly it was careless, and without being in the 
+least complicated or artificial it was inimitable, by one not initiated. 
+Husband and wife looked at her, looked at each other, and laughed. 
+
+"Mis' Busby writ me about you," said Joe, slightly changing the subject. 
+"She said, you was one o' her family." 
+
+"She is my aunt." 
+
+"She is! I didn't know Mis' Busby never had no brother, nor sister', nor 
+nothin'." 
+
+"She had a sister once." 
+
+"She aint livin' then. And you live with Mis' Busby?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Well, 'taint none o' my business, but Mis' Busby didn't say, and I 
+didn't know what to think. She said you was comin', but she didn't say 
+how long you was goin' to stay; and we'd like to know that, Prissy and 
+me; 'cause o' course it makes a difference." 
+
+"In what?" said Rotha, growing desperate. 
+
+"Well, in our feelin's," said Mr. Purcell, inclining his head in a suave 
+manner, indicating his good disposition. "You see, we don' know how to 
+take care of you, 'thout we knowed if it was to be for a week, or a 
+month, or that. Mis' Busby only said you was comin'; and she didn't say 
+why nor whether." 
+
+"I do not know," said Rotha. "You must manage as well as you can without 
+knowing; for I cannot tell you." 
+
+"Very good!" said Mr. Purcell, inclining his head blandly again; "then 
+that's one point. You don' know yourself." 
+
+"No." 
+
+"That means she aint a goin' in a hurry," said Mrs. Purcell. "There's her 
+trunk, Joe, that you've got to tote up stairs." 
+
+"I'll do that," said Joe rising; "if it aint bigger 'n I be. Where is it 
+at?" 
+
+"Settin' out in the road." 
+
+"And where's it goin'?" 
+
+"Up to her room. She'll shew you." 
+
+Rotha mounted the stairs again, preceding Joe and her trunk, and feeling 
+more utterly desolate than it is easy to describe. Shut up here, at the 
+top of this great empty house, and with these associates! Her heart 
+almost failed her. 
+
+"Well, you've got it slicked up here, nice!" was Mr. Purcell's 
+declaration when he had come in and deposited the little trunk on the 
+floor, and could look around him. "You find it pretty comfortable up 
+here, don't you." 
+
+"It's very far from the kitchen--" said Rotha with an inward shudder. 
+
+"Well--'tis; but I don' know as that's any objection. Young feet don't 
+mind runnin' up and down; and when you are here, you've got it to 
+yourself. Well, you can take care o' yourself up here; and down stairs 
+Prissy will see that you don't starve. I expect that's how it'll be." And 
+with again an affable nod of his capable head, Mr. Purcell departed. 
+Rotha locked the door, and went to her window; nature being the only 
+quarter from which she could hope for a look or a tone of sympathy. The 
+day was well on its way now, and the May sun shining warm and bringing 
+out the spicy odours of the larches and firs. A little stir of the soft 
+air lightly moved the small branches and twigs and caressed Rotha's 
+cheek. A sudden impulse seized her, to rush out and get rid of the house 
+and its inmates for a while, and be alone with the loveliness of the 
+outer world. She threw a shawl round her, put on her straw bonnet, locked 
+her door, and ran down. 
+
+The front door of the main hall was fast, and no key in the lock; Rotha 
+must go out as she had come in, through the kitchen. Mrs. Purcell was 
+there, but made no remark, and Rotha went out and made her way first of 
+all round to the front of the house. There she sat down upon the steps 
+and looked about her. 
+
+An unkept gravel road swept round from the gate by which she had entered, 
+up to her feet, and following a similar curve on the other side swept 
+round to another gate, opening on the same high-road. The whole sweep 
+took in a semicircle of ground, which lay in grass, planted with a few 
+trees. To explore this gravel sweep was the first obvious move. So Rotha 
+walked down to the gate by which she had come in that morning, and then 
+back and down to the corresponding gate on the other side. All along the 
+way from gate to gate, there ran wide flower beds on both sides; the back 
+of the flower beds being planted thick with trees and shrubbery. Old 
+fashioned flowering shrubs stood in close and wildering confusion. Lilac 
+bushes held forth brown bunches where the flowers had been. Syringas 
+pushed sweet white blossoms between the branches of other shrubs that 
+crowded them in. May roses were there, with their bright little red 
+faces, modest but sweet; and Scotch roses, aromatic and wild-looking. 
+There was a profusion of honeysuckle, getting ready to bloom; and 
+laburnums hung out tresses of what would be soon "dropping gold." And 
+Rotha stood still once before the snowy balls of a Guelder rose, so white 
+and fresh and fair that they dazzled her. She went on, down to the gate 
+furthest from Tanfield, and spent a little while there, looking up and 
+down the road. A straight, well-kept country road it was, straight and 
+empty. Not a house was in sight, and only farm fields on the other side 
+of the bordering fences. Rotha would have gone out, and walked at least a 
+rod or two, but that gate was locked. There was no traffic or intercourse 
+in any direction but with Tanfield. The empty highway seemed very lonely 
+and desolate to the gazer at the gate. How shut off from the world she 
+was! shut off in one little corner where nobody would ever look for her. 
+If Rotha had put any faith in her aunt's promises, of course she would 
+not have minded a month's abode in this place; but she put no faith in 
+her aunt, and had a sort of instinct that she had been sent here for no 
+good reason, and would be allowed, or forced, to remain here for an 
+indeterminate and possibly quite protracted length of time. The mere 
+feeling of being imprisoned makes one long to break bounds; and so Rotha 
+longed, impatiently, passionately; but she saw no way. A little money 
+would enable her to do it. Alas, she had no money. Her aunt had taken 
+care of that. After paying for her breakfast and drive, she had only a 
+very few shillings left; not even enough to make any impression upon the 
+good will of her guardians, or jailers. Somehow they seemed a good deal 
+more like that than like servants. 
+
+Rotha turned despairingly away from the gate and retraced her steps, 
+examining the old flower beds more minutely. They were terribly 
+neglected; choked with weeds, encroached upon by the bordering box, the 
+soil hard and unstirred for many a day. Yet there were tokens of better 
+times. Here there was a nest of lilies of the valley; there a mat of moss 
+pink, so bright and fresh that Rotha again stood still to admire. 
+Daffodils peeped out their yellow faces from tufts of encumbering weeds; 
+and stooping down, Rotha found an abundance of polyanthus scattered about 
+among the other things, and periwinkle running wild. Nothing was seen to 
+advantage, but a great deal was there. If I stay here, thought Rotha, I 
+will get hold of a hoe and rake, and put things to rights. The flowers 
+would be good friends, any way. 
+
+Coming up towards the house again, Rotha saw a road which branched off at 
+right angles from the sweep and went straight on, parallel to the side of 
+the house but at a good distance from it. She turned into this road. 
+Between it and the house was one mass of thick shrubbery, thick enough 
+and high enough to hide each from the other. Following 011, Rotha 
+presently saw at a little distance on her right hand, the house being to 
+the left, a black board fence with a little gate in it. The garden 
+perhaps, she thought; but for the present she passed it. Further along, 
+the shrubbery ceased; a few large trees giving pleasant shade and variety 
+to the ground about the barns, which stood here in numbers. Stables, 
+carriage house, barn, granary; there was a little settlement of 
+outhouses. Rotha had a liking for this neighbourhood, dating from old 
+Medwayville associations; her feet lingered; her eyes were gladly alive 
+to notice every detail; her ears heard willingly even a distant grunting 
+which told of the presence of the least amiable of farm-yard inhabitants, 
+somewhere. Rotha opened a door here and there, but saw neither man nor 
+beast. Wandering about, she found her way finally to a huge farmyard back 
+of the barn. It was tramped with the feet of cattle, so cattle must be 
+there at times. On one side of the farmyard she found the pig pen. It was 
+so long since she had seen such a sight, that she stood still to watch 
+the pigs; and while she stood there a voice almost at her elbow made her 
+start. 
+
+"Them pigs is 'most good enough to belong to Mis' Busby, aint they?" 
+
+Mr. Purcell was coming at long strides over the barnyard, which Rotha had 
+not ventured to cross; she had picked her way carefully along a very 
+narrow strip of somewhat firm ground by the side of the fence. The man 
+seemed disposed to be at least not unkindly, and Rotha could not afford 
+to do without any of the little civility within her reach. So she 
+answered rather according to her policy than her feeling, which latter 
+would have bade her leave the spot immediately. 
+
+"I am no judge." 
+
+"Never see a litter o' piggies afore?" 
+
+"I suppose I have, sometime." 
+
+"Them's first-rate. Like to eat 'em?" 
+
+"Eat them!" cried Rotha. "Such young pigs?" 
+
+"Just prime now," said the man, looking at them lovingly over the fence, 
+while grunting noses sniffing in his direction testified that the inmates 
+of the pen knew him as well as he knew them. "Just prime; they's four, 
+goin' on five, weeks old. Prissy's at me to give her one on 'em; and 
+maybe I will, now you've come. I telled her it was expensive, to eat up a 
+half a winter's stock for one dinner. I aint as extravagant as Prissy." 
+
+"How 'half a winter's stock'?" said Rotha, by way of saying something. 
+
+"Bless you, don't you see? Every one o' them fellers'd weigh two hundred 
+by next Christmas; and that'd keep Prissy and me more'n half the winter. 
+I s'pose you won't be here to help us eat it then?" 
+
+"Next Christmas! No," said Rotha. "I shall not be here so long as that." 
+
+"Summer's got to come first, hain't it? Well, you might be in a wuss 
+place." 
+
+Slowly Mr. Purcell and Rotha left the pig pen and the barnyard and came 
+out into the space between the various farm buildings. 
+
+"Where does that road lead to?" Rotha asked, pointing to one which ran on 
+from the barns with a seemingly straight track between fields. 
+
+"That? that don't lead no wheres." 
+
+"Where should I find myself, if I followed it out to the end?" 
+
+"You'd find yourself jammed up agin the hill. Don't you see them trees? 
+that's a hill runnin' along there." 
+
+"Running right and left? It is not high. Just a hilly ridge. What is on 
+it?" 
+
+"Nothin's on it, but a mean little pack o' savins Aint good for nothin'; 
+not even worth cuttin' for firewood. What ever do you s'pose hills was 
+made for? I mean, sich hills; that haint got nothin' onto 'em but rocks. 
+What's the use of 'em?" 
+
+"If it wasn't for hills, Mr. Purcell, your low lands would have no water; 
+or only in a pond or a ditch here and there." 
+
+"What's the reason they wouldn't? There aint no water on the hills now." 
+
+"Springs?" 
+
+"There's springs every place. I could count you a half a dozen in less'n 
+half a mile." 
+
+"Ay, but the springs come from the hills; and if it were not for the 
+hills they would not be anywhere." 
+
+"O' course it's so, since you say it," said Mr. Purcell, scratching his 
+head with a comic expression of eye;--"but I never see the world when 
+there warn't no hills on it; and I reckon you didn't." 
+
+Rotha let the question drop. 
+
+"I s'pose you'd say, accordin' to that, the rocks made the soft soil?" 
+
+"They have made a good deal of it," said Rotha smiling. 
+
+"Whose hammer broke 'em up?" 
+
+"No hammer. But water, and weather; frost and wet and sunshine." 
+
+"Sunshine!" cried Mr. Purcell.
+
+"They are always wearing away the rocks. They do it slowly, and yet 
+faster than you think." 
+
+"But I'll tell you. You forget. The soil aint up there--it's down here." 
+
+"Yes, I know. I do not forget. Water brought it down." 
+
+Here Mr. Purcell went off into an enormous guffaw of laughter, amused to 
+the last degree, and probably in doubt whether to think of his informant 
+as befooled or befooling. He went off laughing; and Rotha returned slowly 
+homeward. Half way towards the drive, she struck a walk which led 
+obliquely through the tangled shrubbery to the kitchen door. 
+
+Her room, when she reached it, looked cheerful and pleasant enough. The 
+open windows let in the air and the sunshine, and the top of the tulip 
+tree was glittering in the warm light. At the same time the slantness of 
+the rays shewed that the afternoon was on its way. Night was coming. And 
+a spasm of dread seized Rotha at the thought of being up there, quite 
+alone, away from anybody, and without guardianship or help in any 
+occasion of need or alarm. Rotha was of a nervous and excitable 
+temperament, a coward physically, unaccustomed to being alone or to 
+taking care of herself. She looked forward now to the darkness with 
+positive dread and dismay. O for her little corner room at Mrs. 
+Mowbray's, where she was secure, and in the midst of friends! O for even 
+her cheerless little room at her aunt's, where at least there were people 
+below her to guard the house! Here, quite alone through the long, still 
+nights, and nobody within even calling distance, how should she ever 
+stand it! For a little while Rotha's wits were half paralyzed with 
+terror. Reason then began slowly to assert herself, and the girl's 
+natural force of character arose to struggle with the incubus of fear. 
+She reminded herself that nothing was more unlikely than a night alarm; 
+that the house was known to be empty of all that might tempt thieves, and 
+that furthermore also it was in the highest degree unlikely that the 
+neighbourhood of Tanfield harboured such characters. Probably she was 
+safer from disturbance up here, than either at Mrs. Mowbray's or at Mrs. 
+Busby's. But of what use was the absence of disturbance, when there was 
+the presence of fear? Rotha reasoned in vain. She had a lively 
+imagination; and this excellent property now played her some of the arch 
+tricks of which it is capable. Possible disturbances occurred to her; 
+scenes of distress arose upon her vision, so sharp and clear that she 
+shrank from them. Probable? No, they were not; but who should say they 
+were not possible? Had not everything improbable happened in this world, 
+as well as the things which were reasonably to be expected? And if only 
+possible, if they were possible, where were comfort and security to be 
+found? Without some degree of  both, Rotha felt as if she must quit the 
+place, set out and walk to the hotel at Tanfield; only she had no 
+money to pay her charges with if she were there. 
+
+Distress, and be it that it was unreasonable, it was very real distress, 
+drove her at last to the refuge we all are ready to seek when we can get 
+no other. She took her Bible and sat down with it, to try to find 
+something that would quiet her there. Opening it aimlessly at first; then 
+with a recollection of certain words in it, she turned to the third 
+psalm. 
+
+"I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy 
+hill. Selah. I laid me down and slept; I awaked, for the Lord sustained 
+me. I will not be afraid of thousands of people, that have set themselves 
+against me round about." 
+
+David had more than fancied enemies to fear; he was stating an actual, 
+not a problematical case; and yet he could say "_I will not be afraid"!_ 
+How was that ever possible? David was one of the Lord's people; true; but 
+do not the Lord's people have disagreeable things happen to them? How can 
+they, or how should they, "not be afraid"? Just to reach that blessed 
+condition of fearlessness was Rotha's desire; the way she saw not. There 
+was a certain comfort in the fact that other people had seen it and found 
+it; but how should she? Rotha had none to ask beside her Bible, so she 
+went to that Query, do the books and helps which keep us from applying to 
+the Bible, act as benefits or hindrances? 
+
+Rotha would have been greatly at a loss, however, about carrying on her 
+inquiry, if it had not been for her "Treasury of Scripture Knowledge." 
+
+Turning to it now as to a most precious friend, she took the words in the 
+psalm she had been reading for her starting place. And the very first 
+next words she was directed to were these:--
+
+"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest 
+me to dwell in safety." Ps. iv. 8. 
+
+Rotha stopped and laid down her face in her hands. O if she could quietly 
+say that! O what a life must it be, when any one can simply and 
+constantly say that! "Lay me down and sleep"; give up the care of myself; 
+feel secure. But in the midst of danger, how can one? Rotha thought she 
+must be a poor, miserable fraction of a Christian, to be so far from the 
+feeling of the psalm; and probably she was right. "If ye had faith as _a 
+grain of mustard seed_," the Lord used to say to his disciples; so 
+apparently in his view they had scarce any faith at all. And who of us is 
+better? How many of us can remove mountains? Yet faith as big as a grain 
+of mustard seed can do that. What must our faith be? Not quite a 
+miserable sham, but a miserable fraction. Rotha felt self-reproved, 
+convicted, longing; however she did not see how she was at once to become 
+better. She lifted her eyes, wet with sorrowful drops, and went on. If 
+there were help, the Bible must shew it. Her next passage was the 
+following:-- 
+
+"It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of 
+sorrows; for so he giveth his beloved sleep."--Ps. cxxvii. 2. 
+
+Studying this a good while, in the light of her fears and wants, Rotha 
+came to a sense of the exquisite beauty of it; which wiser heads than 
+hers, looking at the words merely in cool speculation, do fail to find. 
+She saw that the toiling and moiling of men passes away from the Lord's 
+beloved; that what those try for with so much pains and worry, these have 
+without either; and in the absolute rest of faith can sleep while the 
+Lord takes care. His people are quiet, while the world wear themselves 
+out with anxiety and endeavour. 
+
+"His beloved."--I cannot have got to that, thought Rotha. I am not one of 
+them. But I must be. That is what I want to be. 
+
+The next thing was a promise to the Israelites, as far back as Moses' 
+time; that if they kept the ways of the Lord, among other blessings of 
+peace should be this: that they should lie down and none should make them 
+afraid; but Rotha thought that hardly applied, and went further. Then she 
+came to the word in the third of Proverbs, also spoken to the man who 
+should "keep wisdom":--
+
+"When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid; yea, thou shalt lie 
+down, and thy sleep shall be sweet."--Prov. iii. 24. 
+
+It set Rotha pondering, this and the former passage. Is it because I am 
+so far from God, then? because I follow and obey him so imperfectly? that 
+I am so troubled with fear. Quite reasonable, if it is so. Naturally, the 
+sheep that are nearest the shepherd, feel most of his care. What next? It 
+gave her a stir, what came next: It was in the time of the early church; 
+James, the first martyr among the apostles, had been beheaded by Herod's 
+order; and seeing that this was agreeable to the fanatical Jews, he had 
+apprehended Peter also and put him in ward; waiting only till the feast 
+of the Passover should be out of the way, before he brought him forth to 
+execution. And it was the night preceding the day which should be the day 
+of execution; "and the same night Peter was sleeping between two 
+soldiers, bound with two chains." Chained to a Roman soldier on one side 
+of him, and to another on the other side of him, on no soft bed, and 
+expecting a speedy summons to death, _Peter was sleeping_. All sorts of 
+characters do sleep, it is said, the night before the day when they know 
+they are to be put to death; in weariness, in despair, in stolid 
+indifference, in stoical calmness, in proud defiance. But Rotha knew it 
+was upon no such slumbers that the "light shined in the prison," and to 
+no such sleeper that the angel of the Lord came, or ever does come. That 
+was the sleep of meekness and trust. 
+
+The list of passages given by the "Treasury" on that clause of the third 
+psalm here came to an end. Rotha had not enough, however; she took up the 
+words in the 6th verse--"I will not be afraid," etc. And then she came to 
+the burst of confident triumph in the 27th psalm. And then, 
+
+"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 
+Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the 
+mountains be carried into the midst of the sea."--Ps. xlvi. 1, 2. 
+
+Here was a new feature. Trouble might come, yea, disaster; and yet the 
+children of God would not fear. How that? Such absolute love, such 
+perfect trust, such utter devotion to the pleasure of their Father, that 
+what was his will became their will, and they knew no evil could really 
+touch them? It must be so. O but this is a step further in the divine 
+life. Or does this devotion lie also at the bottom of all those 
+declarations of content and peace she had been reading? Rotha believed it 
+must, after she had studied the question a little. O but what union with 
+God is here; what nearness to him; what consequent lofty and sweet 
+elevation beyond the reach of earthly trouble. Rotha got no further. She 
+saw, in part at least, what she wanted; and falling on her knees there by 
+the open window, she prayed that the peace and the life and the sweetness 
+of the May might come into her heart, by the perfecting of love and faith 
+and obedience there. She prayed for protection in her loneliness, and for 
+the trust which saves from fear of evil. A great asking! but great need 
+makes bold. She prayed, until it seemed as if she could pray no longer; 
+and then she went back to her Bible again. But gradually there began to 
+grow up a feeling in Rotha, that round the walls of her room there was an 
+invisible rampart of defence which nothing evil could pass. And when one 
+of her Bible references took her to the story of Elisha, shut up in a 
+city enclosed by an army of enemies, but whose servant's eyes in answer 
+to his prayer were opened to see "the mountain full of horses and 
+chariots of fire round about Elisha"--her faith made a sort of spring. 
+She too seemed to have a sight of the invisible forces, mostly undreamed 
+of because unseen, which keep guard around the Lord's people; and she 
+bowed her head in a sort of exulting gladness. Why this was even better 
+than to need no defence, to know that such defence was at hand. Without 
+danger there could be no need of guard; and is not such unseen ministry a 
+glorious companionship? and is it not sweeter to know oneself safe in the 
+Lord's hand, than to be safe, if that could be, anywhere else? 
+
+I have learned one thing, said Rotha to herself, as she rose to make some 
+final arrangements for the evening. I wonder if I came here partly to 
+learn this? But what can I have been brought here for, indeed? There is 
+some reason. There is the promise that everything shall work for good to 
+them that love God; so according to that, my coming here must work good 
+for me. But how possibly? What am I to do, or to learn, here? It must be 
+one thing or the other. My learning in general seems to be stopped, 
+except Bible learning. Well, I will carry that on. I shall have time 
+enough. What else in all the world can I do? 
+
+Her unfinished calico dresses occurred to her. There was work for some 
+days at least. Perhaps by that time she would know more. For the present, 
+with a glad step and a lightened heart she went about her room, arranging 
+certain things in what she thought the prettiest and most convenient way; 
+got out some clothes, and even work; and then wished she had a book. 
+Where was she to get books to read? and how could she live without them? 
+This question was immediately so urgent that she could not wait to have 
+it settled; she must go down without delay to Mrs. Purcell, and see if 
+any information respecting it was to be had in that quarter. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV. 
+
+
+ROTHA'S REFUGE. 
+
+
+The kitchen was all "redd up," as neat as wax; everything in its place; 
+and at the table stood Mrs. Purcell with her sleeves rolled up to her 
+elbows and her arms in a great pan, hard at work kneading bread. She 
+looked clean too, although her dress was certainly dilapidated; perhaps 
+that was economy, though a better economy would have mended it. So Rotha 
+thought. She did not at once start the business she had come upon; she 
+stood by the table watching the bread-making operation. Mrs. Purcell eyed 
+her askance. This woman had most remarkable eyes. Black they were, as 
+sloes, and almond shaped; and they could look darker than black, and 
+fiery at the same time; and they could look keen and sly and shrewd, and 
+that is the way they looked out of their corners at Rotha now, with an 
+element of suspicion. A little while without speech. She was kneading her 
+dough vigorously; the large smooth mass rolling and turning under her 
+strong wrists and fingers with quick and thorough handling. 
+
+"Isn't that rather hard work?" Rotha said. 
+
+"I think all work's hard," was the morose-sounding answer. 
+
+"Do you? But it would be harder not to do any." 
+
+"That's how folks looks at it. I'd rather eat bread than make it. There 
+aint no fun in work. I'd like to sit down and have somebody work for me. 
+That's what you've been doin' all your life, aint it?" 
+
+"Not quite," said Rotha gravely. 
+
+"Can you make bread?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then I s'pose you think I'll make your bread for you while you are 
+here?" 
+
+"I do not think about it," said Rotha with spirit. "I have nothing to do 
+with it. My aunt sent me here. If you cannot keep me, or do not wish to 
+keep me, that is your affair. I will go back again." 
+
+"What did you come for?" 
+
+"I told you; my aunt was leaving home." 
+
+"Joe says, there's fish in the brook that'll jump at a fly made o' 
+muslin--but I aint that sort o' fish. I didn't engage to make no bread 
+for Mis' Busby when I come here." 
+
+"Shall I write to my aunt, then, that it is not convenient for me to stay 
+here." 
+
+"You can if you like, for it _aint_ convenient; but it's no use; for Mr. 
+Purcell don't care, and Mis' Busby don't care. I'll make all the bread 
+you'll eat; I guess." 
+
+"What do Mrs. Busby and Mr. Purcell not care about?" 
+
+"They don't care whether I make bread all day, or not." 
+
+"I hope it will not be for long," said Rotha, "that I shall give you this 
+trouble." 
+
+"I don't know how long it will be," said Mrs. Purcell, making out her 
+loaves with quick dexterity and putting them in the pans which stood 
+ready; "but I aint a fool. I can tell you one thing. Mis' Busby aint a 
+fool neither; and when she pays anybody to go from New York here in the 
+cars, it aint to pick her a bunch o' flowers and go back again." 
+
+Rotha was not a fool either, and was of the same opinion. This brought 
+her back to her business. 
+
+"If I stay a while, I shall want to get at some books to read," she said. 
+"Are there any in the house?" 
+
+"Books?" said Mrs. Purcell. "I've never seen no books since I've been 
+here." 
+
+"Where can I get some, then? Where are there any?" 
+
+"I don't know nothin' about books. I don't have no use for no books, my 
+own self. I don't read none--'cept my 'little blue John.'" 
+
+"Your 'little blue John'? What is that?" 
+
+"I s'pose you have a big one." 
+
+"I do not know what you mean." 
+
+"I don't mean nothin'," said the woman impatiently. "There's my 'little 
+blue John'--up on the mantel shelf; you can look at it if you want to." 
+
+Looking to the high shelf above the kitchen fireplace, Rotha saw a little 
+book lying there. Taking it down, she was greatly astonished to find it a 
+copy of the gospel of John, a little square copy, in limp covers, very 
+much read. More surprised Rotha could hardly have been. 
+
+"Why, do you like this?" she involuntarily exclaimed. 
+
+"Sometimes I think I do,"--was Mrs. Purcell's ambiguous, or ironical, 
+answer; as she carefully spread neat cloths over her pans of bread. Rotha 
+wondered at the woman. She was handsome, she had a good figure and 
+presence; but there was a curious mixture of defiance and recklessness in 
+her expression and manner. 
+
+"I see you have read it a good deal." 
+
+"It's easy readin',"--was the short answer. 
+
+"Do you like the gospel of John so much better than all the rest of the 
+Bible?" 
+
+"I don' know. The rest has too many words I can't make out." 
+
+"Well, I am very fond of the gospel of John too," said Rotha. "I think 
+everybody is,--that loves Christ." 
+
+"Do you love him?" Mrs. Purcell asked quickly and with a keen look. 
+
+"Yes, indeed. Do you?" 
+
+Mrs. Purcell laughed a little laugh, which Rotha could not understand. "I 
+aint one o' the good folks"--she said. 
+
+"But you might love him, still," said Rotha, drawn on to continue the 
+conversation, she hardly knew why, for she certainly believed the woman's 
+last assertion. 
+
+"The folks that love him are good folks, aint they?" 
+
+"They ought to be," said Rotha slowly. 
+
+"Well, that's what I think. There's folks that _say_ they love him, and I 
+can't see as they're no better for it. _I_ can't." 
+
+"Perhaps they are trying to be better." 
+
+"Do you think Mis' Busby is?" 
+
+The question came with such sharp quickness that Rotha was at a loss how 
+to answer. 
+
+"She says she do. I aint one o' the good folks; and sometimes I tells Joe 
+I'm glad I aint." 
+
+"But Mrs. Purcell, that is not the way to look at it. I have seen other 
+people that said they loved Christ, and they lived as if they did. They 
+were beautiful people!" 
+
+Rotha spoke with emphasis, and Mrs. Purcell gave her one of her sideway 
+glances. "I never see no such folks," she returned cynically. 
+
+"I am very glad I have," said Rotha; "and I know religion is a blessed, 
+beautiful truth. I have seen people that loved Jesus, and were a little 
+bit like him in loving other people; they did not live for themselves; 
+they were always taking care of somebody, or teaching or helping 
+somebody; making people happy that had been miserable; and giving, 
+everywhere they could, pleasure and comfort and goodness. I have seen 
+such people." 
+
+"Where did they live?" 
+
+"In New York." 
+
+"Was they in Mis' Busby's house?" 
+
+"Not those I was speaking of." 
+
+"When I see folks like that, I'll be good too," was Mrs. Purcell's 
+conclusion. 
+
+"But you love this little book?" said Rotha, recurring to the thumb-worn 
+little volume in her hand. 
+
+"I didn't tell you I did." 
+
+"No, but I see you do. I should think, anybody that liked the gospel of 
+John, would want to be like what it says." 
+
+"I didn't tell you I didn't." 
+
+"No," said Rotha, half laughing. "I am only guessing, and wishing, you 
+see. Mrs. Purcell, will you take some water up to my room?" 
+
+The woman's brows darkened. "What for?" she asked. 
+
+"To wash with. The water I took up this afternoon was for putting my room 
+in order,--basin and pitcher and washstand, and wiping off dust. I want 
+water, you know, every day for myself." 
+
+"The water's down here--just out o' that door." 
+
+"But I cannot wash down here." 
+
+"I don't know nothin' about that, whether you can or whether you can't. 
+That's where us washes. If you want to do it up stairs, there's nothin' 
+to hinder you." 
+
+"Except that somebody must carry up the water." 
+
+"That's not _my_ business," said the woman. "You can take that pail if  
+you want to; but you must bring it down again. That's my pail for goin'  
+to the pump." 
+
+Rotha hesitated. Must she come to this? And to doing _everything_ for 
+herself and for her own room? For if carrying up the water, then surely 
+all other services beside. Providing water was one of the least. Was it 
+come to this? She must know. 
+
+"Then you will not take care of my room for me, Mrs. Purcell?" she asked 
+quietly. 
+
+"Mis' Busby didn't write nothin' about my takin' care o' rooms," said 
+Mrs. Purcell; "without they was empty ones. I've got you to take care of; 
+I can't take o' your room too. You're strong and well, aint you, like 
+other folks?" 
+
+Rotha made no reply. She stood still, silent and indignant, both at the 
+impertinence of the woman's speech and at the hardness of her aunt's 
+unkindness. The shadow of the prospect before her fell upon her very 
+gloomily and chill. Mrs. Purcell it was safest not to answer. Rotha 
+turned, took up the pail and went to the pump. 
+
+And there she stood still She set down her pail, but instead of pumping 
+the water, she laid hold of the pump handle and leaned upon it What ever 
+was to become of her? Must she be degraded not only to menial 
+companionship but to manual labour also? Once no doubt Rotha had been 
+familiar with such service; but that was when she was a child; and the 
+years that had passed since then and the atmosphere of Mrs. Mowbray's 
+house had ripened in her a love of refinement that was almost fastidious. 
+Not only of innate refinement, which she knew would not be affected, but 
+of refinement in all outward things; her hands, her carriage, her walk, 
+her dress. Must she live now to do things which would harden her hands, 
+soil her dress, bend her straight figure, and make her light step heavy? 
+For how long? If she had known it would be only for a month, Rotha would 
+have laughed at it, and played with it; instead of any such comforting 
+assurance, she had a foreboding that she was to be left in Tan field for 
+an indefinite length of time. She tried to reason herself out of this, 
+saying to herself that she had really no ground for it; in vain. The sure 
+instinct, keener than reason in taking evidence, forbade her. She stood 
+in a sort of apathy of dismay, looking into the surrounding shrubbery and 
+noting things without heeding them; feeling the sweet, still spring air, 
+the burst of fresh life and the opening of fresh promise in earth and 
+sky; hearing the birds twitter, the cocks crowing, and noticing that 
+there was little else to even characterize, much less break, the silent 
+peace of nature. In the midst of all this what she felt was revulsion 
+from her present surroundings and companionship; and it was at last more 
+to get out of Mrs. Purcell's near neighbourhood than for any other reason 
+that she filled her pail and carried it up stairs to her room. She was 
+half glad now that it was so far away from the kitchen. If she could but 
+take her meals up there! She filled her pitchers; but did not immediately 
+go back with Mrs. Purcell's pail. She sat down at the window instead, and 
+crossing her arms on the sill, sat looking out, questioning the May why 
+she was there? 
+
+Oddly enough, it seemed as if the May answered her after a while. The 
+beauty, the perfectness, the loveliness, the peace, held perhaps somewhat 
+the same sort of argument with her as was addressed by the Lord himself, 
+once upon a time, to his servant Job. Here there was no audible voice; 
+yet I think it is still the same blessed Speaker that speaks through his 
+works, and partly the same, or similar, things that he says. Could there 
+be such order, such beauty, such plain adaptation, regularity and system, 
+in one part of the works and government of God, and not in another. And 
+after all it was He who had sent Rotha to this place and involved her in 
+such conditions. Then surely for some reason. As the gentleness of the 
+spring air is unto the breaking of winter's bands, and the rising of the 
+sap is unto the swelling of the buds and by and by the bursting leaf, 
+must it not be so surely a definite purpose with which she had been 
+brought here? What purpose? Were there bands to be broken in her soul's 
+life? were buds and leafage and flower to be developed in her character, 
+for which this severe weather was but a safe and necessary precursor? It 
+might be; it must be; for it is written that "all things work together 
+for good to them that love God." Rotha grew quieter, the voice of the 
+spring was so sweet and came so clear--"Child, trust, trust! Nothing can 
+go wrong in God's management." She heard it and she felt it; but Rotha 
+was after all a young disciple and her experience was small, and things 
+looked unpromising. Some tears came; however she was comforted and did 
+trust, and resolved that she would try to lose none of the profiting she 
+might anyway gain. 
+
+And, as she had now so few books to be busy with, might she not be meant 
+to find one such great source of profiting in her Bible? 
+
+She drew it to her and opened her little "Treasury." What ever could she 
+do now without that? It gave her a key, with which she could go unlocking 
+door after door of riches, which else she would be at a loss to get at. 
+She opened it at the eighth chapter of Romans and looked at the 28th 
+verse. 
+
+"We know, that all things work together for good to them that love God--" 
+
+But things that come through people's wickedness? 
+
+She went on to the first reference. It was in the same chapter. "Who 
+shall separate us from the love of Christ?" 
+
+Well, nothing, and nobody. And if so, that love standing fast, surely it 
+was guaranty enough that no harm should come. Tears began to run, another 
+sort of tears, hot and full, from Rotha's eyes. Shall a child of God have 
+that love, and know he has it, and worry because he has not somewhat 
+else? But this was not exactly to the point. She would look further. 
+
+What now? "We glory in tribulation," said the apostle; and he went on to 
+say why; because the outcome of it, the right outcome, was to have the 
+heart filled with the love of God, and so, satisfied. How that should be, 
+Rotha studied. It appeared that trouble drove men to God; and that the 
+consequence of looking to him was the finding out how true and how 
+gracious he is; so fixing desire upon him, which desire, when earnest 
+enough and simple enough, should have all it wanted. And cannot people 
+have all this without trouble? thought Rotha. But she remembered how 
+little she had sought God when her head had been full of lessons and 
+studies and books and all the joys of life at Mrs. Mowbray's. She had not 
+forgotten him certainly, but her life did not need him to fill any void; 
+she was busied with other things. A little sorrowfully she turned to the 
+next reference. Ge. 1. 20. Joseph's comforting words to the brothers who 
+had once tried to ruin him. 
+
+"As for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good,--" 
+
+Rotha's heart made a leap. Yes, she knew Joseph's story, and what 
+untoward circumstances they had been which had borne such very sweet 
+fruit. Could it be, that in her own case things might work even so? Her 
+aunt's evil intention do her no harm, but be a means of advantage? "All 
+things shall work for good"--then, one way or the other way, but perhaps 
+both ways. Yet she was quite unable to imagine _how_ good could possibly 
+accrue to her from all this stoppage of her studies, separation from her 
+friends, seclusion from all the world at the top of an empty house, and 
+banishment to the society of Joe Purcell and his wife. To be sure, things 
+were as dark with Joseph when he was sold for a slave. Rotha's heart was 
+a little lightened. The next passage brought the water to her eyes again. 
+O how sweet it ran! 
+
+"Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these 
+forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know 
+what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments or 
+no. And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with 
+manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know, that he 
+might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every 
+word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live."--De. 
+viii. 3, 4. 
+
+"_Suffered thee to hunger_." Poor Rotha! the tears ran warm from her 
+eyes, mingled but honest tears, in which the sense of _her_ wilderness 
+and _her_ hunger was touched with genuine sorrow for her want of trust 
+and her unwillingness to take up with the hidden manna. Yet she believed 
+in it and prayed for it, and was very sure that when she once should come 
+to live upon it, it would prove both sweet and satisfying. Ah, this was 
+what she had guessed; there were changes to be wrought in herself, 
+experiences to be attained, for the sake of which she had come to this 
+place. Well! let the Lord dispose things as seemed to him best; she would 
+not rebel. She would hope for the good coming. The next verse was one 
+well known.
+
+"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."--Ps. 
+xlvi. 1. 
+
+Yes, Rotha knew that. She went on, to Jeremiah's prophecy concerning a 
+part of the captive Jews carried away to Babylon. And truly she seemed to 
+herself in almost as bad a case. 
+
+"Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel, Like these good figs, so will I 
+acknowledge them that are carried away captive of Judah, whom I have sent 
+out of this place into the land of the Chaldeans for their good. For I 
+will set mine eyes upon them for good, and I will bring them again to 
+their land; and I will build them, and not pull them down; and I will 
+plant them, and not pluck them up. And I will give them an heart to know 
+me, that I am the Lord: and they shall be my people, and I will be their 
+God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart."--Jer. xxiv. 
+5-7. 
+
+Rotha bowed her head upon her book. I am content! she said in herself. 
+Let the Lord do even this with me, and take the way that is best. Only 
+let me come out so!--
+
+But the next wonderful words made her cry again. They cut so deep, even 
+while they promised to heal so wholly. 
+
+"And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them 
+as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call 
+on my name, and I will hear them; I will say, It is my people; and they 
+shall say, The Lord is my God."--Zach. xiii. 9. 
+
+If Rotha's tears flowed, her heart did not give back from its decision. 
+Yes, she repeated,--I would rather be the Lord's tried gold, even at such 
+cost; at any cost. Must one go through the fire, before one can say and 
+have a right to say, "The Lord is my God"? or does one never want to say 
+it, thoroughly, until then? But to be the Lord's pure gold I cannot miss 
+that. I wonder if Mrs. Mowbray has been through the fire? Oh I know she 
+has. Mr. Southwode?--I think he must. I remember how very grave his face 
+used to be sometimes. 
+
+Here Rotha's meditations were interrupted. She heard steps come clumping 
+up the stairs, and there was a tap at her door. 
+
+"Prissy's got supper ready," said Mr. Purcell. "I've come up to call 
+you." 
+
+With which utterance he turned about and went down the stairs again. 
+Rotha gave a loving look at her Bible and "Treasury," locked her door, 
+and followed him. 
+
+"It's quite a ways to the top o' the house," remarked Mr. Purcell. "It'd 
+be wuss 'n a day's work to go up and down every meal." 
+
+"Nobody aint a goin' up and down every meal," said his wife. "_I_ aint, I 
+can tell you." 
+
+"How am I to know, then, when meals are ready?" Rotha asked. 
+
+"I don' know," said Mr. Purcell; and his wife added nothing. Rotha began 
+to consider what was her best mode of action. _This_ sort of experience, 
+she felt, would be unendurable. 
+
+The table was set with coarse but clean cloth and crockery. I might say 
+much the same of the viands. The bread however was very good, and even 
+delicate. Besides bread and butter there was cold boiled pickled pork, 
+cold potatoes, and a plate of raw onions cut up in vinegar. Mr. Purcell 
+helped Rotha to the two first-named articles. 
+
+"Like inguns?" 
+
+"Onions? Yes, sometimes," said Rotha, "when they are cooked." 
+
+"These is rareripes. First rate--best thing on table. Better 'n if they 
+was cooked. Try 'em?" 
+
+"No, thank you." 
+
+"I knowed she wouldn't, Joe," said Mrs. Purcell, setting down Rotha's cup 
+of tea. "What us likes wouldn't suit the likes o' her. She's from the 
+City o' Pride. Us is country folks, and don't know nothin'." 
+
+"I've a kind o' tender pity for the folks as don't know inguns," said Mr. 
+Purcell. "It's _them_ what don't know nothin'." 
+
+"She don't want your pity, neither," returned his wife. "I'd keep it, if 
+I was you. Or you may pity her for havin' to eat along with we; it's  
+_that_ as goes hard." 
+
+"You are making it harder than necessary," said Rotha calmly, though her 
+colour rose. "Please to let me and my likings or dislikings alone. There 
+is no need to discuss them." 
+
+After which speech there was a dead, ominous silence, which prevailed 
+during a large part of the meal. This could not be borne, Rotha felt. She 
+broke the silence as Mrs. Purcell gave her her second cup of tea. 
+
+"I have been thinking over what you said about calling me to meals. I 
+think the best way will be, not to call me." 
+
+"How'll you get down then?" inquired Mrs. Purcell sharply. 
+
+"I will come when I am ready." 
+
+"But I don't keep no table a standin'. 'Taint a hotel. If you'll eat when 
+us eats, you can, as Joe and Mis' Busby will have it so; but if you aint 
+here when us sits down, there won't be no other time. I can't stand 
+waitin' on nobody." 
+
+"I was going to say," pursued Rotha, "that you can set by a plate for me 
+with whatever you have, and I'll take it cold--if it is cold." 
+
+"Where'll you take it?" 
+
+"Wherever I please. I do not know." 
+
+"There aint no place but the kitchen." 
+
+Rotha was silent, trying to keep temper and patience. 
+
+"And when I've got my room cleaned up," Mrs. Purcell went on with 
+increasing heat, "I aint a goin' to have nobody walkin' in to make a muss 
+again. This room's my place, and Mis' Busby nor nobody else hasn't got no 
+right in it. I aint a goin' to be nobody's servant, neither; and if folks 
+from the City o' Pride comes visitin' we, they's got to do as us does. I 
+never asked 'em, nor Joe neither." 
+
+"Hush, hush, Prissy!" said her husband soothingly. 
+
+"I didn't--and you didn't," returned his wife. 
+
+"But Mis' Busby has the house, and it aint as if it warn't her'n; and the 
+young woman won't make you no trouble she can help." 
+
+"She won't make me none she _can't_ help," said Mrs. Purcell. "Us has to 
+work, and I mean to work; but us has got work enough to do already, and I 
+aint a goin' to take no more, for Mis' Busby nor nobody. You're just 
+soft, Joe, and you let anybody talk you over. I aint." 
+
+"You've got a soft side to you, though," responded Joe, with a calm 
+twinkle in his eye. "I'd have a rough time of it, if I hadn't found  
+_that_ out." 
+
+A laugh answered. The sudden change in the woman's lowering face 
+astonished Rotha. Her brows unknit, the lines of irritation smoothed out, 
+a genial, merry, amused expression went with her laugh over to her 
+husband; and the talk flowed over into easier channels. Mr. Purcell even 
+tried after his manner to be civil to the stranger; but Rotha's supper 
+choked her; and as soon as she could she escaped from the table and the 
+onions and went to her room again. 
+
+Evening was falling, but Rotha was not afraid any more. Her corner room 
+under the roof seemed to her now one of the safest places in the world. 
+Not undefended, nor unwatched, nor alone. She shut and locked her door, 
+and felt that inside that door things were pleasant enough. Beyond it, 
+however, the prospect had grown very sombre, and the girl was greatly 
+disheartened. She sat down by the open window, and watched the light fade 
+and the spring day finish its course. The air was balmier than ever, even 
+warm; the lights were tender, the shadows soft; the hues in earth and sky 
+delicate and varied and dainty exceedingly. And as the evening closed in 
+and the shades grew deeper, there was but a change from one manner of 
+loveliness to another; till the outlines of the tulip tree were dimly 
+distinguishable, and the stars were blinking down upon her with that 
+misty brightness which is all spring mists and vapours allow them. Yes, 
+up here it was pleasant. But how in the world, Rotha questioned, was she 
+to get along with the further conditions of her life here? And what would 
+she become, she herself, in these coarse surroundings of companionship 
+and labour? Either it will ruin me, or it will do me a great deal of 
+good, thought she. If I do not lose all I have gained at Mrs. Mowbray's, 
+and sink down into unrefined and hard ways of acting and feeling, it will 
+be because I keep close to the Lord's hand and he makes me gentler and 
+purer and humbler and sweeter by all these things. Can he? I suppose he 
+can, and that he means to do it. I must take care I put no hindrance. I 
+had better live in the study of the Bible. 
+
+Very, very sorrowful tears and drooping of heart accompanied these 
+thoughts; for to Rotha's fancy she was an exile, for an indefinite time, 
+from everything pleasant in the way of home or society. When at last she 
+rose up and shut the window, meaning to strike a light and go on with her 
+Bible study, she found that in the disagreeable excitement of the talk at 
+supper she had forgotten to provide herself with lamp or candle. She 
+could not go down in the dark through the empty house to fetch them now; 
+and with a momentary shiver she reflected that she could not get them in 
+the night if she wanted them. Then she remembered--"The darkness and the 
+light are both alike to Thee." What matter, whether she had a lamp or 
+not? The chariots of fire and horses of fire that made a guard round 
+Elisha, were independent of all earthly help or illumination. Rotha grew 
+quiet. As she could do nothing else, she undressed by the light of the 
+stars and went to bed; and slept as sweetly as those who are watched by 
+angels should, the long night through. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. 
+
+
+ROTHA'S WORK. 
+
+
+Spring had one of her variable humours, and the next day shewed a change. 
+When Rotha awoke, the light was veiled and a soft rain was thickly 
+falling. Shut up by the weather now! was the first thought. However, she 
+got up, giving thanks for her sweet, guarded sleep, and made her toilet; 
+then, seeing it depended on her alone to take care of her room, she put 
+it carefully in order so far as was possible. It was early still, she was 
+sure, though Rotha had no watch; neither voice nor stir was to be heard 
+anywhere; and turning her back upon her stripped bed, the disorder of 
+which annoyed her, she sat down to her Bible study. It is all I have got! 
+thought she. I must make of it all I can.--May did not give her so much 
+help this morning; the rain drops pattered thick and fast on leaf and 
+window pane; the air was not cold, yet it was not genial either, and 
+Rotha felt a chill creep over her. There was no way of having a fire up 
+there, if she had wanted one. She opened her beloved books, to try and 
+forget other things if she could. She would not go down stairs until it 
+was certain that breakfast would be near ready. 
+
+Carrying on the line of study broken off yesterday, the first words to 
+which she was directed were those in 2 Cor. iv. 17, 18. 
+
+"Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far 
+more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the 
+things which are seen, but at the things which are unseen--" 
+
+Poor Rotha at this immediately rebelled. Nothing in the words was 
+pleasant to her. She was wont always to live in the present, not in the 
+future; and she would be willing to have the glory yonder less great, so 
+it were not conditioned by the trouble here. And with her young life 
+pulses, warm and vigorous as they were, to look away from the seen to the 
+unseen things seemed well nigh impossible and altogether undesirable. It 
+was comfort that she wanted, and not renunciation. She was missing her 
+friends and her home and her pursuits; she was in barren exile, amid a 
+social desert; a captive in bonds that though not of iron were still, to 
+her, nearly as strong. She wanted deliverance and gladness; or at least, 
+manna; not to look away from all and find her solace in a distant vision 
+of better things. 
+
+I suppose it is because I have so little acquaintance with things unseen, 
+thought Rotha in dismal candidness. And after getting thoroughly chilled 
+in spirit, she turned her pages for something else. The next passages 
+referred to concerned the blessedness of being with Christ, and the rest 
+he gives after earth's turmoil is over. It was not over yet for Rotha, 
+and she did not wish it to be over; life was sweet, even up here in her 
+room under the roof. How soft was the rain-drop patter on the outer 
+world! how beautiful the glitter of the rain-varnished leaves! how lovely 
+the tints and hues in the shady depths of the great tulip tree! how 
+cheery the bird song which was going on in spite of everything! Or 
+perhaps the birds found no fault with the rain. I want to be like that, 
+said Rotha to herself; not to be out of the storm, but to be able to sing 
+through it. And that is what people are meant to do, I think. 
+
+The words in the twelfth of Hebrews were some help to her; verses 10 and 
+11 especially; confessing that for the time being, trouble was trouble, 
+yet a bitter root out of which sweet fruit might grow; in "them which are 
+exercised thereby." 
+
+"Wherefore lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees."-- 
+
+Courage, hope, energy, activity; forbidding to despond or to be idle; the 
+words did her good. She lingered over them, praying for the good fruits 
+to grow, and forming plans for her "lifted-up" hands to take hold of. And 
+then the first verses of the first chapter of James fairly laid a 
+plaister on the wounds of her heart. "Count it all joy." "The trying of 
+your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that 
+ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing." 
+
+Rotha almost smiled at the page which so seemed to smile at her; and took 
+her lesson then and there. Patience. Quiet on-waiting on God. That was 
+her part; the good issues and the good fruit he would take care of. Only 
+patience! Yes, to be anything but patient would shew direct want of faith 
+in him and want of trust in his promise. And then the words in 1 Peter i. 
+6, 7, gave the blessed outcome of faith that has stood the trial; and 
+finally came the declaration-- 
+
+"As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten; be zealous therefore, and 
+repent." 
+
+Rotha fell on her knees and prayed earnestly for help to act in 
+accordance with all these words. As she rose from her knees, the thought 
+crossed her, that already she could see some of the good working of her 
+troubles; they were driving her to God and his word; and whatever did 
+that must be a blessing. 
+
+She ran down stairs, quite ready now for her breakfast. Entering the 
+kitchen, she stood still in uncertainty. No table set, no cooking going 
+on, the place in perfect order, and Mrs. Purcell picking over beans at 
+the end of the table. The end of the table was filled with a great heap 
+of the beans, and as she looked them over Mrs. Purcell swept them into a 
+tin pan in her lap. She did not pause or look up. Rotha hesitated a 
+moment. 
+
+"Good morning!" she said then. "Am I late?" 
+
+"I don' know what folks in the City o' Pride calls early. 'Thout knowing 
+that, I couldn't say." 
+
+"But is breakfast over?" 
+
+"Joe and me, us has had our breakfast two hours ago." 
+
+"I did not know it was so late! I had no notion what o'clock it was." 
+
+"Joe said, he guessed you was sleepin' over. That's what he said." 
+
+"Well, have you kept any breakfast for me, Mrs. Purcell?" 
+
+"I didn't set by nothin' in particular. I didn't know as you'd be down 
+'fore dinner. You didn't say." 
+
+Rotha waited a minute, to let patience have a chance to get her footing; 
+she seemed to be tottering. Then she said, and she said it quietly, 
+
+"Where can I get something to eat?" 
+
+"I don' know," said the woman indifferently. 
+
+"But I must have some breakfast," said Rotha. 
+
+"Must you? Well, I don' know how you'll get it. _My_ hands is full." 
+
+"You must give it to me," said Rotha firmly. "I will take it cold, or any 
+way you please; but I must have something." 
+
+Mrs. Purcell sat silent at her bean picking, and there was a look of 
+defiance on her handsome face which nearly put Rotha's patience to a 
+shameful rout. She hardly knew how to go on; and was extremely glad to 
+see Mr. Purcell come in from the lower kitchen. 
+
+"Wet mornin'!" said Mr. Purcell, with a little jerk of his head which did 
+duty for a salutation. 
+
+"Mr. Purcell," said Rotha, "I am glad you are come; there is a question 
+to be decided here." 
+
+"No there aint; it's decided," put in Mr. Purcell's wife. The man looked 
+as if he would like to be left out of the question; but with a resigned 
+air he asked, "What is it?" 
+
+"Whether, while I am in this house, I can have my proper meals, and have 
+them properly." 
+
+"You can have your meals, if you'll come to 'em," said Mrs. Purcell, 
+picking her beans. 
+
+Rotha was too vexed to speak again, and looked to the man. 
+
+"Well--you see," he began conciliatingly, as much towards his wife as 
+towards her, Rotha thought, "you see, Prissy has her work, and she has a 
+lot of it; and she likes to do it reg'lar. It kind o' puts her out, you 
+see, to be gettin' breakfast all along the mornin'. Now she's gettin' her 
+dinner. She's like a spider;--let her alone, and put nothin' in her way, 
+and she'll spin as pretty a web as you'll see; but if you tangle it up, 
+it'll never get straight again." 
+
+Mrs. Purcell kept diligently picking her beans over and sweeping them 
+into her pan. 
+
+"You do not meet the question yet," said Rotha haughtily. 
+
+"Well, you see, the best way would be for you to be along at meal times; 
+when they's hot and ready on the table. Then one more wouldn't make so 
+much difference." 
+
+"I have no way of knowing when the meals are ready. If Mrs. Purcell will 
+set by some for me on a plate, and a cup of coffee, I will take it, not 
+good nor hot." 
+
+"My victuals aint bad when they's cold," put in Mrs. Purcell here. 
+
+"Well, Prissy, can't you do that?" asked her husband. 
+
+"You can do it if you like," she said, getting up at last from the table, 
+whence the great heap of beans had disappeared. "It ain't nothin' to me 
+what you do." 
+
+Mr. Purcell demanded no more of a concession from his housekeeper, but 
+went forthwith to one cupboard after another and fetched forth a plate 
+and cup and saucer, knife and fork and spoon, and finally bread, a 
+platter with cold fried pork on it, and some butter. He had not washed 
+his hands before shewing this civility; and Rotha looked on in doubtful 
+disgust. 
+
+"Where's the coffee, Prissy?" 
+
+"The last of it went down your throat. You never leaves a drop in the 
+coffee pot, and wouldn't if there was a half a gallon. What's the use o' 
+askin' me, when you know that?" 
+
+"Can I have a glass of milk?" said Rotha. 
+
+The milk was furnished, and she began to make a very good breakfast on 
+bread and milk. 
+
+"Aint there a bit o' pie, Prissy?" asked Mr. Purcell. 
+
+"You've swallowed it. There aint no chance for nothin' when you're 
+round." 
+
+Upon which Mr. Purcell laughed and went out, glad no doubt to have the 
+matter of breakfast disposed of without any more trouble. But Rotha eat 
+slowly and thoughtfully. Breakfast was disposed of, but not dinner. How 
+was she to go on? She meditated, tried to gather patience, and at last 
+spoke. 
+
+"It is best to arrange this thing," she said. "Meals come three times a 
+day. If you will call me, Mrs. Purcell, I will come. If you will not do 
+that, will you set by things for me?" 
+
+"Things settin' round draws the flies. We'd be so thick with flies, we 
+couldn't see to eat." 
+
+"What way will you take, then?" 
+
+"_I_ don' know!" 
+
+All the while she was actively and deftly busy; putting her beans in 
+water, preparing her table, and now sifting flour. Rotha came and stood 
+at one end of the table. 
+
+"I should not have thought," she said, "that anybody that loved the 
+gospel of John, would treat me so." 
+
+A metallic laugh answered her, which she could not help thinking covered 
+some feeling. The woman's words however were uncompromising. 
+
+"I didn't say I loved no gospel of John." 
+
+"No, not in words; but the little book tells of itself that somebody has 
+loved it." 
+
+"I'll put it away, where it won't tell nothin'." 
+
+"My aunt pays you for my board," Rotha went on, "and she expects that you 
+will make me comfortable." 
+
+"_What_ does she pay for your board?" said Mrs. Purcell, lifting up her 
+head and flashing her black eyes at Rotha. 
+
+"I do not know what. I did not read her letter. You must know." 
+
+"She don't pay nothin' for you!" said the woman scornfully. "That's Mis' 
+Busby! _She's_ a good Christian, and that's the way she does. She'll go  
+to church, and say her prayers regular, and be a very holy woman; but  
+she won't pay nobody nothin' if she can help it; and she thinks us'll do  
+it, sooner 'n lose the place, and she can put you off on us for 
+nothin'--don't ye see? So much savin' to her, and she can put the money 
+in the collection. I don't believe in bein' no Christian! Us wouldn't do 
+the like o' that, and us aint no Christians; and I like our kind better 
+'n her kind." 
+
+Rotha stood petrified. 
+
+"You must be mistaken," she said at length. "My aunt may not have 
+mentioned it, but it is of course that she pays you for your time and 
+trouble, as well as for what I cost you."
+
+"You don't cost _her_ nothin'," said Mrs. Purcell. "That's all she cares 
+for. Us knows Mis' Busby. Maybe you don't." 
+
+The last words were scornful. Rotha hardly heeded them, the facts of the 
+case had cut her so deep. "Can it be possible!" she exclaimed in a 
+stupefied way. Mrs. Purcell glanced at her. 
+
+"You didn't know?" 
+
+"Certainly not. Nothing would have made me come, if I had. Nothing would 
+have made me! But I am dependent on my aunt. I have no money of my own." 
+Two bitter tears made their way into Rotha's eyes. "Of course you do not 
+want to take trouble for me," she went on. "I cannot much blame you." 
+
+"Me and Joe has to live and get along, as 'tis; and it takes a sight o' 
+work to take care o' Joe. 'Taint feedin' no chicken, to feed Joe Purcell; 
+and Prissy Purcell has a good appetite her own self; and Joe, he won't 
+eat no bread as soon as it's beginnin' to get dry; an' I has to bake 
+bread all along the week. An' Joe, he's always gettin' into the bushes 
+and tearin' his things, and he won't go with no holes in 'em; and nights 
+I has to sit up and put patches. I put patches with my eyes shut, 'cause 
+I's so sleepy I can't hold 'em open. An' he wears the greatest sight o' 
+clothes of any man in Tanfield. He wears three shirts; there's his red 
+flannel one, and one o' unbleached muslin--you know that is warm, next 
+his skin; 'cause he won't have the flannel next his skin; and then there 
+goes a white shirt over all; and the cuffs and the collar must be 
+starched and stiff and shiny, or he aint satisfied. I tells him it aint 
+no use; it won't stay so over five minutes; but anyhow, he is 
+satisfied." 
+
+"I shouldn't think it was wholesome to wear so many clothes," said Rotha. 
+
+"He thinks 'tis." 
+
+"You should coax him out of it." 
+
+"Prissy Purcell has tried that, and she won't try it no more. There aint 
+no coaxin' Joe. If he wants to do a thing, he'll do it his own self; and 
+if he don't want to do it, you can't move him." 
+
+Rotha paused a minute, to let the subject of Joe Puree 11 drop. 
+
+"Well, Mrs. Purcell," she said then, "I am very sorry I am on your hands. 
+I do not know exactly what to do. I will write to my aunt, and tell her 
+how I am situated, and how _you_ are situated; but till her answer comes, 
+how shall we do?" 
+
+"She won't send no answer!" said Mrs. Purcell, in a much modified manner 
+however. "Us knows her, Joe and me. She's got what she wants, and she's 
+satisfied. She don't care for my trouble, nor for your trouble. She's 
+great on savin', Mis' Busby is. She don't never pay nothin' she hadn't 
+need to." 
+
+"I am very sorry," said Rotha bitterly. "I will see if I can find some 
+way of earning the money, Mrs. Purcell, so that I can pay you for the 
+cost and trouble I put you to. But I must have time for that; and 
+meanwhile, what will you do?" 
+
+"Us wouldn't think so much of it," Mrs. Purcell went on, "if she didn't 
+set up for bein' somethin' o' extras. I don't make no count o' no such 
+Christians. Mis' Busby wouldn't miss the Communion!--" And the speaker 
+looked up at Rotha, as if to see what she thought on the subject. 
+
+"There are different sorts of Christians," said Rotha. "Meanwhile, how 
+shall we arrange things, Mrs. Purcell?" 
+
+"Will all sorts of Christians get to heaven," was Mrs. Purcell's 
+response, the query put with her sharp black eyes as well as with her 
+lips. 
+
+"Why no! Of course not. Christians are not all alike; but it is only true 
+Christians whom the Lord will call his own." 
+
+"How aint they alike? how is they different?" 
+
+"Real Christians? Well--some of them are ignorant, and some are wise. 
+Some have had good teachings and good helpers, and some have had none; 
+it makes a difference." 
+
+"I thought they was all one." 
+
+"So they are, in the main things. They all love Christ, and trust in his 
+blood, and do his will. So far as they know it, at least. 'Whosoever 
+shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my 
+brother, and sister, and mother.' So Jesus said, when he was upon earth." 
+
+Mrs. Purcell stopped in what she was doing and looked up at Rotha. "That 
+aint in my 'little blue John,'" she said. 
+
+"No, I think the words are in Matthew." 
+
+"And aint no other people Christians, but them as is like that?" 
+
+"You know what is written in the fourteenth chapter of John--'He that 
+hath my commandments and _keepeth them_, he it is that loveth me.'" 
+
+"And aint there no other sort?" inquired Mrs. Purcell, still peering into 
+Rotha's eyes. 
+
+"Of Christians? Certainly not. Not of real Christians. How could there 
+be?" 
+
+"Then I don't believe there aint none." 
+
+"O yes, there are! Many, many. True believers and servants of the Lord 
+Jesus." 
+
+"Then Prissy Purcell never see one of 'em," said the woman decidedly. 
+
+It shot through Rotha's mind, how careful she must be. This woman's whole 
+faith in Christianity might depend on how she behaved herself. She stood 
+soberly thinking, and then came back to the immediate matter in hand. 
+
+"I will pay you, Mrs. Purcell, for my cost and trouble, if ever I can," 
+she said. "That is all I can say. I would go away, if I could. I do not 
+want to be here." 
+
+"It's hard on you, that's a fact," said the woman. "Well, us won't make 
+it no harder, Joe and me. We aint starvin'. Joe, he's money laid up; and 
+us always has victuals to eat; victuals enough; and good, what they is, 
+for Joe won't have nothin' else. I don' know if you can like 'em. But I 
+can't go up all them stairs." 
+
+"I will take care of my own room. Cannot you call me when dinner is 
+ready, in some way?" 
+
+"Joe can holler at you. He can go out and holler." 
+
+"I'll have my window open, and I shall hear. And some day, Mrs. Purcell, 
+I will pay you." 
+
+"All right," said the woman, whose face was completely cleared up and 
+looked pleasanter than Rotha could ever have believed possible. "Prissy 
+Purcell will get you a good dinner." 
+
+So the storm was laid; and Rotha went slowly up stairs, feeling devoutly 
+thankful for that, but very, very sorrowful on her own account. Her, 
+fancy was busy, all the while she was putting her room in order, with the 
+possible future; feeling utterly doubtful of her aunt, in every possible 
+respect, and very sad and depressed in view of her condition and in view 
+of the extreme difficulty of mending it. Then flashed into her mind what 
+she had been saying down stairs; and then, what she had been reading and 
+thinking last night. To do her work, to trust the Lord, and _to be 
+content_, were the duties that lay nearest to hand. 
+
+The duties were far easier to see than to fulfil; however, Rotha took 
+hold of the easiest first, and prayed her way toward the others. She got 
+out her sewing; obviously, Mrs. Busby knew what she was about when she 
+provided those calico dresses. The stuff was strong and troublesome to 
+sew; the needle went through hard. Rotha sewed on it all day; and indeed 
+for many days more. She kept at her work diligently, as I said, praying 
+her way toward perfect trust and quiet content. In her solitude she made 
+her Bible her companion; one may easily have a worse; and setting it open 
+at some word of command or promise, she refreshed herself with a look at 
+it from time to time, and while her needle flew, turned over the words in 
+her mind and wrought them into prayer. And indeed Rotha had loved her 
+Bible before; but after two weeks of this way of life she loved it after 
+a new fashion, such as she had never known. It became sweet 
+inexpressibly, and living; so that she seemed to hear the words spoken to 
+her from heaven. And those days of solitary work grew into some of the 
+loveliest days Rotha had ever seen. She would take her "Treasury," choose 
+some particular thought or promise to start with, and from that go 
+through a series of passages, explaining, elucidating, illustrating, 
+enjoining, conditioning, applying, the original word. The care of her 
+room, and carrying water up and down, gave her some exercise; not enough; 
+but Rotha would not indulge herself with out of door amusement till her 
+mantua making was done. 
+
+She hoped for some temporary release from her prison when Sunday came. 
+She was disappointed. May sent another pouring rain, and no going out was 
+to be thought of. 
+
+"Where do you go to church? when the sun shines," asked Rotha, as she sat 
+at the breakfast-table and looked at the rain driving past the window. 
+Silence answered her at first. 
+
+"Where _do_ you go, Joe?" repeated his wife, with a laugh. "Us is wicked 
+folks, Miss Carpenter. Joe, he don't like to tell on hisself; but 'taint 
+no worse to tell 'u not to tell. So Prissy Purcell thinks." 
+
+"Warn't the Sabbath made for rest?" Joe inquired now, with a gleam in his 
+eyes. 
+
+"For rest from our own work," said Rotha wonderingly. 
+
+"Prissy and me, we haint no other; and it's a blessin' we haven't, for we 
+get powerful tired at that. Aint that so, Prissy?" 
+
+"Don't you go to church anywhere?" 
+
+"Aint anywheres to go!" said Joe. "Aint no church nowheres, short o' 
+Tanfield; and there's a difficulty. Suppos'n' I tackled up the bosses and 
+went to Tanfield; by the time we got there, and heerd a sermon, and come 
+back, and untackled, and put the hosses up and cleaned myself again, my 
+day o' rest 'ud be pretty much nowhere. An' I don' know which sermon I'd 
+want to hear, o' the three, if I was there. I aint no Episcopal; and I 
+never did hold with the Methody's; and 'tother man, I'd as lieve set up a 
+dip candle and have it preach to me. Looks like it, too." 
+
+Rotha was in silent dismay. Tanfield was too far to go on foot and alone. 
+Not even Sunday? I am afraid a good part of that Sunday was wasted in 
+tears. 
+
+The next morning brought a fresh difficulty. It suddenly flashed upon 
+Rotha that she must have some clothes washed. 
+
+That she should ask Mrs. Purcell to do it, was out of the question. That 
+she should hire somebody else to do it, was equally out of the question. 
+There remained--her own two hands. 
+
+Her hands. Must she put them into the wash tub? Must they be roughened 
+and reddened by hard work in hot and cold water? I am afraid pride had 
+something to say here, besides the fastidious delicacy of refinement to 
+which for a long while Rotha bad been accustomed, and which exactly 
+suited the nature that was born with the girl. She went through a hard 
+struggle and a painful one, before she could take meekly what was put 
+upon her. But it _was_ put upon her; there was no other way; and there is 
+no mistake and no oversight in God's dealings with his children. What he 
+does not want them to do, he does not give them to do. It cost Rotha a 
+good while of her time that morning, but at last she did see it, and then 
+she accepted it. If God gave it to her to do, there could be no evil in 
+the doing of it, and no hurt, and no disgrace. What she could do for God, 
+was therewith lifted up out of the sphere of the low and common. Even the 
+censers of Korah's wicked company were holy, because they had been used 
+for the Lord; much more simple service from a believing heart. After a 
+while Rotha's mind swung quite clear of all its embarrassments, and she 
+saw her duty clear and took it up willingly. She went down at once then 
+to the kitchen, where Mrs. Purcell was flying about with double activity. 
+It certainly seemed that the rest of the Sunday had added wings to her 
+heels. 
+
+"Do you wash this morning, Mrs. Purcell?" 
+
+"Yes. I aint one o' them as likes shovin' it off till the end o' the 
+week. If I can't wash Monday, Prissy Purcell aint good to live with." 
+
+"When will be a convenient time for me to do my washing?" 
+
+"Ha' you things to wash?" 
+
+"Yes, I am sorry to say. You will lend me a tub, and a little soap, won't 
+you?" 
+
+"I don' know whether I will or not. Suppos'n you've got the tub, do you 
+know how to get your things clean? I don' believe you never done it." 
+
+"No, I have never done it. But I can learn." 
+
+"I guess it'd be more trouble to learn you, than to do the things. You 
+fetch 'em here, and I'll do 'em my own self." 
+
+"But I cannot pay you a cent for it, Mrs. Purcell; not now, at least. 
+You'll have to take it on trust, if you do this for me." 
+
+"All right," said Prissy. "You go fetch the things, 'cause I'm bound to 
+have my tubs out o' the way before dinner." 
+
+Rotha obeyed, wondering and thankful. The woman was entirely changed 
+towards her; abrupt and unconventional, certainly, in manner and address, 
+but nevertheless shewing real care and kindness; and shewing moreover 
+what a very handsome woman she could be. Her smile was frank and sweet; 
+her face when at rest very striking for its fine contour; and her figure 
+was stately. Moreover, she was an uncommonly good cook; so that the 
+viands, though plain, were made both wholesome and appetizing. In that 
+respect Rotha did not suffer; the exclusive companionship of two such 
+ignorant and unrefined persons was a grievance on the other hand which 
+pressed harder every day. 
+
+She kept herself busy. When her dresses were done, she began to spend 
+hours a day out of doors. 
+
+The sweet things in the flower borders which were choked and hindered by 
+wild growth and weeds, moved her sympathy; she got a hoe and rake and 
+fork from Mr. Purcell and set about a systematic clearing of the ground. 
+It was a spacious curve from one gate to the other; and all the way went 
+the flower border at one side of the road, and all the way on the other 
+side, except where the house came in. Rotha could do but a little piece a 
+day; but the beauty and pleasantness of that lured her on to spend as 
+much time in the work as she could match with the necessary strength. It 
+was so pretty to see the flowers in good circumstances again! Here a 
+sweet Scotch rose, its graceful growth covered with wild-looking, fair 
+blossoms; here a bed of lily of the valley; close by a carpet of lovely 
+moss pink, which when cleared of encumbering weedy growth that half hid 
+it, fairly greeted Rotha like a smile whenever she went out. And 
+periwinkle also ran in a carpet over the ground, green with purple stars; 
+daffodils were passing away, but pleasant yet to see; and little tufts of 
+polyanthus and here and there a red tulip shewed now in all their 
+delicate beauty, scarcely seen before. Hypericum came out gloriously, 
+when an intrusive and overgrown lilac bush was cut away; and syringa was 
+almost as good as jessamine, Rotha thought; little red poppies began to 
+lift their slender heads, and pansies appeared, and June roses were 
+getting ready to bloom. And as long as Rotha could busy herself in the 
+garden work, she was happy; she forgot all that she had to trouble her; 
+even when Prissy Purcell came out to see and criticise what was going on. 
+
+"What are you doin' all that for?" the latter asked one day, after 
+standing some time watching Rotha's work. "Are you thinkin' Mis' Busby'll 
+come by and by?" 
+
+"My aunt? No indeed!" said Rotha looking up with a flush. "I have no idea 
+when I shall see my aunt again; and certainly I do not expect to see her 
+here." 
+
+"Somebody else, then?" 
+
+"Why no! There is nobody to come." 
+
+"Didn't you never have a beau?" said Prissy Purcell, stooping down and 
+speaking lower. 
+
+"A _what?_" said Rotha turning to her. 
+
+"A beau. A young man. Most girls does, when they're as good-lookin' as 
+you be. You know what I mean. Didn't you never keep company with no one?" 
+
+"Keep company!" said Rotha, half vexed and half amused. "Mrs. Purcell, I 
+was a little girl only just a few days ago." 
+
+"But you're as handsome as a red rose," insisted Mrs. Purcell. "Didn't 
+you never yet see nobody you liked more 'n common?" 
+
+Rotha looked at her again, and then went on forking up her ground. "Yes," 
+she said; "but people a great deal older than myself, Mrs. Purcell. Now 
+see how that beautiful stem of white lilies is choked and covered up. A 
+little while longer and we shall have a lovely head of white blossom 
+bells there." 
+
+"Older 'n your own self?" repeated Mrs. Purcell softly. 
+
+"What?--O yes!" said Rotha laughing; "a great deal older than myself. Not 
+what you are thinking about. I have been a school girl till I came here, 
+Mrs. Purcell." 
+
+"Then Mis' Busby didn't send you here to keep you away from no one?" 
+
+Again Rotha looked in the woman's face, a half startled look this time. 
+"No one, that I know," she answered. But a strange, doubtful feeling 
+therewith came over her, and for a moment she stood still, with her eye 
+going off to the gate and the road, musing. If it were so!--and a 
+terrible impatience swelled in her breast. Ay, if it _were_ so, there was 
+no help for her. She could not get away, and nobody could come to her, 
+because nobody knew and nobody would know where she was. Even supposing 
+that so unimportant a person as poor little Rotha Carpenter were not 
+already and utterly forgotten. That was most probable, and anything 
+different was not to be assumed. Continued care for her would have 
+forwarded some testimonials of its existence, in letters or messages. Who 
+should say that it had not? was the next instant thought. They would have 
+come to her aunt, and her aunt would never have delivered them. 
+
+This sort of speculation, natural enough, is besides very exasperating. 
+It broke up Rotha's peace for that day and took all the pleasure out of 
+her garden work. She went on pulling up weeds and forking up the soil, 
+but she did the one with a will and the other with a vengeance; staid out 
+longer than usual, and came in tired. 
+
+"Joe," said Mrs. Purcell meanwhile in the solitude of her kitchen, "I'll 
+bet you a cookie, Mis' Busby's up to some tricks!" 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. 
+
+
+INQUIRIES. 
+
+
+The weeks went on now without any change but the changes of the season. 
+Rotha's flower borders bloomed up into beauty; somewhat old-fashioned 
+beauty, but none the worse for that. Hypericum and moss pink faded away; 
+the roses blossomed and fell; sweet English columbines lifted their sonsy 
+heads, pale blue and pale rose, and dark purple; poppies sprang up, as 
+often in the gravel road as in the beds; lilies came and went; the 
+laburnum shook out its clusters of gold; old honeysuckles freshened out 
+and filled all the air with the fragrance of their very sweet flowers. 
+Rotha's tulip tree came into blossom, and was a beautiful object from her 
+high window which looked right into the heart of it. Rotha grew very fond 
+of that tulip tree. There were fruits too. The door in the fence, which 
+she had noticed on her first expedition to the barnyard, was found to be 
+the entrance to a large kitchen garden. Truly, Joe Purcell cultivated few 
+vegetables; cabbages however were in number and variety, also potatoes, 
+and that resource of the poor, onions. 
+
+The fruits were little cared for; still, there were numbers of purple 
+raspberry bushes trained along the fence, which yielded a good supply of 
+berries; there were strawberry beds, grown up with weeds, where good 
+picking was to found if any one wanted to take the trouble. Gooseberries 
+were in great profusion, and currants in multitude. Old cherry trees, 
+which shaded parts of the garden disadvantageously for the under growth, 
+yielded a magnificent harvest of Maydukes, white hearts and ox hearts; 
+and pear trees and mulberry trees were not wanting, promising later 
+crops. Mr. and Mrs. Purcell had paid little attention to these treasures; 
+Joe hadn't time, he said; and Prissy wouldn't be bothered with gathering 
+berries after all the rest she had to do. Rotha made it her own 
+particular task to supply the little family with fruit; and it was one of 
+the pieces of work she most enjoyed. Very early, most often, while the 
+sun's rays yet came well aslant, she set off for the old garden with her 
+basket on her arm; and brought in such loads of nature's riches that Joe 
+and his wife declared they had never lived so in their lives. It was 
+lonely but sweet work to Rotha to gather the fruit. The early summer 
+mornings are some of the most wonderful times of the year, for the glory 
+and fulness and freshness of nature; the spirit of life and energy abroad 
+is catching; and sometimes Rotha's heart sang with the birds. For she had 
+a happy faculty of living in the present moment, and throwing herself 
+wholly into the work she might be about, forgetting care and trouble for 
+the time. Other mornings and evenings, she would almost forget the 
+present in thoughts that roamed the past and the future. Pushing her hand 
+among the dewy tufts of strawberry plants to seek the red fruit which had 
+grown large under the shadow of them, her mind would go wandering and 
+searching among old experiences to find out the hidden motives and 
+reasons which had been at work, or the hidden issues which must still be 
+waited for. At such times Rotha would come in thoughtful and tired. How 
+long would her aunt leave her in this place? and how, if her aunt did not 
+release her, was she ever to release herself? What was Mrs. Mowbray 
+about, that she never wrote? several letters had been sent off to her, 
+now a good while ago; letters telling all, and seeking counsel and 
+comfort. No word came back. And oh, where was that once friend, who had 
+told her to tell him everything that concerned her, and promised, tacitly 
+or in so many words, that her applications would never be disregarded nor 
+herself lost sight of? Years had passed now since he had given a sign of 
+his existence, much less a token of his care. But after all, was that a 
+certain thing? Was it not possible, that Mrs. Busby might have come in 
+between, and prevented any letter or word of Mr. Digby's from reaching 
+her? This sort of speculation always made Rotha feel wild and desperate; 
+she banished it as much as she could; for however the case were, she 
+possessed no remedy. 
+
+June passed, and July, and August came. No word from Mrs. Busby to Rotha, 
+and Joe Purcell said none came for him. The raspberries were gone, and 
+currants and gooseberries in full harvest; when there happened an 
+unlocked for and unwelcome variety in Rotha's way of life. Mrs. Purcell 
+was taken ill. It was nothing but chills and fever, the doctor said; but 
+chills and fever are pretty troublesome visiters if you do not know how 
+to get rid of them; and that this doctor certainly did not. It may be 
+said, that he had a difficult patient. Prissy Purcell was unaccustomed to 
+follow any will but her own, and made the time of sickness no exception 
+to her habit. With a chill on her she would get up to make bread; with 
+the "sick day" demanding absolute rest and quiet care, she would go out 
+to the garden to gather cabbages, and stand about preparing them and 
+getting ready her dinner; till provoked nature took her revenge and sent 
+the chill creeping over her. Then Prissy would (if it was not baking day) 
+throw down whatever she had in hand and go to her bed; and it fell to 
+Rotha's unwonted fingers to put on the pot and cook the dinner, set the 
+table and wash the dishes, even the pots and pans; for somebody must do 
+it, as she reflected, and poor Mrs. Purcell would come out of her bed in 
+the evening a mere wreck of her usual self, very unfit to do anything. 
+
+It was a strange experience, for Rotha to be cooking Joe Purcell's dinner 
+and then eating it with him; making gruel and toast for Prissy and 
+serving it to her; keeping the kitchen in order; sweeping, dusting, 
+mopping, scrubbing, for even that could not be avoided sometimes. "It is 
+my work," Rotha said to herself; "it is what is given me just now to do. 
+I wonder, why? But all the same, it is given; and there must be some use 
+in it." She was very busy oftentimes now, without the help of her flower 
+borders, which had to be neglected; she rejoiced that the small fruit was 
+gone, or nearly gone; from morning to night, when Prissy was abed, she 
+went steadily from one thing to another with scarce any interval of 
+active work. No study now but her Bible study; and to have time for that, 
+Rotha must get up very early in the morning. Then, at her window, with 
+the glory of the summer day just coming upon the outer world, she sat and 
+read and thought and prayed; her eyes going alternately from her open 
+page to the green and golden depths of the tulip tree opposite her 
+window; looking the while with her mental eye at the fresh and glorious 
+riches of some promise or prophecy. Perhaps Rotha never enjoyed her Bible 
+more, nor ever would, only that with growing experience in the ways of 
+the Lord comes ever new power to see the beauties of them, and with 
+greater knowledge of him comes a larger love. 
+
+August passed, and September came. And September also ran its course. The 
+weather grew calm and clear, and began to be crisp with frost, and the 
+outer world beautified with red maple leaves and crimson creepers and 
+golden hickory trees. Prissy got better and took her former place in the 
+house; and therewith Rotha had time to breathe and bethink herself. 
+
+Her aunt must long since be returned from Chicago. Once a scrap of a note 
+had been received from her, but it told nothing. It was not dated, and 
+the postmark was not New York. It told absolutely nothing, even 
+indirectly. Airs. Mowbray must long since have reopened her school, but 
+it seemed to be tacitly agreed upon that Rotha was to go to school no 
+more. What were all the people about? there seemed to be a spell upon 
+Rotha and her affairs, as much as if she had been a princess in a fairy 
+tale enchanted and turned to stone, or put to sleep; only she was not 
+turned to stone at all, but all alive and quivering with pain and fear 
+and anxiety. It was her life that was spell-bound. A thousand times she 
+revolved the possibility of going into some work by which she could make 
+money; and always had to give it up. She saw nobody, knew nobody, could 
+apply to no one. She had used up all her writing paper in letters; and 
+never an answer did she get. She began to think indeed her world was 
+bewitched. Winter was looming up in the distance, not so very far off 
+neither; was she to pass it _here_, alone with Prissy Purcell and her 
+husband? Sometimes Rotha's courage gave way and she shed bitter tears; 
+other times, when she was dressing her flowers in the long beds, or when 
+she was looking into the tulip tree with some sweet word of the Bible in 
+her mind, she could even smile at her prospect, and trust, and be quiet, 
+and wait. However, as the autumn wore on, I am afraid the quiet was more 
+and more broken up and the trust more sorrowful. 
+
+It was on one of these evenings of early October, that Mr. Southwode 
+presented himself, after so long an interval, at Mrs. Busby's door. 
+Nothing was changed, to all appearance, in the house; it might have been 
+but yesterday that he walked out of it for the last time; and nothing was 
+changed in the appearance of Mr. Southwode himself. Just as he came three 
+years ago, he came now. 
+
+Mrs. Busby was alone in her drawing room, and advanced to meet him with 
+outstretched hand and an expression of great welcome. She had not changed 
+either, unless for the better. Her visiter recognized, as he had often 
+done before, the expression of sense and character in her face, the quiet 
+suavity of her manner, the many indications that here was what is called 
+a fine woman. About the goodness of this fine woman he was not so sure; 
+but he paid her a tribute of involuntary respect for her abilities, her 
+cleverness, and her good manners. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode! I am delighted to see you!" she exclaimed as she advanced 
+to meet him, cordially, and yet with quiet dignity; not too cordial. "You 
+have been a stranger to New York a great while." 
+
+"Yes," he said. "Much longer than I anticipated." 
+
+"I thought we should hardly ever see you here again." 
+
+"Why not?" he asked with a smile. 
+
+"Want of sufficient attraction. You know, we are apt to think here that 
+Englishmen, if they are well placed in their own country, do not want 
+anything of other countries. They are on the very height of civilization, 
+and of everything else. They have enough. And certainly, America cannot 
+offer them much." 
+
+"America is a large field for work,"--Mr. Southwode observed. 
+
+"Ah yes; but what country is not? I dare say you find enough to do on the 
+other side. Do you not?" 
+
+"I have no difficulty on that score," Mr. Southwode confessed; "on either 
+side of the Atlantic." 
+
+"We were very glad to hear of the successful termination of your 
+lawsuit," Mrs. Busby went on. "I may congratulate you, may I not? I know 
+you do not set an over value on the goods of fortune; but at the same 
+time, it always seems to me that the possessor of great means has a great 
+advantage. It is true, wealth is a flood in which many people's heads and 
+hearts are submerged; but that would never be your case, I judge." 
+
+"I would rather be drowned in some other medium," he allowed. 
+
+"Well, we heard right? The decisions were in your favour, and 
+triumphantly?" 
+
+"They were in my favour, and unconditionally. I did not feel that there 
+was much to triumph about, or can be, in a family lawsuit." 
+
+"No; they are very sad things. I am very glad you are out of them, and so 
+well out of them." 
+
+"Thank you. How are my young friends in the family?" 
+
+"The girls? Quite well, thank you, They are unluckily neither of them at 
+home." 
+
+"Not at home! I am sorry for that. How has _my_ child developed?" he  
+asked with a slight smile. 
+
+"She has grown into a young woman," Mrs. Busby answered, with one of 
+those utterly imperceptible, yet thoroughly perceived, changes of manner 
+which speak of a mental check received or a mental protest made. It was 
+not a change of manner either; nothing so tangible; I cannot tell what it 
+was in her expression that Mr. Southwode instantly saw and felt, and that 
+put him upon his guard and upon his mettle at once. Mrs. Busby had drawn 
+her shawl closer round her; that was all the outward gesture. She always 
+wore a shawl. In winter it was thick and in summer it was gossamer; but 
+one way or another a shawl seemed essential to Mrs. Busby's well-being. 
+What Mr. Southwode gathered from her words was a covert rebuke and 
+rebuff. He was informed that Rotha was grown up. 
+
+"It is hard to realize that," he said lightly. "It seems but the other 
+day that I left her; and since then, nothing else has changed!" 
+
+"She has changed," said Mrs. Busby drily. 
+
+"May I ask, how?--besides the physical difference, which to be sure was 
+to be looked for?" 
+
+"I do not know that there is any other particular change." 
+
+"That would disappoint me," said Mr. Southwode. "I hoped to find a good 
+deal of mental growth and improvement as the fruit of these three years. 
+She has been at school all the time?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"What is her school record?" 
+
+"Very fairly good," said Mrs. Busby, turning her eyes now upon the young 
+man, whom for the last few minutes they had avoided. "I did not know you 
+were so much interested in Rotha, Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"She was my charge, you are aware. Her mother left her to my care." 
+
+"Until she was placed in mine," said Mrs. Busby with dignity. "I hope you 
+believe that I am able to take good care of her?" 
+
+"I should be very sorry to doubt that, and no one who knows Mrs. Busby 
+could question it for a moment. But a charge is a charge, you know. To 
+resign it or delegate it is not optional. I regard myself as Rotha's 
+guardian always, and it was as her guardian that I entrusted her to you." 
+
+Mrs. Busby did not answer this, and did not change a muscle in face or 
+figure. 
+
+"And so," Mr. Southwode went on, smiling,--he was amused, and he 
+appreciated Mrs. Busby,--"it is as her guardian that I am asking an 
+account of her now." 
+
+"I have given it," said Mrs. Busby; and she moved her lips as if they 
+were dry, which however her utterance was not. It was pleasant. 
+
+"The young ladies can hardly be expected home early, I suppose?" said Mr. 
+Southwode, looking at his watch.
+
+"Hardly"--returned Mrs. Busby in the same way. 
+
+"When can I see Rotha to-morrow?" 
+
+"To-morrow," said Mrs. Busby, speaking leisurely, "you will hardly see 
+her. She is not at home. I said that before, but you understood me to 
+speak of the evening merely." 
+
+"Where is she then? I can go to her." 
+
+"No, you cannot," said Mrs. Busby half smiling, but it was not a smile 
+Mr. Southwode liked. "She is at a friend's house in the country." 
+
+"Not in New York! How long do you expect her to be absent?"
+
+"That I cannot possibly tell. It depends on circumstances that I do not 
+know." 
+
+Mr. Southwode pondered. "Will you favour me with her address?" he asked, 
+taking out his notebook. 
+
+"It is not worth the while," said the lady quietly. "She is at a 
+considerable distance from New York, too far for you to go to her; and 
+she may be home any day. It depends, as I said, on what I do not now 
+know." 
+
+"And may be delayed yet for some time, then?" 
+
+"Possibly." 
+
+"Will you give me her address, Mrs. Busby." 
+
+Mr. Southwode's pencil was ready, but instead of giving him something to 
+do with it, Mrs. Busby rang the bell. Pencil and notebook waited. 
+
+"Lesbia, go up to my dressing room and bring me a little green book with 
+a clasp lying on my table there." 
+
+A few minutes of silence and waiting; then Lesbia returned with the 
+announcement, "There aint no sort o' little book there, Mis' Busby. 
+There's a heap o' big ones, but they aint green." 
+
+"Go again and look in the left hand drawer." 
+
+Lesbia came again. "Aint nothin' there but papers." 
+
+"That will do. Mr. Southwode, I have not my address book, and without 
+that I cannot give you what you want. The name of the post-office town is 
+very peculiar, and I always forget it. But I can write to Rotha to-morrow 
+and summon her, if you think it necessary." 
+
+"Would that be an inexpedient measure?" 
+
+"You must judge. I have not thought best to do it; but if it is necessary 
+I can do it now." 
+
+"I will not give you so much trouble. If you will allow me, I will come 
+again to morrow evening, and get the address." 
+
+"To-morrow evening!" said the lady slowly. "I am very sorry, I have an 
+engagement; I shall not be at home to-morrow evening." 
+
+Why did it not occur to Mrs. Busby to say that she would leave the 
+address for him, if he would call for it? Mr. Southwode quietly put up 
+his pencil, and remarked that another time would do; and passed on easily 
+to make inquiries about what New York had been doing since he went away? 
+Mrs. Busby told him of certain buildings and plans for buildings here and 
+there, and then suddenly asked, 
+
+"When did you come, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"I landed to-day." 
+
+"To-day! Rotha would be very much flattered if she knew how prompt you 
+have been to seek her out." 
+
+It was said with a manner meant to be smoothly insinuating, but which 
+somehow had missed the smoothness. Mrs. Busby for that moment had lost 
+the hold she usually kept of herself. 
+
+"Rotha would expect no less of me," Mr. Southwode answered calmly. 
+
+"Then you and she must have been great friends before you went away? 
+greater then I knew." 
+
+"Did Rotha not credit me with so much?" he asked with a smile, which 
+covered a sharp observation of the lady, examining him. 
+
+"To tell you the truth," said Mrs. Busby, with a manner which was 
+intended to be gracious, "I did not encourage her. Knowing what 
+gentlemen, and young gentlemen, generally are, I thought it unlikely that 
+you would much remember Rotha amid the pressure of your business in 
+England, and very likely that things might turn out so that she would 
+never see you again. I expected every day to hear that you were married; 
+and of course that would have been an end of your interest in her." 
+
+"Why do you think so, may I ask?" 
+
+"_Why?_ Every woman knows," said Mrs. Busby in amused fashion. 
+
+"I will not marry till I find a woman that does not know," said Mr. 
+Southwode shaking his head. 
+
+"Now that is unreasonable, Mr. Southwode." 
+
+"I do not think so. Prove it." 
+
+"I cannot prove it to a man. I have only a woman's knowledge, of what he 
+does not understand. And besides, Mr. Southwode, it is quite right and 
+proper that it should be so. A man shall leave his father and mother and 
+cleave to his wife; and if his father and mother, surely everybody else." 
+
+"As I am not married, the case does not come under consideration," said 
+the gentleman carelessly. And after a pause he went on--"I have written 
+several letters to Rotha during the time of my absence, and addressed 
+them to your care. Did you receive them safe?" 
+
+"I received several--I do not at this moment recollect just how many." 
+
+"Do you know why they were never answered?" 
+
+"I suppose I do," said Mrs. Busby composedly. "Rotha has been exceedingly 
+engrossed with her studies." 
+
+"She had vacations?" 
+
+"O certainly. She had vacations." 
+
+"Then can you tell me, Mrs. Busby, why Rotha never wrote to me?" 
+
+"I am afraid I cannot tell you," the lady answered slowly, looking into 
+the fire. 
+
+"Do you think Rotha has forgotten me?" 
+
+"It is not like her, I should say, to forget. I never hear her mention 
+you. But then, I see her little except in the vacations, and not always 
+then; she was often carried off from me." 
+
+"By whom, may I ask?" 
+
+"O by her school teacher." 
+
+"And that was--? Pardon me, but it concerns me to know all about Rotha I 
+can." 
+
+"I am not sure if I am justified in telling you." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"I think," said Mrs. Busby with an appearance of candour, "my 
+guardianship is the proper one for her. How can you be her guardian, 
+while she lives in my house, Mr. Southwode? Or how can you be her 
+guardian out of it?" 
+
+"I promised her mother," he said. "How a promise shall be fulfilled, may 
+admit of question; but not whether it shall be fulfilled." 
+
+"I know of but one way," Mrs. Busby went on, eyeing him now intently. "If 
+you tell me you are intending to take _that_ way,--then I have no more to 
+say, of course. But I know of but one way in which it can be done." 
+
+Mr. Southwode laughed a little, a low, soft laugh, that in him always 
+meant amusement. "I did not promise _that_ to her mother," he said, "and  
+I cannot promise it to you. It might be convenient, but I do not 
+contemplate it." 
+
+"Then, Mr. Southwode, I feel it my duty to request that you fulfil your 
+promise by acting through me." 
+
+It was well enough said; it was not without some ground of reason. If he 
+could have felt sure of Mrs. Busby, it might have received, partially at 
+least, his concurrence. But he was as far as possible from feeling sure 
+of Mrs. Busby; and rather gave her credit for playing a clever mask. Upon 
+a little pause which followed the last words, there came a ring at the 
+door and the entrance of the young lady of the house. Antoinette was 
+grown up excessively pretty, and was dressed to set off her prettiness. 
+Her mother might be pardoned for viewing her with secret pride and 
+exultation, if not for the thrill of jealous fear which accompanied the 
+proud joy. That anybody should stand in this beauty's way! 
+
+"Mr. Southwode!" exclaimed the young lady. "It is Mr. Southwode come 
+back. Why, Mr. Southwode, what has kept you so long? We heard you were 
+coming five months ago. Why didn't you come then?" 
+
+Mrs. Busby wished her daughter had not said that. 
+
+"There were reasons--not interesting enough to occupy your ear with 
+them." 
+
+"'Occupy my ear'!" repeated the girl. "That is something new. Mamma, 
+isn't that deliciously polite! Well, what made you stay away so long, Mr. 
+Southwode? I like to have my ear occupied." 
+
+"Should not people stay where they belong?" 
+
+"And do you belong in England?" 
+
+"I suppose, in a measure, I may say I do." 
+
+"You talk foolishly, Antoinette," her mother put in. "Don't you know that 
+Mr. Southwode's home is in England?" 
+
+"People can change their homes, mamma. Then, you are not going to stay 
+long, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"I do not know how long. That is an undecided point." 
+
+"And what have you come over for now?" 
+
+"Antoinette!" said her mother again. "I do not know if you can excuse 
+her, Mr. Southwode; she is entirely too out-spoken. That is a question 
+you have nothing to do with, Nettie." 
+
+"Why not, mamma? He has come for something; and if it is business, or 
+travelling, or hunting, I would like to know." 
+
+"Hunting, at this time of year!" said Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"I might say it is business," said Mr. Southwode. "In one part of my 
+business, perhaps you can help me." 
+
+Antoinette pricked up her ears delightedly, and eagerly asked how? and 
+what? 
+
+"I made it part of my business to inquire about a little girl that I left 
+three years ago under your mother's care." 
+
+"Rotha!" exclaimed Antoinette; and a cloudy shadow of displeasure and 
+suspicion forthwith fell over her face; not tinder such good control as 
+her mother's. "A little girl! She was not so very little." 
+
+"What sort of a girl has she turned out to be?" 
+
+"Not little now, I can tell you. She is a great deal bigger than I am. So 
+you came to see about Rotha?" 
+
+"What can you tell me about her?" 
+
+"What do you want to know?" 
+
+"Nothing but the truth," said Mr. Southwode gravely. 
+
+"But the truth about what? Rotha is just what she used to be." 
+
+"Not changed except in inches?" 
+
+"_Inches!_ Feet!--" said Antoinette. "We don't think about inches when we 
+look at her. I don't know about anything else. If you want an account of 
+her studies you must ask somebody at school." 
+
+"Her teacher was yours?" 
+
+"O yes. Lately, you know, we were both in the upper class; and of course 
+we were together in Mrs. Mowbray's lessons; but then in other things we 
+were apart." 
+
+"How was that?" 
+
+"Studied different things," said Antoinette shortly. "Had different 
+masters. I can't tell you about Rotha's lessons, if you want to know 
+that." She was pulling off her gloves as she spoke, and tugged at them 
+with an appearance of vexation, which might be due to their excellent fit 
+and consequent difficulty of removal. 
+
+"Has she proved herself a pleasant inmate of the family?" 
+
+"She has been rather an inmate of Mrs. Mowbray's family," said 
+Antoinette. "Mrs. Mowbray has swallowed her up and carried her off from 
+us. _We_ don't see much of her." 
+
+"Antoinette," said her mother here, "Mr. Southwode wants to know Rotha's 
+address; and I cannot give him the name of the place. Can you help me 
+recollect it?" 
+
+"Never knew it, mamma. I didn't know the place had a name. I can't 
+recollect what I never heard." 
+
+"There must be a post-office," Mr. Southwode remarked. 
+
+"Must there? O I suppose there must, somewhere; but I don't know it." 
+
+"Lesbia could not find my address book," Mrs. Busby added. 
+
+"It is a matter of no consequence," Mr. Southwode rejoined. And he 
+presently after took his leave. A moment's silence followed his 
+departure. 
+
+"There was no need to tell him you did not know the post-office town," 
+said Mrs. Busby. "That was as much as to say, you never write." 
+
+"What should I write for?" returned Antoinette defiantly. "Mamma! was 
+that all he came for? to ask about Rotha?" 
+
+"All that he came here for," said Mrs. Busby, with lines in her brow and 
+a compressed mouth. "I wish you had not told him where Rotha went to 
+school, either." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"Just as well not to say it." 
+
+"But what harm? He could ask, if he wanted to know; and then you would 
+have to tell. What does he want her address for?" 
+
+"I don't know; but I can manage that, well enough. He knows nothing about 
+Tanfield." 
+
+"Mamma! I wish Rotha had never come to us!" cried Antoinette with tears 
+in her eyes. 
+
+"Don't be foolish, Antoinette. Mr. Southwode will be here again in a day 
+or two; and then leave things to me." 
+
+Mr. Southwode meantime walked slowly and thoughtfully to the corner of 
+the street. By that time his manner changed; and he hailed a horse car 
+and sprang into it like a man who was suffering from no indecision in 
+either his views or purposes. Oddly enough, the very name which 
+Antoinette had comforted herself with thinking he did not know, had 
+suddenly occurred to him, together with a long-ago proposition of Mrs. 
+Busby to her sister in the latter's time of need. He had pretty well made 
+up his mind. 
+
+Half an hour later Mr. Southwode was announced to Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray recollected him; she never forgot anybody, or failed to 
+catalogue anybody rightly in the vast collections and stores of her 
+memory. She received Mr. Southwode therefore with the gracious courtesy 
+and dignity which was habitual with her, and with the full measure also 
+of her usual reserve and quick observation. 
+
+After a few commonplaces respecting his absence and his return, Mr. 
+Southwode begged to ask if Mrs. Busby's niece, Miss Carpenter, were in 
+her house or school? 
+
+"Miss Carpenter is not with me," Mrs. Mowbray answered guardedly. 
+
+"But she has been with you, if I understand aright?" 
+
+"She has been with me until lately." 
+
+"Are you informed that she will not return?" 
+
+"By no means! I am expecting to see her or hear from her every day. O by 
+no means. Miss Carpenter ought to remain with me several years yet. I 
+shall be much disappointed if she do not. It is one great mistake of 
+parents now-a-days, that they do not give me time enough. The first two 
+or three years can but lay a foundation, on which to build afterwards." 
+
+"May I ask, if the foundation has been successfully laid in Miss 
+Carpenter's case? I am interested to know; because Mrs. Carpenter when 
+she died left her child to my care; and I hold myself responsible for 
+what concerns her." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray hesitated slightly. "Where was Mrs. Busby?" she asked then. 
+
+"Here; but there was no intercourse between the sisters." 
+
+"Was it not by her mother's wish that Miss Carpenter was placed with her 
+aunt?" 
+
+"No. I acted on no authority but my own." 
+
+"What sort of a woman was Mrs. Carpenter?" 
+
+"A very admirable woman. A sweet, sound, noble nature, with a great deal 
+of quiet strength." 
+
+"Is her daughter like her?" 
+
+"Not in the least. I do not mean that she lacks some of her mother's good 
+qualities; but they are developed differently, and with a wholly 
+different background of temperament." 
+
+"Was there a feud between the sisters, or anything like it?" 
+
+Mr. Southwode hesitated. "I know the story," he said. "Mrs. Carpenter 
+never complained; but I think another woman would, in her place." 
+
+"Will you allow me to ask, how she came to entrust her child to you?" 
+
+"I was the only friend at hand. And now," Mr. Southwode went on smiling, 
+"may I be permitted to ask another question or two? When have you heard 
+from Miss Carpenter?" 
+
+"Not a word all summer. In the spring my school was broken up, on account 
+of sickness in the house; I sent Rotha home to her aunt; and since then I 
+have heard nothing from her. Not a word." 
+
+"You do not know then of course where she is?" 
+
+"With her aunt, I suppose, of course. Is she not with Mrs. Busby?" 
+
+"She is making a visit somewhere, Mrs. Busby tells me." And he hesitated. 
+"Has Rotha's home been happy with her aunt?" 
+
+"That is a question I never ask. Rotha does not complain." 
+
+"I need not ask whether her abode has been happy _here_," said the 
+gentleman smiling again; "but, has she been a satisfactory member of your 
+school?" 
+
+"Perfectly so! Of my school and family." 
+
+"You are satisfied with her studies, her progress in them, I mean?" 
+
+"Perfectly. I never taught any one with more pleasure or better results." 
+
+"I am very glad to hear that," said Mr. Southwode. And he took his leave. 
+
+The very next train for Tanfield carried him northward. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. 
+
+
+DISCOVERIES. 
+
+
+The next day, which was the 24th of October, passed as other days of less 
+significance had done. At dinner Mrs. Purcell complained of Rotha's 
+failure of appetite. Rotha had been down-hearted all the morning. Seven 
+days more, and November would begin! 
+
+"You don't eat worth a red cent!" said Mrs. Purcell. "Aint that a good 
+pot pie?" 
+
+"Excellent! The queen of England couldn't have a better." 
+
+"If she hasn't a better appetite she won't be queen long. Why don't ye 
+eat?" 
+
+"Sometimes I can't, Prissy." 
+
+"What ails you?" 
+
+"Nothing. I get thinking; that's all." 
+
+"Joe," said his wife, "what's Mis' Busby doin'?" 
+
+"Couldn't say." 
+
+"Where is she? Why don't she come after Miss Rotha?" 
+
+"I s'pose she's busy with her own affairs. If she' had consulted me, I 
+could ha' told you more." 
+
+"If she ever consults you, I hope you'll give her some good advice. She 
+wants it bad!"  
+
+"I guess I will," said Mr. Purcell, lounging out. "If I don't, you kin." 
+
+Rotha wished to escape further remark or enquiry, and went out too. She 
+would divert herself with gathering a great bunch of the fall flowers and 
+dress some dishes. She often refreshed herself and refined the tea-table 
+with a nosegay dressed in the middle of it, especially as it seemed to 
+give not less pleasure to her entertainers than to her. She went now 
+slowly down the gravelled drive, filling her hands as she went with 
+asters, chrysanthemums, late honeysuckles, and bits of green from box and 
+cedar and feathery larches. She went slowly, thinking hard all the way, 
+and feeling very blue indeed. She saw no opening out of her troubles, and 
+she strongly suspected that her aunt meant there should be none. What was 
+to become of her? True, it flashed into her mind, "The Lord is my 
+Shepherd";--but the sheep was taking it into her head to think for 
+herself, and could not see that the path she was following would end in 
+anything but disaster and famishing. If she could but get out of this 
+path----
+
+Ah, silly sheep! 
+
+Rotha found herself at the gate leading into the high road; the gate by 
+which she had been admitted so many months ago, and which she had never 
+passed through since. She did not open it now; she stood still, resting 
+one hand on the bars of it and gazing off along the road that led to 
+Tanfield. It was quite empty; there was little passing along that road in 
+the best of times, and very little at this season. It looked hopeless and 
+desolate, the long straight lines of fences, and the gray, empty space 
+between running off into nothing. Anything moving upon it would have been 
+a relief to the eye and the mind; it looked like Rotha's own life at 
+present, unchanging, Monotonous, solitary, barren, endless. Yet very 
+precious flowers had been lately blossoming upon her path, and fragrant 
+plants springing; but this, if she partly knew, at this moment she wholly 
+ignored or forgot. She stood in a dream reverie, looking forward with her 
+bodily eye, but with the eye of her mind back, and far back; to her 
+mother, to her father, to Mr. Digby, and the times at Medwayville when 
+she was a happy child. Nothing regular or consecutive; a maze of dream 
+images in which she lost herself, and under the power of which her tears 
+slowly gathered and began to run down her cheeks. Standing so, looking 
+down the long empty road, and in the very depths of disheartened 
+foreboding and dismay, a step startled her. Nobody was in sight on the 
+road towards Tanfield; it was a quick business step coming in the other 
+direction. Rotha turned her head hurriedly, and then was more in a maze 
+than ever, though of a different kind. Close by the gate somebody was 
+standing. A stranger? And why did he look so little strange? Rotha's eyes 
+grew big unconsciously, while she likewise utterly forgot that they were 
+framed in a setting of wet eyelashes; and then there came flashing 
+changes in her face. I cannot describe how all the lines of it altered; 
+and fire leapt to her eye, not without an alternating shadow however, a 
+sort of shadow of doubt; her lips parted, but she could not bring out a 
+word. The stranger stood still likewise, and looked, and I am not sure 
+but his eyes opened a little; light came into them too, and a smile. 
+
+"Have I found you?" he said. "Perhaps you will let me come in." 
+
+And while Rotha remained in stupid bewilderment and uncertainty of 
+everything except the identity of the person before her, he laid hold of 
+the latch of the gate and made his own words good; Rotha giving way just 
+enough to allow of it. I think the new-comer was a little uncertain as 
+well; nevertheless he was not the sort of man to shew uncertainty. 
+
+"Is this my little Rotha?" he said as he came up to her; and then, taking 
+her hand, he began just where he left off, by stooping and kissing her. 
+That roused Rotha, as much as ever the kiss of the prince in the fairy 
+tale woke the sleeping beauty. The blood flushed all over her face, she 
+pulled her hand away, and flung herself as it were upon the gate again; 
+laying hold of the bars of it and bending down her face upon her arms. 
+What did he do that for? and had he a right? After leaving her unthought 
+of for so many years, was he entitled to speak to her and look at her 
+and--kiss her, just as he could do once when she was a child? Rotha's 
+mind was in terrible tumult, for notwithstanding this protest of reason, 
+or of feeling, that touch of his lips upon her lips had waked up all the 
+old past; it was just like the kiss with which he had bid her good bye 
+three years ago; but whether to forgive him or not, and whether there was 
+anything or not, Rotha did not yet know. Yet the old power of his 
+presence was asserting itself already. All she could do was to keep 
+silent, and the silence was of some little duration; for Mr. Digby, as 
+his old fashion was, waited.
+
+"I see you have not forgotten me," he said at length. "Or--should I 
+say--" 
+
+"I thought you _had_ forgotten _me_, Mr. Southwode," said Rotha. She said  
+it with some dignity, removing her arms from the gate and standing before 
+him. Yet she could not raise her eyes to him. Her manner was entirely 
+unexceptionable and graceful. 
+
+"What made you think that?" 
+
+"I had some reason. It is three years, just three years, since you went 
+away; and I have never heard a word from you in all the time." 
+
+"You have not heard from me? How comes that?" 
+
+"I do not know how it comes. I have never heard."
+
+"And so, you thought I had never written?" 
+
+"_Did_ you write?" said Rotha, flashing the question now at him with her 
+eyes. It was exactly one of the old looks, that he remembered, bright, 
+deep, eager. Yet how the girl had changed! 
+
+"I wrote a number of times." 
+
+"To me?" 
+
+"Yea. I got no answer." 
+
+"How could I answer letters that I never had?" cried Rotha. 
+
+"Could you not, possibly, have written to me a letter that was not an 
+answer?" 
+
+"Yes, and I would; O how I wanted to write, many a time!--but I did not 
+know where to send it. I had not your address." 
+
+"I left it with your aunt for you; or rather, I believe I left it in a 
+note for you, when I went away." 
+
+"She never let me know as much," said Rotha a little bitterly. 
+
+"You might have guessed she had my address. Did you ever ask her? You 
+know, I promised to give it to you?"
+
+"There was no use in my asking her any such thing,"' said Rotha. "She 
+never let me hear a word from you or about you. I only learned by chance, 
+as it were, that you had gone back to England." 
+
+"And so you thought I had forgotten you?" 
+
+"What could I think? I did not want to think that," said Rotha, feeling 
+somewhat put in the wrong.
+
+"I did not want you to think that. The least you can do to a friend, if 
+you have got him, is to trust him." 
+
+"But then, I thought--they said--I thought, maybe, after you had put me 
+in aunt Serena's care, you had done--or thought you had done--the best 
+you could for me." 
+
+"The best I could just at the moment. I never promised to leave you with 
+Mrs. Busby always, did I?" 
+
+"But you were in England, and busy," said Rotha. "It seemed--No, it 
+_didn't_ seem very natural that you should forget all about me, for I  
+did not think it was at all like you; but that was what people said." 
+
+"And Rotha believed?" 
+
+"I almost believed it at last," said Rotha, very sorry to confess the 
+fact. 
+
+"What do you think now?" 
+
+"I think I was mistaken. But, Mr. Digby, three years is a long time; and 
+after all, why should you remember me? I was nothing to you; only a child 
+that you had been very kind to." 
+
+He was silent. What was she to him indeed? And what sort of relations was 
+he to maintain between them now? She was not a child any longer. Here was 
+a tall, graceful girl, albeit dressed in exceedingly plain garments; the 
+garments could not hide and even rather emphasized the fact, for she was 
+graceful in spite of them. And the promise of the child's face was 
+abundantly fulfilled in the woman. Features very fine, eyes of changing 
+and flashing power, all the indications that he well remembered of a 
+nature passionate, tender, sensitive and strong; while there was also a 
+certain veil of sweetness and patience over them all, which he did not 
+remember. Mr. Southwode began dimly to perceive that he could not take up 
+things just where he left them; what he left was not in existence. In 
+place of the passionate, variable, wilful child, here was a developed, 
+sensitive, and withal very beautiful woman. What was he to do with her? 
+or what could he do for her? 
+
+Unconsciously, the two had begun slowly pacing towards the house, and 
+Rotha was the one to break the silence. Happily, her companion's scruples 
+did not enter her head. 
+
+"What brought you here, Mr. Digby? How ever came you to Tanfield?" 
+
+"To look after that little girl you thought I had forgotten," he said 
+with a slight smile. 
+
+"But what made you come _here?_ Did you know I was here?" 
+
+"Not at all. I could not find out anything of your whereabouts; except 
+indeed that you were 'in the country.' So much I learned." 
+
+"From whom?" 
+
+"From Mrs. Busby." 
+
+"From my aunt! You have seen her! When did you see her?" 
+
+"Yesterday; immediately upon my arrival." 
+
+"Then you have only just come? From England, I mean." 
+
+"Only just come." 
+
+Rotha paused. This statement was delightfully soothing.
+
+"And you saw aunt Serena? And what did she say?" 
+
+"She said nothing. I could get nothing out of her, of what I wanted to 
+hear. She said you were quite well, making a visit at a friend's house in 
+the country." 
+
+"That--is--not--true!" said Rotha slowly and indignantly. "Did she tell 
+you that?" 
+
+"Are you not making a visit here?" 
+
+"What is a 'visit'? No, I am not. And, it is not a friend's house, 
+either." 
+
+"How came you here? and when? and what for, then?" said he now in his 
+turn. 
+
+"I came--some time in last May; near the end, I believe." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+Rotha lifted her eyes to his. "I do not know," she said. 
+
+"What was the alleged reason for your coming?" 
+
+"Aunt Serena was going, she said, to Chicago, on a visit, and my presence 
+would not be convenient. I could not stay in the house in New York alone. 
+So I was sent here. That is all I know." 
+
+"_Sent?_" 
+
+Rotha nodded. "Yes." 
+
+"Not _brought?_" 
+
+"O no!" 
+
+"Did you come _alone?_" 
+
+A sudden spasm seemed to catch the girl's heart; she stopped and covered 
+her face with her hands; and for a minute or two there came a rush of hot 
+tears, irrepressible and unmanageable. Why they came Rotha did not know, 
+and was surprised at them; but there was a quiver and a glitter in her 
+face when she took her hands down, which shewed to her companion that the 
+clouds and the sunshine were at strife somewhere. They walked on a few 
+paces more, and then, coming full in sight of the house, Rotha's steps 
+stayed. 
+
+"Where are we going?" she said. "I have no place to take you to, in 
+there." 
+
+Mr. Digby's eyes made a survey of the building before him. 
+
+"O it is large enough--there is room, and rooms, enough," said Rotha; 
+"but it is all unused and unopened. I have one corner, at the top of the 
+house; and down in another corner Mr. and Mrs. Purcell have their kitchen 
+and a little sleeping place off it; all the rest is desert." 
+
+"Who are Mr. and Mrs. Purcell?" 
+
+"Aunt Serena's tenants--farmers--I do not know what to call them. They 
+might be servants, but they are not that exactly." 
+
+"Do you mean that there is no other person in the house?" 
+
+"No other person." 
+
+Mr. Southwode began to go forward again, slowly, looking at everything as 
+he went. 
+
+"What do you hear from your aunt?" 
+
+"Nothing. O yes, I have had one scrap of a note from her; some time ago; 
+but it told me nothing:" 
+
+"Have you written to her?" 
+
+"Over and over; till I was tired." 
+
+"Have you written to no one else?" 
+
+"Why of course! I wrote to Mrs. Mowbray, again and again; and to one or 
+two of the girls; but I never got an answer. The whole world has seemed 
+dead, and been dead, for me." 
+
+They slowly paced by the house, and began to go down the sweep towards 
+the other gate. 
+
+"Alone with these two servants for five months!" Mr. Southwode said. 
+"Rotha, what sort of a life have you been living all this while?" 
+
+"I do not know," said the girl catching her breath. "Rather queer. I 
+suppose it has been good for me." 
+
+"What makes you suppose that?" 
+
+"I think I can feel that it has."--But Rotha added no more. 
+
+"Is confidence between us not fully reestablished?" he asked with a 
+smile. 
+
+"O yes--if you care to know," Rotha answered hesitatingly, at the same 
+time finding herself ready to slide back into the old habit of being very 
+open with him. 
+
+"I care to know--if you like to tell me." 
+
+"It has been a queer life," she repeated. "I have been living between two 
+things, my Bible, and the garden. There was an interval of some weeks not 
+long ago, when Mrs. Purcell was sick; and then I lived largely in the 
+kitchen." 
+
+"Go on, and tell me--But how can you go on!" Mr. Southwode found himself 
+approaching the gate and road again, and suddenly broke off. "I cannot 
+keep you standing here by the hour, and a little time will not do for us. 
+Pray, if you have no place to take me to, where do you yourself live?" 
+
+The laughing glance that came to him now was precisely another of the 
+child's looks that he remembered; a look that recognized his sympathy, 
+and answered it out of a fund of heart treasure. 
+
+"I live between my corner at the top of the house, and Mrs. Purcell's 
+corner at the bottom. I have no place but my room and her kitchen." 
+
+"Where can I see you? We have a great deal to talk about. Rotha, suppose 
+you go for a drive with me?" 
+
+Rotha's eyes sparkled. "It would not be the first time," she said. 
+
+"No. Then the next question is, when can we go?" He looked at his watch. 
+
+"It is too late for this afternoon," Rotha opined. 
+
+"I am afraid it is. I do not think we can manage it. Then--Rotha, will 
+you be ready to-morrow morning? How early can you be ready?" 
+
+"We have breakfast about half past six." 
+
+"_We?_" 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha half laughing. "We. That is, Mr. Purcell, and his wife, 
+and myself." 
+
+"Do you take your meals with these people?" 
+
+Rotha nodded. "And in their kitchen. It is the only place." 
+
+"But they are not--What are they?" 
+
+"Not what you would call refined persons," said Rotha, while again the 
+laugh of amusement and pleasure in her eyes shone through an iris of 
+sudden tears. "No--they have been kind to me, though, in their way." 
+
+"As kind as their allegiance to Mrs. Busby permitted," said Mr. Southwode 
+drily, recognizing at the same time the full beauty of this look I have 
+tried to describe. "Well! That is over. How early to-morrow will you be 
+ready to come away?" 
+
+"To come away?" repeated Rotha. "For a drive, you mean?" 
+
+"For a drive from this place. It is not my purpose ever to bring you back 
+again." 
+
+The colour darted vividly into Rotha's cheeks, and a corresponding flash 
+came to her eye. Yet she stood still and silent, while the colour went 
+and came. Never here again? Then whither? and under what guardianship? 
+His own? There came a great heart leap of joy at this suggestion, but 
+with it came also a vague pull-back of doubt; the origin of which 
+probably lay in words she had heard long ago and never forgotten, the 
+tendency of which was to throw scruples in the way of such an arrangement 
+or to cast some slur upon it. Was there an echo of them in Rotha's young 
+consciousness? She did feel that she was a child no longer; that there 
+was a difference since the old time. Yet she was still as simple, nearly, 
+as a child; and of that sort of truth in her own heart which readily 
+believes truth in others. Mr. Digby's truth she knew. Altogether there 
+was a confusion of thoughts within her, which he saw, though he did not 
+read. 
+
+"Do you owe anything to these people here?" he asked, a sudden question 
+rising in his mind. 
+
+"Owe? To Mr. Purcell and his wife? No. I owe them for a good deal of 
+kindness. O! you mean--Yes, in one sense I owe them. I have never paid 
+them anything." 
+
+"For your board, and their care of you?" 
+
+"No.--I do not owe them for much _care_," said Rotha smiling. "I have  
+taken care of myself since I have been here." 
+
+"Do I understand you? Has nobody paid them anything for your stay here?" 
+
+"Nobody." 
+
+"Upon what footing were you here, then?" 
+
+"It has no name," said Rotha contentedly. She could be gay now over this 
+anomalous past. "I do not know what to call it." 
+
+"Has your aunt allowed you to depend upon these people?" 
+
+"Yes. I have not really depended upon them, Mr. Southwode. I promised 
+myself, and I promised Mrs. Purcell, that some day, if I ever could do 
+it, I would live to pay her. If I could have got any work to do, I would 
+have taken it, and paid her before now; but I had no chance. I could see 
+nobody." 
+
+"How literally is that to be taken?" 
+
+"With absolute literalness. I have seen nobody but Mr. and Mrs. Purcell 
+since I came here. Began almost to think I never should." 
+
+"But Sundays?" 
+
+"What of Sundays?" 
+
+"Did you not go to church somewhere?" 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha smiling; "in my pleasant corner room at the top of the 
+house. Nowhere else." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"It is not the habit of the people. And their habit, I found, I could not 
+change." 
+
+"What did you do with your Sundays?" 
+
+"Spent them alone with my Bible. And often they were very, very pleasant; 
+though I found it difficult to keep up such study all alone, through the 
+long days." 
+
+"I must not let you stand here any longer! Will you be ready for me at 
+eleven o'clock to-morrow?" 
+
+"Yes. There is no difficulty in that." 
+
+"Then I will be here at eleven. Good bye!" 
+
+He gave her his hand, looked at her a little steadily, but Rotha could 
+not tell what he was thinking of; then as he let go her hand he lifted 
+his hat and turned away. 
+
+A flush of colour came over Rotha's face, and she was glad to turn too; 
+to hide it. Walking up to the house, she tried to think what Mr. 
+Southwode meant by that last gesture. She was half pleased, and half not 
+pleased. It was the manner of a gentleman to a stranger; she was no 
+stranger. But it was also the manner of a gentleman towards a lady. Did 
+he recognize her then for one? for a grown-up woman? a child no longer? 
+and was he going to take on distance in his behaviour to her? She did not 
+like the idea. That thought however, and all thoughts, soon merged in a 
+feeling of exceeding joy. In the surprise and strangeness of the first 
+meeting, Rotha had hardly had time to know how she felt; no Aurora 
+Borealis is more splendid than the rosy rays of light which began now to 
+stream up into her sky. She knew and began to realize that she was 
+overwhelmingly happy. There were questions unsolved and not easy to 
+solve; there were uncertainties and perplexities in her future; she half 
+discerned that; but she could not give attention to it, in the present 
+she was so exceedingly glad. And she need not; for did not Mr. Digby 
+always know what to do with perplexities? She belonged to him again, and 
+he, not her aunt any more, had the disposal of her; it was the old time 
+come back. She was no longer alone and forlorn; no longer divided from 
+her best friend; what of very hard or very evil could come to her now? 
+
+She felt she was too much excited to bear the sight of Mrs. Purcell just 
+yet; she turned into the old garden to gather some pears. For the last 
+time! It rang in Rotha's heart like a peal of bells. The glint of the 
+October sun, warm and mellow on yellow leaves and on leaves yet green, on 
+tree branches and even garden palings, was like a reflection from the 
+inner sunshine which even so shone upon everything. The world had not 
+looked so when she came out of the house that afternoon; everything was 
+changed. No more under the dominion of her aunt Busby! how Rotha's heart 
+leapt at the thought. No longer to be shut up here with the two Purcell 
+people, and having an indefinite prospect of dull isolation and hopeless 
+imprisonment before her. What was before _her_, Rotha did not indeed know; 
+only Mr. Digby was in it, and that was enough, and security for all the 
+rest. 
+
+She was thinking this, when it suddenly occurred to her, that she had 
+known all along that the love and power of a heavenly friend had been in 
+her future; and yet the knowledge had never given her the rest and the 
+content that the certainty of the human friend gave. Rotha stopped 
+picking pears and stood still, sorry and ashamed. It was true; she could 
+not deny it; and it grieved her. So this was all her faith amounted to, 
+her faith in the Friend who is better and surer immeasurably than all 
+other friends! She could trust Mr. Digby with a trust that made her 
+absolutely careless and happy; she could not trust Christ so. It grieved 
+Rotha keenly; it made her ashamed with a genuine and wholesome shame; but 
+the fact stood. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. 
+
+
+PERPLEXITIES. 
+
+
+She went in with a lapful of pears. By the way she had made up her mind 
+not to speak of what had happened. She had been considering. Joe and 
+Prissy were certainly kind to her, and kindly disposed; yet, what had 
+become of her letters? They had all been intrusted to Mr. Purcell, to 
+mail or have mailed in Tanfield. Did that fact stand in connection with 
+the other fact, that no answers ever came? It was plain now that Mrs. 
+Busby had been playing a deep game; plain that it had been her purpose to 
+keep Rotha hidden away at least from one person. Rotha was the least in. 
+the world of a suspicious nature; nevertheless she felt uncertain what 
+course Joe and Prissy might see fit to take if they knew of what was 
+planning; she resolved they should not know. If only they had not seen 
+Mr. Southwode already! he _would_ stand so in sight of the house. But 
+Prissy looked very unsuspicious. 
+
+"Well, I do think!" she began. "I should say, you wanted some pears. What 
+ever did you s'pose was goin' to be done with 'em?" 
+
+"Eat them!" said Rotha cheerily, emptying her apronful upon the table. 
+
+"The boards is just scoured! And them aint the kind." 
+
+"The kind for what? They are ripe, are they not?" 
+
+"Ripe enough for doin' up. I can make pear honey of 'em. They'd ha' been 
+good done with molasses, if I'd ha' had 'em in time. You can't do nothin' 
+with 'em as they be. They'd draw your mouth all up." 
+
+Rotha looked at her pears and laughed. "Shews how much I know!" she said. 
+
+"Folks as lives in the City o' Pride don't know much o' things!" remarked 
+Prissy. 
+
+"The City of Pride. Why do you call New York that?" 
+
+"Aint it?" 
+
+"I do not know that there is more pride there than in other places. Pride 
+is in people--not in the places where people live. I think _you_ are  
+pretty proud, Prissy." 
+
+"That's all us has got to keep us up," rejoined Mrs. Purcell. "Do you 
+think pride's wrong?" 
+
+"Yes, and so do you, if you believe your little book up there on the 
+mantelpiece." 
+
+"What's in it about pride?" inquired Prissy quickly. 
+
+"Do you not recollect? The Lord said, 'How can ye believe, which receive 
+honour one of another.' Here it is." She took the little volume from the 
+mantel shelf and found the place. Prissy looked at it. 
+
+"What's the harm?" she said. 
+
+"Never mind, if you don't understand. The Lord said it; and he knows." 
+
+"What's come to you?" Prissy asked suddenly. "You're twice as much of a 
+girl as you was this mornin'." 
+
+"Am I?" 
+
+"Somethin's done you a heap o' good. Your face is fired up; and your eyes 
+is two colours, and there's somethin' shinin' out o' 'em." 
+
+"I do feel better," said Rotha soberly. And after that she was careful to 
+be sober as long as supper lasted. 
+
+When she went up to her room she sat down to think at leisure. The light 
+was fading out of the depths of the tulip tree; the stars were twinkling 
+in the dark blue; the still air was a little frosty. Yes, the year had 
+sped on a good part of its course, since that May evening when Rotha had 
+first made friends with the big tulip tree. Near five months ago it was, 
+and now the days were growing short again. O was it possible that her 
+release had come? And not the release she had hoped for, but this? so 
+much better! Only five months; and her little imprisonment was ended, and 
+its lessons all--_were_ they all--learned? With her heart filling and 
+swelling, Rotha sat by her window and thought everything over, one thing 
+after another. She had trusted; she might have trusted better! 
+
+Her aunt's sending her to this place had separated her from nothing, not 
+even from Mr. Digby. Here he was, and had her again under his protection; 
+and it was _he_ henceforth who would say what she should do and where she 
+should go. Not Mrs. Busby henceforth. Rotha's heart thrilled and throbbed 
+with inexpressible joy. Not without queer other thrills also, of what 
+might be described as an instinct of scruple; a certain inner 
+consciousness that in this condition of things there was somewhat 
+anomalous and difficult to adjust. Yet I am by no means sure that this 
+consciousness did in any wise abate the joy. Rotha went over now in 
+imagination all her interview with Mr. Southwode; recalled all he said, 
+and remembered how he looked at each turn of the conversation. And the 
+more she mused, the more her heart bounded. Till at last she recollected 
+that there was something else to be' done before eleven o'clock to-
+morrow; and she went from reverie to very busy activity. 
+
+It was all done, all she had to do, before breakfast time next day. After 
+breakfast Rotha was in great doubt how to manage. If she dressed for her 
+departure, Mr. and Mrs. Purcell would find out that something was going 
+to happen, and perhaps try to hinder it. If she waited in her room until 
+called for, she did not know but they would deny her being in the house 
+at all and bar access to her. Doubtless Mr. Digby would not be 
+permanently barred out, or thwarted in what he meant to do; but Rotha 
+could not endure the thought of delay or disappointment. She would have 
+gone out to meet him; but she was no longer a child, and a feeling of 
+maidenly reserve forbade her. She made everything ready; knew she could 
+change her dress in five minutes; and went down to the kitchen about ten 
+o'clock; she could not stay any longer away from the scene of action. She 
+took a knife and helped Mrs. Purcell pare the pears for stewing. 
+
+"You have been very kind to me, Prissy," she said, after some time of 
+busy silence. 
+
+"'Cause I warnt no more put out about the pears, you mean? Well, I'll 
+tell you. I was fit to bite a tenpenny nail off, when I see you come in 
+with that lapful last night. But I knowed you didn't know no better. If 
+Joe warn't so set I'd make him pick the pears; but he always says and 
+sticks to it, the fruits o' the earth what grows on trees aint no good. 
+He'll eat 'em fast enough, I tells him, and so he will; as long as I'll 
+stand to cook 'em; but he won't lift never a hand to get 'em off the 
+trees. No thin' but corn and oats, and them things, is work for a man, he 
+thinks." 
+
+"Unreasonable--" said Rotha. 
+
+"When isn't men unreasonable?--What do you want, sir? This aint the front 
+o' the house." 
+
+And Rotha came round with a start, for there, at the door of the kitchen, 
+at the top of the steps leading up from the scullery, stood Mr. 
+Southwode; and Prissy's question had been put with a strong displeased 
+emphasis. 
+
+"I know it," said the intruder in answer, "and I beg your pardon; but--
+Does anybody live at the front of the house? 
+
+"Them as tries, finds out," said Mrs. Purcell, with a fierce knitting of 
+her brows. 
+
+"That is also true, as I have learned by experience. I found that nobody 
+lived there." 
+
+"Who did you think lived there? Who do you want?" asked Prissy, 
+ungrammatically, but pointedly. 
+
+"Am I speaking to Mrs. Purcell?" And then the new-comer smiled at Rotha 
+and shook hands with her. 
+
+"That is my name," said Prissy. "It aint her'n." 
+
+"I am aware of that too," said the stranger composedly, "and my present 
+business is with Mrs. Purcell. I wish to know, in the first place, how 
+many weeks Miss Carpenter has been in your house?" 
+
+"What do you want to know for?" said Prissy. "Is it any business o' 
+yourn?" 
+
+"Yes. I may say it is nobody else's business. You have a right to ask; 
+and that is my answer." 
+
+"What do you want to know for?" 
+
+"I wish to discharge your account. Miss Carpenter promised that you 
+should be honestly paid, when the time came; and the time is come now." 
+
+"Be you come from Mis' Busby?" 
+
+"I saw Mrs. Busby a few days ago." 
+
+"And she sent you?" 
+
+"I am not honoured with any commission from Mrs. Busby. As I told you, 
+this business is mine, not hers." 
+
+"Mis' Busby put her here in us's care; and us is bound to take care of 
+her, Joe and me. Us can't take no orders but from Mis' Busby." 
+
+"No; but you can take money? Mrs. Busby, I think, will not pay you. I 
+will. But I must do it now. I am going away, and may probably never come 
+this way again." 
+
+"I don't see what you have to do, a payin' Miss Carpenter's o win's," 
+said Prissy, eyeing him suspiciously from head to foot. 
+
+"The best reason in the world.--Rotha, will you go and get ready?"--and 
+then as the door closed upon Rotha Mr. Southwode went on.--"Miss 
+Carpenter has been under my care ever since she lost her mother. I placed 
+her with her aunt when I was obliged to go abroad, to England; and now I 
+am come to take her away." 
+
+"To take Rotha away?" cried Prissy. 
+
+"To take Miss Carpenter away." 
+
+"Maybe Mis' Busby don't want her to go." 
+
+"Maybe not. But that is of no consequence. Let me have your account, 
+please." 
+
+"Be you goin' to many her?" Prissy asked suddenly. 
+
+"That is not a question you have any need to ask." 
+
+"I asks it though,"--returned Prissy sturdily. "Be you?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then I wish you'd go and talk to Mr. Purcell, 'cos I don' know nothin' 
+about it. If you was goin' to marry her, stands to reason everything else 
+gives way; folks must get married, if they has a mind to; but if you 
+aint, I don't see into it, and don't see no sense in it. Mr. Purcell's at 
+the barn. I wish you'd just go and talk to him." 
+
+"I have had trouble enough to find you," said the gentleman; "I shall not 
+try to find Mr. Purcell. If you wish me to see him, I will wait here till 
+you bring him." 
+
+And so saying, Mr. Southwode deposited his hat on the table and himself 
+sat down. Prissy gave him glance after glance, unsatisfied and uneasy. 
+She did long to refer things to Joe; and she saw she could not manage her 
+unwelcome visiter; so finally she took off her apron and threw it over 
+her head and set off on a run for the barn. Meanwhile Rotha came down, 
+all ready for the drive. 
+
+"Where are they all?" she exclaimed. 
+
+"One gone after the other. I think, Rotha, it will be the pleasantest way 
+for you, to go out at once to the carriage and wait there for me; if you 
+will let me be so discourteous. You may as well escape the discussion I 
+must hold with these people. Where is your luggage?" 
+
+"I have only one little trunk, up stairs at the top of the house. The 
+rest of my things are at aunt Busby's." 
+
+"We will not ask her for them. I will take care of your box and bring it 
+along. And give me this." 
+
+He took Rotha's handbag from her hand as he spoke and dismissed her with 
+a smile; and Rotha, feeling as if all sorts of burdens were lifted from 
+her at once, went out and went round to where a phaeton was waiting at 
+the front of the house. And there she stood, with her heart beating; 
+remembering her sad coming five months before: (but the five months 
+seemed five years;) thinking of all sorts of incongruous things; 
+uncertain, curious as what was to be done with her; congratulating 
+herself that she had _one_ nice dress, her travelling dress, which she 
+had carefully saved until now; and wondering what she should do for 
+others, her calicos being a good deal worn and only working dresses at 
+the best. So she stood waiting; doubtful, yet on the whole most glad; 
+questioning, yet unable to be anxious; while five minutes after five 
+minutes passed away. At last came the procession; Prissy in front, her 
+husband following with Rotha's trunk on his shoulders, Mr. Southwode 
+bringing up the rear. 
+
+"I never thought you'd go like _that_," said Prissy reproachfully. "If  
+us is poor folks, us has hands clean enough to shake." 
+
+"I never meant to go without bidding you good bye, Prissy,"  said Rotha, 
+grasping her hand heartily, 
+
+"Looks awful like it--" rejoined Mrs. Purcell. 
+
+"I shall always remember your kindness to me," Rotha went on. 
+
+"Pay and forget!" said Prissy. "It's all paid for now; and it's us as 
+must give thanks." Then she added in a lower tone, "Where be you goin' 
+now?" 
+
+"To Tanfield first, I suppose." 
+
+Prissy looked significantly at Mr. Southwode, who was ordering the 
+disposition of the trunk, and had evidently more in her thoughts than she 
+chose to utter. Then Joe came with his hand outstretched for a parting 
+grasp, his face smiling with satisfaction. 
+
+"Well," he said, "we've all done the best we could; and nobody has 
+anything to be sorry for. But we shall miss you, bad!" 
+
+"All he cares for 's the pears!" said his wife. "Come along, Joe; if you 
+are good, I'll get you some." 
+
+The wagon drove off before Rotha could hear Joe's answer. She was gone! 
+The weary months of imprisonment were done and passed. What was to follow 
+now? 
+
+Rotha could not think, could not care. The phaeton was rolling smoothly 
+along; she was traversing easily the long stretch of highway she had 
+looked at so often; her old best friend was in charge of her; Rotha gave 
+up care. Yet questions would come up in her mind, though she dismissed 
+them as fast; and her heart kept singing for joy. She did not even ask 
+whither she was driven. 
+
+She was going to the hotel at Tanfield, the same where she had once put 
+up alone. Here her box was ordered to a room which seemed to have been 
+made ready for her; and Mr. Southwode remarked that lunch would be ready 
+presently. Rotha took off her hat and joined him in the private room 
+where it was prepared. A wood fire was burning, and a table was set, and 
+the October sun shone in, and Mr. Digby was there reading a paper. Rotha 
+put her hand upon her eyes; it seemed too much brightness all at once. 
+Mr. Southwode on his part laid down his paper and looked at her; he was 
+noticing with fresh surprise the changes that three years had made. 
+Truly, _this_ was not what he left in Mrs. Busby's care. And there is no 
+doubt Mr. Southwode as well as Rotha had something to think of; and 
+questions he had been debating with himself since yesterday came up with 
+new emphasis and urgency. Nothing of all this shewed. He laid down his 
+paper, stirred up the fire, gave Rotha an easier chair than the one she 
+had first chosen, and took a seat opposite her. 
+
+"We have got to begin all over again," he smilingly remarked. 
+
+"Oh no!" said Rotha. "I do not think so." 
+
+"Why? We cannot be said to know one another now, can we?" 
+
+"I know you--" said Rotha a little lower. 
+
+"Do you? But I do not know you." 
+
+"I am just what I used to be," the girl said briskly, raising her head. 
+
+"By your own shewing, _not_. The bird I left would have beat its wings 
+lame against the bars of the cage I found it in." 
+
+"I did beat my wings pretty lame at first," said Rotha; "but not in this 
+cage." 
+
+"In what one then?" he asked quickly. 
+
+"Oh--after you went away. I mean that time." 
+
+"What made the cage at that time?" 
+
+"Aunt Serena--and aunt Serena's house." 
+
+"I was a little afraid of it. But I could not help myself. What did she 
+do?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated a little. 
+
+"I do not think it is any use to go back to it now," she said. "It was 
+partly my own fault. I had meant fully to do just as you said, and be 
+polite and quiet and pleasant;--and I could not!" 
+
+"And so--?" 
+
+"And so, we had bad times. After aunt Serena kept me from seeing you and 
+bidding you good bye, or even knowing that you were gone, I could not 
+forgive her. And she knew she had wronged me. And that people do not 
+forget." 
+
+"You thought I had too, eh?" 
+
+"No," said Rotha; "not then. I knew it was her doing." 
+
+"It was wholly her doing. Whenever I came and asked for you, I was always 
+told that you were out, or sick in bed, or in some way quite unable to 
+see me. And my going was extremely sudden, so that I had no time to take 
+measures; other than to write to you and enclose my address." 
+
+"I never got it. And all those times I was always at home, and perfectly 
+well, and sometimes--" 
+
+"Well--what?" 
+
+"Sometimes I was standing in the hall up stairs, leaning over the 
+balusters and listening to your steps in the hall." 
+
+Colour rose in Rotha's cheek, and her voice took a tone which told tales; 
+and Mr. Southwode thought he did begin to recognize his little friend of 
+old time. 
+
+"And then--" Rotha went on, "you know what I used to be, and can guess 
+that I was not very patient." 
+
+"I can guess that. And what are you now?" 
+
+She flashed one of her quick looks at him, smiled and blushed. "I have 
+grown a little older--" she said. 
+
+Mr. Southwode quite perceived that. He was inclined to believe that what 
+he had before him was the ripened fruit which in its green state he had 
+tried so hard to bring into the sun; grown sweet and rich beyond his 
+hopes. He turned the conversation however, took up his paper again and 
+read to Rotha a paragraph concerning some late events in Europe; from 
+which they went off into a talk leading far from personal affairs, to the 
+affairs of nations past and present, and branching off into questions of 
+history and literature. And Mr. Southwode found again the Rotha of old, 
+only with the change I have above indicated. The talk was lively for an 
+hour, until lunch was served. It was served for them alone, in the room 
+where they were. As they took their places at table and the meal began, 
+for a few minutes there was silence. 
+
+"This is like--and not like--the old time," Mr. Southwode remarked 
+smiling. 
+
+"I think it is more 'not like,'" said Rotha. 
+
+"Why, pray?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated. "I said just now I had not changed; but in some things I 
+have." 
+
+"Grown a little taller." 
+
+"A good deal, Mr. Southwode! And that is the least of the changes, I 
+suppose." 
+
+"What are the others? Come, it is the very thing it imports me to know. 
+And the quicker the better. Tell me all you can." 
+
+"About myself?" 
+
+"I mean, about yourself!" 
+
+"That's difficult." 
+
+"I admit it is difficult; but easier for a frank nature, such as yours 
+used to be, than for another." 
+
+Meanwhile he helped her to things on the table, taking care of her in the 
+manner he used to do in old time. It put a kind of spell upon Rotha. The 
+old instinct of doing what he wished her to do seemed to be springing up 
+in its full imperativeness. 
+
+"What do you want to know?" she asked doubtfully. 
+
+"Everything!" 
+
+"Everything is not much, in this case. I have lived most of the time, 
+till last May, with Mrs. Mowbray; at school." 
+
+"What did you do at school?" 
+
+"Nothing. I _began_ to do, that is all. I have just begun to learn. Just 
+began to feel that I was getting hold of things, and that they were 
+growing most delightful. Then all was broken on ." 
+
+"That was last May?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Why do you suppose your aunt chose just that time to send you here?" 
+
+"I have no idea! She was going to Chicago, she said--" 
+
+"You know she did not go?" 
+
+"Did not go? She was in New York all this summer?" 
+
+"So I understood from herself In New York or near it." 
+
+"Then what _did_ she mean by sending me here, Mr. Digby? She did not 
+know you were coming." 
+
+"You think that knowledge would have affected her measures?" 
+
+"I know it would!" 
+
+"It is an unfruitful subject to inquire into. I am afraid your vacations 
+can hardly have been pleasant times, spent in your aunt's family?" 
+
+"I was not always with her. Quite as often I staid with Mrs. Mowbray--my 
+dear Mrs. Mowbray! and with her I went to Catskill, and to Niagara, and 
+to Nahant, and to the Adirondacks. I had great times. It was the next 
+best thing to--to the old days, when I was with you." 
+
+"I should think it would have been much better," Mr. Southwode said, 
+forbidding the smile that was inclined to come. For Rotha's manner did 
+not make her words less flattering. 
+
+"Do you? Do you not know me better than that, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, 
+feeling a little injured. 
+
+"I suppose I do! You were always an unreasonable child. But I can 
+understand how you should regret Mrs. Mowbray." 
+
+"Now?" said Rotha. "I do not regret anything now. I am too happy to tell 
+how happy I am." 
+
+"I remember, you are gifted with a great capacity for happiness," Mr. 
+Southwode said, letting the smile come now. 
+
+"It is a good thing," said Rotha. "Sometimes, even this summer, I could 
+forget my troubles in my flower beds. Did you notice in what nice order 
+they were, and how many flowers still?" 
+
+"I am afraid I did not specially notice." 
+
+"Awhile ago they were full of bloom, and lovely. And when I took them in 
+hand they were a wilderness. Nobody had touched them for ever so long. I 
+had a job of it. But it paid." 
+
+"What else have you done this summer?" 
+
+"Nothing else, except study my Bible. It was all the study I had." 
+
+"How did you study it? as a disciple? or as an inquirer?" 
+
+"O, as a disciple. Can one really _study_ it in any other way?" 
+
+"I am afraid so. There is deep study, and there is superficial study, you 
+know. Then you are a disciple, Rotha?" 
+
+"Yes, Mr. Southwode; a sort of one. But I am one." 
+
+"When did that come about?" 
+
+"Not so very long after you went away. I came to the time that you told 
+me of, that it would come." 
+
+"What time? I do not recollect." 
+
+"A time when everything failed me."--Rotha felt somehow disappointed, 
+that she should remember so much better than he did. 
+
+"And then you found Christ?" 
+
+"Yes,--after a while." 
+
+"What have you been doing for him since then?" 
+
+"Doing for him?" Rotha repeated. 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"I do not know. Not much. I am afraid, not anything." 
+
+"Was that because you thought there was not much to do?" 
+
+"N--o," said Rotha thoughtfully; "I did not think _that_. Only nothing 
+particular for me to do." 
+
+"That was a mistake." 
+
+"I did not see anything for me to do." 
+
+"Perhaps. But the Lord has no servants to be idle. If they do not see 
+their work, it is either that their eyes are not good, or that they are 
+looking in the wrong direction." 
+
+A silence followed this statement, during which Rotha was thinking. 
+
+"Mr. Digby, what do you mean by their eyes being not good?" 
+
+"Not seeing clearly." 
+
+"And what makes people's eyes dim to see their work?" 
+
+"A want of sensitiveness in their optic nerve," he said smiling. "It is 
+written, you know the words--'He died for all, that they which live 
+should not live unto themselves, but unto him who died for them'--How has 
+it been in your case?" 
+
+"I never thought of it," Rotha answered slowly. "I believe my head has 
+been just full of myself,--learning and enjoying." 
+
+"I do not want to check either, and the service of Christ does not check 
+either. I am glad, after all, the _enjoying_ has formed such a part of
+your experience." 
+
+"With Mrs. Mowbray, how should it not? You know her a little, Mr. 
+Southwode?" 
+
+"Only a little." 
+
+"But you cannot know her, for you never needed her. O such a friend as 
+she is! Not to me only, but to whoever needs her. She goes along life 
+with her hands full of blessings, and she is forever dropping something 
+into somebody's lap; if it is not help, it is pleasure; if it is not a 
+fruit, it is a flower. I never saw anybody like her. She is a very angel 
+in the shape of a woman; and she is doing angel's work all the day long. 
+I have seen, and I know. All sorts of help, and comfort, and cheer, and 
+tenderness, and sympathy; and herself is the very last person' in all the 
+world she thinks of." 
+
+"That's a pretty character," said Mr. Southwode. 
+
+"It comes out in everything," Rotha went on. "It is not in giving only; 
+she is forever making everybody happy, if she can. There are some people 
+you cannot make happy. But nursing them when they are sick, and 
+comforting them when they are in trouble, and helping them when they are 
+in difficulty, and supplying them when they are in need, and if they are 
+none of those things, then just throwing flowers in their lap,--that is 
+Mrs. Mowbray. Yes, and she can reprove them when they are wrong, too; and 
+that is a harder service than either." 
+
+"In how many of all these ways has she done you good, Rotha? if I may 
+ask." 
+
+"It is only pleasant to answer, Mr. Digby. In all of them." And Rotha's 
+eyes filled full, and her cheek took fire. 
+
+"Not 'supplying need' also?" 
+
+"O yes! O that was one of the first things her kind hand did for me. Mr. 
+Southwode, do you know, many people criticise her for the use she makes 
+of her money; they call her extravagant, and indiscreet, and all that. 
+They say she ought to lay up her money." 
+
+"Quite natural." 
+
+"But it hurt me sometimes." 
+
+"It need not hurt you. There is another judgment, which is of more 
+importance. 'There is, that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.' 
+And there is, 'that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich 
+towards God.' But the world must weigh according to its balances, and 
+they are too small to take heaven in." 
+
+A pause followed. With the going back to Mrs. Mowbray and all the 
+memories connected with her, a sort of mist of association began to rise 
+in Rotha's mind, to dim the new brightness of the present time. Uneasy 
+half recollections of words or manner, or perhaps rather of the 
+impression that words and manner had left behind them, began to come 
+floating in upon her joyousness. The silence lasted. 
+
+"What did you learn with Mrs. Mowbray?" Mr. Southwode asked at length. 
+
+"Beginnings of things," said Rotha regretfully; "only beginnings. I had 
+not time fairly to learn anything." 
+
+"Beginnings of what?" 
+
+"French, Latin, geometry and algebra, history of course, philosophy, 
+chemistry,--those were the principal things. I was going into geology, 
+and I wanted to learn German; but Mrs. Mowbray thought I was doing 
+enough already." 
+
+"Enough, I should think. Music?" 
+
+"O no!" said Rotha smiling. 
+
+"Drawing?" 
+
+"No," said the girl with a sigh this time. "Mrs. Mowbray could not give 
+me everything you know, for she has others to help. And aunt Serena would 
+not have heard of such a thing." 
+
+"What would you like to do now, Rotha?" 
+
+"Do? About what, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"Learning. I suppose you would like to go on in all these paths of 
+knowledge you have entered?" 
+
+Rotha looked towards him a little doubtfully. How did he mean? Himself to 
+be her teacher again? But his next words explained. 
+
+"You would like to go to school again?" 
+
+"Yes, of course. I should like it very much." 
+
+"Then that is one thing decided." 
+
+"Shall I go back to Mrs. Mowbray?" she asked eagerly. 
+
+Mr. Southwode hesitated, and delayed his answer. 
+
+"I would rather be at a greater distance from Mrs. Busby," he confessed 
+then. 
+
+And Rotha made no answer. Those old impressions and associations were 
+trooping in. She remembered that Mrs. Mowbray had never favoured the 
+introduction of Mr. Southwode's name into their conversations; she had a 
+dim apprehension that her influence would be thrown into Mrs. Busby's 
+scale, and that possibly both ladies would join to prevent her, Rotha's, 
+being under Mr. Southwode's protection and management. While not in the 
+least suspicious, Rotha was too fine strung not to be an acute discerner. 
+So far her thoughts went distinctly, and it was enough to tie her tongue. 
+But beyond this, there were lights and shadows hovering on the horizon, 
+which followed no traceable lines and revealed no recognizable forms, and 
+yet made her feel that the social atmosphere held or might develope 
+elements not altogether benign and peaceful. There had been words said or 
+half said formerly, on one or two occasions, which had given her a clue 
+she did not now like to follow out; words it would have been comfortable 
+to forget, only Rotha did not forget. She _had_ forgotten or dismissed 
+them, but as I said they began to come back. Besides, she was older. She 
+could see now, simple as she was still, that in the relations between her 
+and her guardian there was something anomalous; that for a young girl 
+like her to be under care of a man no older than he, who was neither 
+brother nor uncle nor any relation at all, and for her to be eating her 
+bread at his expense, was a state of things which must be regarded as 
+unusual, and to say the least, questionable. Poor Rotha sat thinking of 
+this while she went on with her luncheon, and growing alternately hot and 
+cold as she thought of it; everything being aggravated by an occasional 
+glance at the friend opposite her, whose neighbourhood was so sweet, and 
+every line of his face and figure so inexpressibly precious to her. For 
+it began to dawn upon Rotha the woman, what had been utterly spurned in 
+idea by Rotha the child, that this anomalous relation could not subsist 
+always. She must, or he must, find a way out of it; and she preferred 
+that it should be herself and not he. And the only way out of it that 
+Rotha could see, was, that she should train herself to become a teacher; 
+and so, in a very few years, a very few, come to be self-supported. It 
+struck her heart like a bolt of ice, the thought; for the passionate 
+delight of Rotha's heart was this very friend, from whom she began to see 
+that she must separate herself. The greatest comfort at this moment was, 
+that Mr. Southwode himself looked so composed and untroubled by doubts or 
+whatever else. Yet Mr. Southwode had his own thoughts the while; and to 
+conclude from the calmness of his face that his mind was equally 
+uncrossed by a question, would have been to make a mistake. 
+
+"Where then, if not to Mrs. Mowbray's?" Rotha inquired at last, breaking 
+a long silence. 
+
+"Perhaps Boston. How would you like that? Or would you be very sorry not 
+to return to New York?" 
+
+"Yes, sorry," said Rotha, "but I think it may be best. O Boston, or 
+anywhere, Mr. Southwode! Just what you think wisest. But--I was 
+thinking--" 
+
+Rotha laid down her knife and fork and pushed away her plate. Her heart 
+began to beat at an uneasy rate, and her voice grew anxious. 
+
+"May I give you some fruit?" 
+
+"No--I do not care for it--thank you." 
+
+"This looks like a good pear. Try." 
+
+It was on the whole easier to be doing something with her fingers. Rotha 
+began to peal the pear. 
+
+"You were thinking--?" Mr. Southwode then resumed. 
+
+"I?--O yes! I was thinking--" And Rotha's pear and peel went down. "I was 
+thinking--Mr. Digby, if I knew just what I was going to do, or be 
+afterwards,--wouldn't it help us to know what I had better study? what 
+preparation I ought to have?" 
+
+"Afterwards? After what?" said Mr. Southwode, without laying down his 
+pear. 
+
+"After I have done with school." 
+
+"When do you suppose that will be?" 
+
+"I do not know. That of course would depend upon the other question." 
+
+"Not necessarily. My wish is that you should be fitted for any situation 
+in life. A one-sided education is never to be chosen, if one can help it; 
+and one generally can help it. We can, at any rate. What are you thinking 
+of doing, Rotha? in that 'afterwards' to which you refer?" 
+
+"I have not thought very much about it. But you know I must do 
+_something_. I suppose teaching would be the best. I dare say Mrs. 
+Mowbray would take me for one of her helpers, if I were once fitted to 
+fill the place." 
+
+"What put this in your head?" 
+
+"I suppose, _first_, some words of aunt Serena. That was her plan for 
+me."
+
+"I thought it was arranged that I was to take care of you." 
+
+"You are doing it," said Rotha gratefully. "But of course you could not 
+do it always." 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"Why--because--" said Rotha faltering and flushing a little,--"I do not 
+belong to you in any way. It would not be right." 
+
+"My memory is better, it seems, than yours. If I recollect right, you 
+were given to me by your mother." 
+
+"O yes," said Rotha, flushing deeper,--"she did. But I am sure she did 
+not mean that I should be a charge upon you, after I was able to help 
+myself." 
+
+"You do not fancy that you can 'help yourself' now?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"You do not judge that you are empowered to take back her gift?" 
+
+"Not exactly. But Mr. Southwode," said Rotha half laughing, "I do not see 
+how you can keep it. I _must_ do something for myself." 
+
+"Not till I give permission. Eat your pear, and leave business to me." 
+
+It rather comforted Rotha that this command was given to her; 
+nevertheless and although the pear was a fine one, she 'chewed the cud of 
+meditation' along with it. Very inopportunely those words heard long ago 
+came floating back upon her memory, making her uncomfortable; making her 
+doubt whether she could possibly remain long under the care that was so 
+genial to her. Still, the present was too good to be spoiled, albeit the 
+enjoyment of it was shadowed, by these reflections. I think, rather, 
+according to some perverse principle of human nature, they made the 
+enjoyment of it more tremblingly acute. However, the fruit was consumed 
+in silence; Mr. 'Southwode having, as I hinted, his own thoughts. They 
+left the table and took seats before the fire. 
+
+"Now Rotha," said her guardian, "I should like to know what you have done 
+in these three years. Are you willing that I should try to find out?" 
+
+"By questioning me?" said Rotha laughing and flushing. "It would not be a 
+new thing, Mr. Digby." 
+
+Whereupon Mr. Southwode went into an examination of Rotha's acquirements 
+and mental standing. It was pleasant enough and easy enough, though it 
+was searching; it had too much savour of old times about it to be 
+anything but easy and pleasant. Rotha did not fear it, and so enjoyed it. 
+And so did her examiner. He found all that he had once known possible and 
+hoped for her. The quick intelligence of the child he found matured; the 
+keen apprehension practised; the excellent memory stored, even beyond 
+what he expected. And then, Rotha's capital powers of reasoning were as 
+true and clear-sighted as ever, her feeling as just and unperverted; the 
+thirst for knowledge was more developed and very strong; and the 
+knowledge already laid up amounted to a stock of surprising amount and 
+variety. 
+
+That was to both parties a very pleasant two hours. Rotha was looking, by 
+turns, into the face she loved so well and watching the familiar face 
+play, with the delight of one whose eyes have been long without the sight 
+of what they loved. Moreover, she was taking up again the various threads 
+of learning which had slipped from her hand, feeling now that her hold of 
+them would not loose again. There was a savour of old associations, too, 
+about this talk, which was very fascinating; and further yet, Rotha had a 
+subtle consciousness that she was satisfying Mr. Southwode. And he on his 
+part was making new acquaintance with his little friend of old, and 
+noticing with a little surprise and much admiration how she had changed 
+and grown. The face which was always so eager and expressive had taken on 
+womanly softness and mature richness, without losing a bit of its 
+changeful fire. The sallow skin had become clear and fine; the lines of 
+the lips, not less passionate and not less decided than they used to be, 
+were soft and pure; refinement was in every curve of them, and in all the 
+face, and all the figure, and in every movement of either; and the deep, 
+flashing eyes could be innocently merry and sweet too, and constantly 
+answered him before the lips could speak. As one quarter of an hour sped 
+on after another, Mr. Southwode grew less and less ready to be relieved 
+of his charge. Yet, he asked himself, what should he do with her? He did 
+not entertain the idea Mrs. Purcell had suggested; it was not precisely a 
+disagreeable idea, and it recurred to him, in the midst of philosophy and 
+mathematics; it was not a disagreeable idea, but--he had never entertained 
+it! And he doubted besides if Rotha would easily entertain it. He knew 
+she was fond of him, fond of being with him; but it was a childish 
+fondness, he said to himself; it could be nothing else. It was a childish 
+fondness, too frankly shewn to be anything more or deeper. And Rotha was 
+very young, had seen nobody, and could not know what she would like. That 
+she would do anything he asked her, he had little doubt; she would marry 
+him if he asked her; but Mr. Southwode did not want a wife on those 
+terms. What should he do with her? Yes, he knew the difficulties, much 
+better than she knew them; he knew how people would talk, and how under 
+the circumstances they would have reason to talk; which Rotha knew not. 
+All which troublesome elements of the relation subsisting between them, 
+only somehow made Mr. Southwode hold to it the faster. Probably he was by 
+nature an obstinate man. 
+
+Upon the pause which followed the end of her examination came a question 
+of Rotha. 
+
+"Are you going to stay in this country now, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"My home is in England," he answered, rousing himself out of reverie. 
+
+Rotha's heart sank at that; sank sadly. Next came a recoil of her 
+reason--Yes, you had better go away, if I cling to you in this fashion! 
+
+"Why?" was his next counter question. "What makes you ask?" 
+
+"I did not know," said Rotha. "I wanted to know. I heard people say you 
+would live over there." 
+
+"What else have you heard people say about me?" 
+
+"Not much. Aunt Serena never spoke of you, I think, if she could help it. 
+I have only heard somebody say that you were very rich--that your home 
+would be over there now, probably;--and that you would concern yourself 
+no more about me," Rotha added, in the instinct of truth. 
+
+"Kind judgment," said Mr. Southwode; "but in this case not true. The rest 
+is true, that I have a large property." 
+
+He went on to tell Rotha several things about himself; not using many 
+words, at the same time not making any mystery of it. He told her that 
+his very large means came from business; that the business was in hands 
+which made it unnecessary that he should give to the oversight of it more 
+than a portion of his time. He had a home in England, and he described 
+it; in the Lake country, surrounded with beautiful scenery. He was very 
+fond of it, but he was not a fixture there; on the contrary, he went 
+wherever there was reason for him to go, or work to be done by his going. 
+"So I am here now, you see." he concluded. 
+
+And so, something else may take you back again, and keep you there! 
+thought Rotha; but she did not say what she thought, nor indeed say 
+anything. Mr. Southwode's detail, while it interested her terribly, and 
+in a sort nattered her, also reduced her to a very low feeling of 
+downheartedness. What was she to him, the poor little American orphan, to 
+the rich English gentleman? what but just one of his various and probably 
+many objects of benevolence? What more could she be, in the nature of 
+things? No; she had been quite right; what she had to do was to equip 
+herself as speedly as possible for the battle of life, and dash into it 
+as a teacher; and only remember as a kind of fairy tale the part of her 
+life when he had been its guardian and protector. Rotha's heart swelled; 
+yet she would shew nothing of that. She sat still and moveless; too still 
+and unchanging, in fact, for the supposition that her thoughts were not 
+whirling round a fixed centre. I do not know how much of this Mr. 
+Southwode read, I am not sure but the whirl of his own thoughts occupied 
+him sufficiently. However, when this still silence had lasted a little 
+while, he broke it up by proposing to take Rotha a drive. "You used to 
+like it," he remarked. Rotha did not like it less now. She went to get 
+ready; thinking to herself that it was maybe the very last time. Why had 
+she come to Tanfield at all? and why had Mr. Southwode sought her out 
+there? Better if she could have remained as she was, and he no more than 
+a locked up treasure of the past kept in her memory. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX. 
+
+
+DOWN HILL. 
+
+
+The afternoon was on the wane by the time they set out. The afternoon of 
+a fair day in October. For Rotha's present mood it was almost too fair. 
+The country around Tanfield is level for a mile or two, and well 
+cultivated; the hues of the forest at the change of tire leaf are not 
+seen here. Yet October was not left without witnesses. Here and there a 
+warm stubble field told of summer gone and harvests gathered; her and 
+there the yellowing green of a weeping willow proclaimed that autumn was 
+passing away. Hay ricks carefully covered; wood sheds carefully filled; 
+now and then a plough upturning the rich soil, and leaving furrows of 
+ruddy brown creeping over the field; they all told the time of year; and 
+so did at intervals a great maple tree in its livery of red and green, or 
+a hickory all in gold, or a great red oak in its dark splendour. There 
+was no mistaking October; even without the genial, gracious sun which 
+shed over all the landscape such mellow and mellowing rays. Mr. Southwode 
+had obtained an easy-going phaeton, with a pair of lively ponies; and 
+through this level, quiet, rich, farm country they bowled along smoothly 
+and fast. The pleasure, to Rotha, was so keen that it almost took on the 
+semblance of pain. "This once," she was saying to herself; "and if only 
+this once, then why this once?" And then she chid herself, and bade 
+herself enjoy thoroughly and thankfully what was given her. She tried, 
+and did not perfectly succeed. 
+
+Mr. Southwode was silent on his part, more than usual. Certainly his 
+reflections were in no sort like Rotha's, as they had no need; yet he was 
+not clear in his own mind as to the best, or even the possible, issues of 
+things. He found that he was not willing to entertain for a moment 
+Rotha's proposition about striking off from his protection and making a 
+livelihood for herself. Yet it was good sense. In fact, what else could 
+be done? If Mr. Southwode had had a mother, and so a home, to which he 
+could have introduced her; that would have been simple enough. She might 
+have taken the place of a young sister. Failing that, what plan could be 
+substituted, short of the one Mrs. Purcell had rudely proposed? He had no 
+idea that Rotha was ready for that. Yes, undoubtedly she loved him, after 
+another fashion; he was her childhood's friend and guardian and tutor; 
+and as a child, no doubt, she still paid him reverence and affection. Mr. 
+Southwode would never take advantage of the power this fact gave him, to 
+draw Rotha into an alliance which her free mind would not have chosen. 
+Some men would; many men might; it did not suit him. He could never take 
+a wife on such doubtful terms. He was not clear that he wanted her on any 
+terms. Yet oddly, and inconsistently, when he looked at the fine, honest, 
+thoughtful, sensitive face beside him, something within him said, "I 
+shall never let you go." It was very inconsistent. How he was to keep 
+her, he could not see. He did not look at her often, for every look 
+perplexed him. And Mr. Southwode was not in the least used to being 
+perplexed. That perplexed him. Meanwhile he kept his horses well in hand 
+and drove admirably. Over the level roads, through the still air, they 
+went with the steadiness and almost the swiftness, of a locomotive. It 
+was glorious driving. Rotha caught her breath with delight. 
+
+At this rate of progress however the small ex-tent of level country was 
+soon passed over. They began to get among broken ground and low hills; 
+hills and round heights covered with tufts of wood growth, now in all the 
+colours of the gay time of year. Hickories all gold, ashes in sad purple, 
+bronzed chestnut oaks, yellow birches, and sometimes sober green savins; 
+and maples in abundance and in brilliant variegation. There were risings 
+and fallings of ground now, and turning of angles; and as they went the 
+hills grew higher and set closer upon the road, and the road was often 
+too steep for the pace the horses had hitherto kept up. Now they must 
+walk up a hill, and sometimes walk down again. 
+
+"Do you know where you are, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, one of these times. 
+
+"Not perfectly." 
+
+"Is not that a very favourable statement of the case?" 
+
+"Let us take an observation," said he, pulling up at the top of the hill. 
+"There is the west, by the sun. We have kept our backs upon Tanfield 
+generally; it must lie well to the south, and a little to the east of us. 
+I am going to take the first turning that promises to bring us round, and 
+back by another road. There is the railway!--do you see, yonder, its 
+straight level line? Now I know where we are. That is the Tanfield 
+railway, running on to the north. We must come about and meet it, 
+somewhere." 
+
+The coming about, however, proved to be a long and gradual process. The 
+first turning they took did not lead immediately in the desired 
+direction, only as it were inclined towards it; the second turning was 
+not more satisfactory. Meanwhile they got deeper among the hills; the 
+ground was more and more rough; farming land disappeared; rocks and 
+woodland filled the eye, look where it would; the roads were less 
+travelled and by no means smooth going any longer. Even so, they were 
+prettier; the changes of hill and valley, sudden and varied as they were, 
+gave interest to every foot of the way. All this took time; but nobody 
+was in a hurry. Rotha was thinking that perhaps it was her last drive 
+with Mr. Southwode; and Mr. Southwode was thinking, I do not know what; 
+nor perhaps did he. 
+
+The point was found at last where they could turn their faces towards 
+Tanfield; they were sure of their way when they reached the top of a hill 
+and saw, spread out before them for many a square mile, the plain country 
+in which the town stood, and far away in the midst of it could discern 
+the glinting of the light upon its spires and houses. The sun was very 
+low; its level rays gave an exquisite illumination to the whole scene, 
+lighting every rise of ground and every tuft of woodland, and even coming 
+back from scattered single trees with beautiful defining effect. Mr. 
+Southwode drew up his horses; and for a few minutes he and Rotha fed 
+their eyes with what was before them. The sun was just kissing the 
+horizon. 
+
+"That is worth coming all the way for!" he said. 
+
+"And we shall not have it but just half a minute longer," said Rotha. 
+"There--the light is going now. O what a sight it is!--There! now it is 
+all gone. How far are we from home, do you suppose?" 
+
+"By the roads, I do not know; but once at the bottom of this hill we 
+shall have nothing but level travelling, and the horses go pretty well." 
+
+"_Pretty_ well!" said Rotha laughing. "I am wondering then what you would 
+call very well? We have got to cross the railway, Mr. Southwode. It runs 
+by the foot of the hill." 
+
+"There is no train near," he answered as he put his horses in motion. 
+
+They went slowly down the hill, which was rough and steep. The horses 
+behaved well, setting down their feet carefully, and holding back the 
+carnage with the instinct or training which seems to be aware what would 
+be the consequence of letting themselves and it go. But then happened one 
+of those things against which instinct is no protection and training 
+cannot provide. Just as a sharp turn in the road was reached, from which 
+it went on turning round a shoulder of the hill till it reached the lower 
+ground, this thing happened. It was the worst possible place for an 
+accident; the descent was steep and rough and winding, the road 
+disappearing from view behind the turn; and crossed evidently, just a 
+little further below, by the railway track. The horses at this point came 
+to a sudden stop. Mr. Southwode alone saw why. Some buckle or pin or 
+strap, which had to do with the secure holding of the end of the carriage 
+pole to the harness, was broken or had given way, and the pole had fallen 
+to the ground. The horses had made an astonished pause, but he knew this 
+pause would be followed the next instant by a mad headlong rush down the 
+hill and a swallowing of the plain with their hoofs, if they ever reached 
+it; which was in u high degree unlikely for them and impossible for the 
+carriage. Rotha only knew that the horses quietly stopped, and that Mr. 
+Southwode said quietly, 
+
+"Jump, Rotha!" 
+
+Yes, he said it quietly; and yet there was something in tone or accent 
+which left no room for disobedience or even hesitation. That something 
+was very much the matter, Rotha at once knew; and if there was danger she 
+did not at all wish to get out of it and leave him to face it alone. She 
+would rather have sat still and taken what came, so she took it with him. 
+Moreover she had always been told that in case of a runaway the last 
+thing to be done is to try to get out of the carriage. All this was full 
+in her mind; and yet when Mr. Southwode said "Jump," she knew she must 
+mind him. He offered her no help; but light and active as she was she did 
+not need it; a step on the wheel and a spring to the ground, and she was 
+safe. Just for that instant the horses stood still; then followed what 
+their driver had known would follow. Almost as Rotha's foot touched the 
+ground they dashed forward, and with one confused rush and whirl she saw 
+them, phaeton and all, disappear round the turn of the hill. 
+
+And there was the railway track to cross! Rotha stood still, feeling 
+stunned and sick. It was all so sudden. One minute in happy safety and 
+quiet, beside the person she liked best in the world; only the next 
+minute alone and desolate, with the sight of him before her eyes hurled 
+to danger and probable death. Danger? how could anything live to get to 
+the bottom of that hill at the rate the horses took? 
+
+Of the fallen carnage pole Rotha knew nothing, and needed not that to be 
+assured that the chance of her ever hearing Mr. Southwode speak again was 
+a very, very slender one. She did not think; she merely knew all this, 
+with a dumb, blank consciousness; she stood still, mechanically pressing 
+her hands upon her heart. The noise of the horses' hoofs and the rushing 
+wheels had been swallowed up by the intervening hill, and the stillness 
+was simply mocking in its tranquil peacefulness. The sunlight at the 
+glory of which they had both been looking, had hardly died away from the 
+landscape; and one of them, most likely, was beyond seeing the light of 
+earth forevermore. Rotha stood as still as death herself, listening for a 
+sound that came not, and gradually growing white and whiter. Yet she 
+never was in any danger of fainting; no sealing of her senses served as a 
+release to her pain; in full, clear consciousness she stood there, and 
+heard the silence and saw the sweet fall of the evening light upon the 
+plain. Only stunned; with a consciousness that was but partially alive to 
+suffering. I suppose the mind cannot fully take in such a change at once. 
+She was so stunned, that several minutes passed before she could act, or 
+move; and it seemed that the silence and peace had long been reigning 
+over hill and plain, when she roused herself to go down the road. 
+
+She went then with dreadful haste, yet so trembling that she could not go 
+as fast as she would. The horror of what might be at the bottom of the 
+hill might have kept her for ever upon it; but the need to know was 
+greater still; and so with an awful fear of what every step might bring 
+her to, she sped down the hill. She heard no noise; she saw no wreck; 
+following the winding of the road, which wound fearfully down such a 
+steep, she came to the railway crossing and passed it, and followed on 
+still further down; the curve of the road always hiding from her what 
+might be beyond. Her feet got wings at last; she was shaking in every 
+joint, yet fairly flew along, being unable to endure the fear and 
+uncertainty. No trace of any disaster met her eyes; no call for help or 
+cry to the horses came to her ears; what did the silence portend? 
+
+Just at the bottom the road made another sharp turn around a clump of 
+woodland. Rounding this turn, Rotha came suddenly upon what she sought. 
+The first glance shewed her that Mr. Southwode was upon his feet; the 
+second that the horses were standing still. Rotha hardly saw anything 
+more. She made her way, still running, till she got to Mr. Southwode's 
+side, and there stopped and looked at him; with white lips apart and eyes 
+that put an intense question. For though she saw him standing and 
+apparently well able to stand, the passion of fear could not so 
+immediately be driven out by the evidence of one sense alone. He met the 
+urgency of her eyes and smiled. 
+
+"I am all right," he said. 
+
+"Not hurt?" 
+
+"Not in the least." 
+
+Looking at her still, for her face had startled him, he saw a change come 
+over it which was beyond the demands of mere friendly solicitude, even 
+when very warm. He saw the flash of intense joy in her eyes, and what was 
+yet more, a quiver in the unbent lovely lines about the mouth. One does 
+not stop to reason out conclusions at such a time. Mr. Southwode was 
+still holding the reins of the panting horses, the carriage was a wreck a 
+few yards off, they were miles away from home; he forgot it all, and 
+acting upon one of those subtle instincts which give no account of 
+themselves, he laid one arm lightly around Rotha and bent down and kissed 
+the unsteady lips. 
+
+A sudden flood of scarlet, so intense that it was almost pain, shot over 
+Rotha's face, and her eyes drooped and failed utterly to meet his. She 
+had been very near bursting into tears, woman's natural relief from 
+overstrained nerves; but his kiss turned the current of feeling into 
+another channel, and the sting of delight and pain was met by an 
+overwhelming consciousness. Had she betrayed herself? What made him do 
+that? It was good for Rotha just then that she was no practised woman of 
+the world, not skilled in any manner of evasion or trick of deceptive 
+art. If she had been; if she had answered his demonstration with a little 
+cold, careless laugh, and turned it off with a word of derision; as I 
+suppose she would if she had not been so utterly true and honest, 
+according to a woman's terrible instinct of self-preservation, or 
+preservation of her secret; he would have thought as he had thought 
+before--she loves me as a child does. But the extreme confusion, and the 
+lovely abasement of the lowered brow, went to his heart with their 
+unmistakeable revelation. Instead of releasing her, he put both arms 
+round her now and gently drew her up to him. But Rotha was by no means so 
+clear in her mind as by this time he was. She did not understand his 
+action, and so misinterpreted it. She made a brave effort to relieve him 
+from what she thought overwrought gratitude. 
+
+"That is nothing to thank me for, Mr. Southwode," she said. "Any friend 
+would have been anxious, in my place." 
+
+"True. Were you anxious simply as a friend, Rotha?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated, and the hesitation lasted till it amounted to an 
+eloquent answer; and the arms that held her drew her a little closer. 
+
+"But I do not understand--" she managed to say. 
+
+"Do you not? I do. I think I can make you understand too." 
+
+But his explanations were wordless, and if convincing were exceedingly 
+confusing to Rotha. 
+
+"But Mr. Southwode!--what _do_ you mean?" she managed at last to say, 
+trying to release herself. 
+
+"I mean, that you belong to me, and I belong to you, for the rest of our 
+lives. That is what I mean." 
+
+"Are you sure?" 
+
+"Yes," said he with a low laugh; "and so are you. When you and I mean a 
+thing, we mean it." 
+
+Rotha wondered that he could mean it, and she wondered how he could know 
+that she meant it. Had she somehow betrayed herself? and how? She felt 
+very humble, and very proud at the same time; in one way esteeming at its 
+full value the woman's heart and life she had to give, as every woman 
+should; in another way thinking it not half good enough. Shamefaced, 
+because her secret was found out, yet too honest and noble of nature to 
+attempt any poor effort at deceit, she stood with lights and shadows 
+flying over her face in a lovely and most womanly manner; yet mostly 
+lights, of shy modesty and half veiled gladness and humble 
+content. Fifty things came to her lips to say, and she could speak none 
+of them; and she began to wish the silence would be broken. 
+
+"How did you know, Mr. Southwode?" she burst forth at last, that question 
+pressing too hard to be satisfied. 
+
+"Know what?" said he. 
+
+"I mean--you know what I mean! I mean,--now came you--what made you--
+speak as you did? I mean! _that_ isn't it. I mean, what justification did 
+you think you had?" 
+
+Mr. Southwode laughed his low laugh again. 
+
+"Do I need justification?" 
+
+"Yes, for jumping at conclusions." 
+
+"That is the way they say women always do." 
+
+"Not in such things!" 
+
+"Perhaps not. Certainly _you_ have not done it in this case." 
+
+"How came you to do it? Please answer me! Mr. Southwode, are you sure you 
+know what you mean? You did not think of any such thing when we set out 
+upon our drive this afternoon?" Rotha spoke with great and painful 
+difficulty, but she felt she must speak. 
+
+"I had thought of it. But Rotha, I was not sure of you." 
+
+"In what way?" 
+
+"I knew you cared for me, a good deal; but I fancied it was merely a 
+child's devotion, which would vanish fast away as soon as the right claim 
+was made to your heart." 
+
+"And why do you not think so still?" said Rotha, the flames of 
+consciousness flashing up to her very brow. But Mr. Southwode only 
+laughed softly and kissed, both lips and brow, tenderly and reverently, 
+if very assuredly. 
+
+"I have not done anything--" said Rotha, trembling and a little 
+distressed. 
+
+"Nothing, but to be true and pure and natural; and so has come the answer 
+to my question, which I might not have ventured to ask. Mrs. Purcell 
+asked me to-day whether I was going to marry you, and I said no; for I 
+never could have let you marry me with a child's transient passion and 
+find out afterwards that your woman's heart was not given me. But now I 
+will correct my answer to Mrs. Purcell, if I have opportunity." 
+
+"But," said Rotha hesitating,--"I think in one thing you are mistaken. I 
+do not think my feeling has really changed, since long ago." 
+
+"Did you give me your woman's heart _then?_" 
+
+"You think I had it not to give; but I think, I gave you all I had. And 
+though I have changed, _that_ has not changed." 
+
+"I take it," he said. "And what I have to give you, I will let my life 
+tell you. Now we must try to get home." 
+
+Released from the arm that had held her all this while, Rotha for the 
+first time surveyed the ground. There were the horses, standing quietly 
+enough after their mad rush down the hill; panting yet, and feeling 
+nervous, as might be seen by the movement of ears and air of head. And a 
+few rods behind lay what had been the phaeton; now a thorough and utter 
+wreck. 
+
+"How did it happen?" exclaimed Rotha, in a sudden spasm of dread catching 
+hold of Mr. Southwode's arm. He told her what had been the beginning of 
+the trouble. 
+
+"What carelessness! But how have you escaped? And how came the carriage 
+to be such a smash?" 
+
+"I knew what was before me, when on the hill the horses made that sudden 
+pause and I saw the pole on the ground. I knew they would be still only 
+that one instant. Then I told you to jump. You behaved very well." 
+
+"I did nothing," said Rotha. "The tone of your voice, when you said 
+'Jump!' was something, or had something in it, which I could not possibly 
+disobey. I did not want to jump, at all; but I had no choice. Then?--" 
+
+"Then followed what I knew must come. You saw how we went down the hill; 
+but happily the road turned and you could not see us long. I do not know 
+how we went scathless so far as we did; but at last the end of the pole 
+of the phaeton lodged against some obstacle in the road, stuck fast, and 
+the carriage simply turned a somersault over it, throwing me out into 
+safety, and itself getting presently broken almost to shivers." 
+
+"Throwing you out into safety!" Rotha exclaimed, turning pale. 
+
+"Don't I look safe?" said he smiling. 
+
+"And you are as cool as if nothing had happened." 
+
+"Am I? On the contrary, I feel very warm about the region of my heart, 
+and as if a good deal had happened. Now Rotha, we have got to walk home. 
+How many miles it is, I do not know." 
+
+"And I do not care!" said Rotha. "But how came you to keep hold of the 
+reins all the time? Or did you catch them afterwards?" 
+
+"No, I held on to them. It was the only way to save the horses." 
+
+"But they were running! How could you?" 
+
+"I do not know; only what has to be done, generally can be done. We will 
+take the rest of the way gently." 
+
+But I am not sure that they did; and I am sure that they did not much 
+think how they took it. Rather briskly, I fancy, following the horses, 
+which were restless yet; and with a certain apprehension that there was a 
+long way to go. On the roads they had travelled at first coming out there 
+had been frequently a farmhouse to be seen; now they came to none. The 
+road was solitary, stretching away between tracts of rocky and stony 
+soil, left to its natural condition, and with patches of wood. But what a 
+walk that was after all! The mild, mellow October light beautified even 
+the barren spots of earth, and made the woodland tufts of foliage into 
+clusters of beauty. As the light faded, the hues of things grew softer; a 
+spicier fragrance came from leaf and stem; the gently gathering dusk 
+seemed to fold the two who were walking through it into a more reserved 
+world of their own. And then, above in the dark bright sky lights began 
+to look forth, so quiet, so peaceful, as if they were blinking their 
+sympathy with the wanderers. These did not talk very much, and about 
+nothing but trifling matters by the way; yet it came over Rotha's mind 
+that perhaps in all future time she would never have a pleasanter walk 
+than this. Could life have anything better? And she might have been 
+right, if she had been like many, who know nothing more precious than the 
+earthly love which for her was just in its blossoming time. But she was 
+wrong; for to people given over, as these two were, to the service of 
+Christ, the joys of life are on an ascending scale; experience brings 
+more than time takes away; affection, having a joint object beyond and 
+above each other, does never grow weary or stale, and never knows 
+disappointment or satiety; and the work of life brings in delicious 
+fruits as they go, and the light of heaven shines brighter and brighter 
+upon their footsteps. It can be only owing to their own fault, if to-
+morrow is not steadily better than to-day. 
+
+But from what I have said it will appear that Rotha was presently in a 
+contented state of mind; and she went revolving all sorts of things in 
+her thoughts as she walked, laying up stores of material for future 
+conversations, which however she was glad Mr. Southwode did not begin 
+now. 
+
+As for Mr. Southwode, he minded his horses, and also minded her; but if 
+he spoke at all it was merely to remark on some rough bit of ground, or 
+some wonderful bit of colour in the evening sky. 
+
+"Well, hollo, mister!" cried a hotel hostler as they approached near 
+enough to have the manner of their travelling discernible,--"what ha' 
+you done wi' your waggin?" 
+
+"I was unable to do anything with it." 
+
+"Where is it then?" 
+
+"About five miles off, I judge, lying at the foot of a hill." 
+
+"Spilled, hey?" 
+
+"It will never hold anything again." 
+
+"What's that? what's this?" cried the landlord now, issuing from the 
+lower door of the house; "what's wrong here, sir?" 
+
+"I do not know," said Mr. Southwode; "but there has been carelessness 
+somewhere. Either the hostler did his work with his eyes shut, or the 
+leather of the harness gave way, or the iron work of something. The pole 
+fell, as we were going down a steep hill; of course the phaeton is a 
+wreck. I could only save the horses." 
+
+The landlord was in a great fume. 
+
+"Sir, sir," he stammered and blustered,--"this is _your_ account of it." 
+
+"Precisely," said Mr. Southwode. "That is my account of it." 
+
+"How in thunder did it happen? It was bad driving, I expect." 
+
+"It was nothing of the kind. It was a steep hill, a dropped carriage 
+pole, and a run. You could not expect the horses not to run. And of 
+course the carriage went to pieces." 
+
+"Who was in it?" 
+
+"I was in it. The lady jumped out, just before the run began." 
+
+"Didn't you know enough to jump too?" 
+
+"I knew enough not to jump," said Mr. Southwode, laughing a little. "By 
+that means I saved your horses." 
+
+"And I expect you want me to take that as pay for the carriage! and take 
+your story too. But it was at your risk, sir--at your risk. When I sends 
+out a team, without I sends a man with it, it's at the driver's risk, 
+whoever he is. I expect you to make it good, sir. I can't afford no 
+otherwise. The phaeton was in good order when it went out o' this yard; 
+and I expect you to bring it back in good order, or stand the loss. My 
+business wouldn't keep me, sir, on no other principles. You must make the 
+damage good, if you're a gentleman or no gentleman." 
+
+"Take the best supposition, and let me have supper. If you will make 
+_that_ good, Mr. Landlord, you may add the phaeton to my bill." 
+
+"You'll pay it, I s'pose?" cried the anxious landlord, as his guest 
+turned away. 
+
+"I always pay my bills," said Mr. Southwode, mounting the steps to the 
+piazza. "Now Rotha, come and have something to eat." 
+
+Supper was long since over for the family; the two had the great dining 
+hall to themselves. It was the room in which Rotha had taken her solitary 
+breakfast the morning of her arrival. Now as she and her companion took 
+their seats at one of the small tables, it seemed to the girl that she 
+had got into an enchanted country. Aladdin's vaults of jewels were not a 
+pleasanter place in his eyes, than this room to her to-night. And she had 
+not to take care even of her supper; care of every sort was gone. One 
+thing however was on Rotha's mind. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode," she said as soon as they had placed themselves,--"it was 
+not your fault, all that about the phaeton." 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then you ought not to pay for it." 
+
+"It would be more loss to this poor man, than to me, Rotha, I fancy." 
+
+"Yes, but right is right. Making a present is one thing; paying an unjust 
+charge is another. It is allowing that you were to blame." 
+
+"I do not know that it is unjust. And peace is worth paying for, if the 
+phaeton is not." 
+
+"How much do you suppose it will be?" 
+
+"I do not know," he said laughing a little. "Are you anxious, about it?" 
+
+Rotha coloured up brightly. "It seems like allowing that you were in the 
+wrong," she said. "And the man was very impertinent." 
+
+"I recognize your old fierce logic of justice. Haven't you learned yet 
+that one must give and take a good deal in this world, to get along 
+smoothly? No charge the man can ever make will equal what the broken 
+phaeton is worth to me, Rotha." 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. 
+
+
+DISCUSSIONS. 
+
+
+The sitting room, when they came to it after supper, looked as pleasant 
+as a hotel sitting room could. It was but a bare apartment, after the 
+fashion of country hotels; however it was filled with the blaze of a good 
+fire, and that gives a glimmer of comfort anywhere. Moreover it was a 
+private room; they had it to themselves. Now what next? thought Rotha. 
+
+Mr. Southwode put a chair for her, gave a little dressing to the fire, 
+and then stood by the mantel-piece with his back towards it, so that his 
+face was in shadow. Probably he was considering Rotha's face, into which 
+the fire shone full. For it was a pleasant thing to look at, with its 
+brightness just now softened by a lovely veil of modesty, and a certain 
+unmistakeable blessedness of content lurking in the corners of the mouth 
+and the lines of the brow. It met all the requirements of a fastidious 
+man. There was sense, dignity, refinement, sensitiveness, and frankness; 
+and the gazer almost forgot what he wanted to do, in the pleasure of 
+looking. Rotha had time to wonder more than once "what next?"  
+
+"It seems to me we have a great deal to talk about, Rotha," Mr. Southwode 
+said at last. "And not much time. What comes first?" 
+
+"I suppose," said Rotha, "the first thing is, that I must go back to 
+school." 
+
+"I suppose you must!" he said. There was an accent about it that made 
+Rotha laugh. 
+
+"Why I must of course!" she said. "I do not know anything;--only the 
+beginnings of things." 
+
+"Yes," repeated Mr. Southwode, "for a year you must go, I suppose. For a 
+year.-- After that, I will not wait any longer. You shall do the rest of 
+your studying with me." 
+
+"You know I like that best of all--" she said softly. 
+
+"Perhaps I will take you to Germany." 
+
+"Germany!"-- 
+
+"It is a good place to study German. Or to study anything." 
+
+"Must one go to France too, to study French?" Rotha asked with a nervous 
+laugh. 
+
+"We must not be too long away from home. But a year--or till next summer; 
+school terms end in summer, do they not?" 
+
+"In June." 
+
+"So, for a year, or for eight months, I shall hardly see you. We must do 
+a great deal of talking to-night." 
+
+"Where will you be, Mr. Digby?" Rotha asked timidly, as he took a chair 
+beside her. 
+
+"Not far off; but for this interval I shall choose to play the part of 
+guardian, rather than that of lover, before the eyes of the world." 
+
+"O yes, indeed!" said Rotha earnestly. "For every reason." 
+
+"All the more, I am not going to play the part of guardian to-night. 
+Rotha I think _now_, it would be as well to return to Mrs. Mowbray for 
+these eight months. Would you like that?" 
+
+"O I shall like it very much! if you like it." 
+
+"Things are changed, since we talked about it this afternoon." 
+
+"Yes!--" said Rotha breathless. And there was something she wanted to 
+say, but at that minute she could not say it. For that minute she could 
+not disturb the sweetness of things as they were. Scruples must wait. 
+Mr. Southwode saw that she was a little disturbed, shy and nervous, 
+albeit there was no doubt that she was very happy. He stretched out his 
+hand and took hers, holding it in a fast steady clasp; as if to assure 
+her of something tangible and real in her new happiness. "Now," said 
+he, "tell me about yourself--about all these years." 
+
+"I did tell you, in part." 
+
+"Yes. Tell me the other part. I want to have the whole now." 
+
+"It would just--annoy you, I am afraid." 
+
+"What sort of a home did you have with your aunt?" 
+
+"Not pleasant. That was _partly_ my own fault. I was not patient and 
+gentle and quiet--as you told me to be. I got into a kind of a fury, at 
+things and at her." 
+
+"What did she do?" 
+
+And then Rotha told him the whole story, not sparing herself at all by 
+the way; till he knew pretty well what her life had been these three 
+years, and what part Mrs. Mowbray and what part Mrs. Busby had played in 
+it. Only one thing Rotha did not tell him; the episode of the stockings. 
+He listened in absolute silence, save that now and then he helped her on 
+with a question; holding her hand firmly all the while. And Rotha felt 
+the clasp and knew what it meant, and poured out her heart. After she had 
+done, he was still silent a minute. 
+
+"What shall we do to Mrs. Mowbray!" he broke out. 
+
+"You cannot do anything to her," said Rotha. "Thanks are nothing; and 
+there is no way of doing the least thing beside;--unless she could be 
+very ill and left to my care; and I do not wish that." 
+
+"Perhaps she will give up schooling some day; and we will coax her over 
+to England and make her live with us." 
+
+Rotha started and turned upon the speaker one of her brilliant looks. A 
+sort of delight at the thought, and admiration of _his_ thought, with a 
+flush of intense affection which regarded at least two people, made her 
+face like a cluster of diamonds. Mr. Southwode smiled, and then began to 
+talk about that home to which he had alluded. He described it to Rotha; 
+sketched the plan of the house for her; told her about the people of the 
+surrounding country. The house was not magnificent or stately, he said; 
+but large, comfortable, old, and rather picturesque in appearance; 
+standing in the midst of extensive and very lovely grounds, where art had 
+not interfered with nature. He told Rotha he thought she would like it. 
+
+Rotha's eyes fell; she made no answer, but was he thought very grave. He 
+went on to tell her about himself and his business. He, and his father 
+and grandfather before him, had been owners of a large manufacturing 
+establishment, the buildings of which made almost a village some three 
+miles from the house, and the workmen in which were very many. 
+
+"Isn't that troublesome often?" Rotha asked, forgetting herself now. 
+
+"No. Why should it be troublesome?" 
+
+"I read in the papers so much about strikes, and disagreements between 
+masters and workmen in this country." 
+
+"We never had a strike, and we never have disagreements." 
+
+"That is nice; but how do you manage? I suppose I can guess! They all do 
+what you tell them." 
+
+"I do not tell them anything unreasonable." 
+
+"Still, ignorant people do not always know what is reasonable." 
+
+"That is true. And it is rather the Golden Rule we go by, than the might 
+of Reason or the reign of Law." 
+
+"How do you manage, Mr. Digby?" 
+
+"I am not to be Mr. Digby always, I hope?" 
+
+"This year--" murmured Rotha.
+
+"This year! I do not mean to ask anything unreasonable of you either; but 
+I _would_ like you to remember that things are changed," he said, amused. 
+
+"Yes, I will," said Rotha confusedly--"I will remember; I do remember, 
+but now please tell me about your factory people." 
+
+"What about them?" 
+
+"O, how you manage; how they do; anything!" 
+
+"Well--the hands go to work at six o'clock, and work two hours; or not 
+quite that, for the bell rings in time to let them wash their hands 
+before breakfast; and for that there are rooms provided, with soap and 
+towels and everything necessary. Then they gather in the dining halls, 
+where their breakfast is ready; or if any of them prefer to bring their 
+own food, it is cooked for them. There is no compulsion." 
+
+"What do they have for breakfast?" 
+
+"Coffee and tea and bread, and porridge with milk or with syrup--all at 
+certain fixed low rates and all of good quality. There are people to 
+cook, and boys and girls to wait upon the tables. They have the time till 
+half past eight, but it is not all used for eating; the last quarter of 
+an hour they stroll about and talk together. At half past eight comes the 
+time for prayers. One of the managers conducts the service in the chapel; 
+the Bible is read, and a hymn is sung, and there is a short prayer. At 
+nine o'clock all hands go back to work." 
+
+"They have had an hour's good rest," said Rotha. "You say, in the  
+_chapel?_ have you a chapel for them?" 
+
+"In the midst of the mills. It is a pretty little building--in old 
+English rustic style; I think it very pretty." 
+
+"I dare say the people enjoy that," said Rotha. "It _ought_ to be pretty, 
+for them. I should think your hands would never want to leave you, Mr. 
+Southwode." 
+
+"They never do. And as I told you, there is never a question of strikes. 
+Neither do we ever have a time of bad business. The work done is so 
+thorough and has been so long well known, that we never need to ask for 
+orders. We never lose by making bad debts; and we never give notes, or 
+take them. I say 'we'--I am using the old formula--it is all in my hand 
+now." 
+
+"Why are not other people wise enough to make such arrangements and have 
+the same sort of comfort?" 
+
+"Men fail to recognize their common humanity with those under them. That 
+has been the basis of our management from the beginning. But the chapel, 
+and the religious influence, are of later date.--I must find a ring for 
+this finger, Rotha." 
+
+"A ring!" exclaimed the girl. 
+
+"Yes. Is not that the custom here? to make people remember what they have 
+pledged themselves to?--" he said smiling. 
+
+"Oh never mind that, Mr. Southwode!" said Rotha hurriedly. "Go on and 
+tell me more about your mill people." 
+
+"What shall I tell you?" 
+
+"About your ways,--and their ways. When do they have dinner?" 
+
+"Between one and two. They have an hour for it. A little after half past 
+one they go to work again and work till six; only they have time allowed 
+them for tea and coffee at half past four." 
+
+"There is no drinking, I suppose?" 
+
+"Not even of beer. Half the people do their work at their own homes; they 
+bring it in on certain days, when we give them hot tea and coffee and 
+bread and cheese, which they have without paying for it. That saves them 
+from the temptation of the public houses; and there is no such thing as 
+drunkenness known in the community." 
+
+"Tea and coffee seem to play a great part," said Rotha. 
+
+"So they do. People steadily at work in any mechanical way need frequent 
+refreshment of body, which also in some degree is refreshment of mind; 
+and there, as beer and whiskey are banished, tea and coffee come in 
+happily. I do not know how they would manage without them.--Then in 
+various ways we minister to the people and care for them; so that we are 
+like one big family. When any are sick, they are paid at least half wages 
+all the time; and by clubbing together it is generally made up to full 
+wages. We have hospitals, where they have board and lodging and care in 
+addition to half wages; but there is no compulsion about going to the 
+hospitals. And whenever any of them are in any sort of trouble, they come 
+to us for counsel and sympathy and help; my father knew them all 
+personally, and so do I, and so did my dear mother when she was living. 
+But a mistress is wanted there now, Rotha," Mr. Southwode went on. "I 
+cannot do all I would alone, nor half so well what I do. Your place is 
+ready." 
+
+"O do not speak so!" cried Rotha catching her breath. "I wish I were fit 
+for it." 
+
+"Fit for it!" said he, putting his hand under her chin and drawing his 
+fingers slowly along the delicate outlines, while the blood mounted into 
+her cheeks and flamed out vividly. 
+
+"You make me feel so very small, telling me all these things!" she said. 
+"They are such grand things! And what am I?" 
+
+He lifted her face, not without a little resistance on her part, till he 
+could reach her lips, and gave his answer there first; gave it tenderly, 
+and laughingly. 
+
+"You are mine," he said; "and what is mine I do not like anybody to find 
+fault with, except myself." 
+
+"I mean it seriously, Mr. Digby--" Rotha made effort to say. 
+
+"So do I. And seriously, I want you there very much. I want your help in 
+the schools, and with men, women and children out of the schools. It is 
+pleasant work too. They are always glad to see me; and they will be more 
+glad to see you." 
+
+"Never!" said Rotha energetically. "What is the name of the place? you 
+never told me." 
+
+"Southwode." 
+
+"Southwode! That is pretty." 
+
+"I  am glad you think so. I will shew you, if I can, a little what the 
+house is like." 
+
+He had sketched the ground plan of it before; now he drew the elevation, 
+giving some hints of the surrounding trees and further lines of the 
+landscape; telling her all sorts of quiet details about this room and 
+that room, this and that growth of trees, or plantation, or shrubbery. 
+And Rotha looked on and listened, in a kind of dream witchery of 
+pleasure; absorbed, fascinated, with very fulness of content. 
+
+Nevertheless, her mind was not settled on one point, and that a very 
+essential point; and after the evening was over and she was alone in her 
+own room, she thought about it a great deal. She could not think 
+regularly; that was impossible; she was in too great a confusion of 
+emotions; happiness and wonder and strangeness and doubt made a 
+labyrinth; through which Rotha had no clue but a thread of sensitive 
+impulse; a woman's too frequent only leader, or misleader. That thread 
+she held fast to; and made up her mind that certain words in consonance 
+therewith should certainly be spoken to Mr. Digby in the morning. It 
+would not be easy, nor pleasant. No, not at all; but that made no 
+difference. She had taken to her room with her the sketch which Mr. 
+Southwode had made of his home; she would keep that always. It was very 
+lovely to Rotha's eyes. She looked at it fondly, longingly, even with a 
+tear or two; but all the same, one thing she was sure it was right to do, 
+to say; and she would do it, though it drew the heart out of her body. 
+She thought about it for a while, trying to arrange how she should do it; 
+but then went to sleep, and slept as if all cares were gone. 
+
+She slept late; then dressed hastily, nervously, thinking of her task. It 
+would be very difficult to speak so that her words would have any chance 
+of effect; but Rotha set her teeth with the resolve that it should be 
+done. Better any pain or awkwardness than a mistake now. Now or never a 
+mistake must be prevented. She went to the sitting room with her heart 
+beating. Mr. Digby was already there, and the new, unwonted manner of his 
+greeting nearly routed Rotha's plan of attack. She stood still to collect 
+her forces. She was sure the breakfast bell would ring in a minute, and 
+then the game would be up. Mr. Southwode set a chair for her, and turned 
+to gather together some papers on the table; he had been writing. 
+
+"What o'clock is it?" Rotha asked, to make sure of her own voice. 
+
+"Almost breakfast time, if that is what you mean. Are you hungry?" 
+
+"I--do not know," said Rotha. "Mr. Digby--"
+
+Mr. Digby knew her well enough and knew the tone of her voice well 
+enough, to be almost sure of what sort of thing was coming. He answered 
+with a matter-of-fact "What, Rotha?" 
+
+"I want to say something to you--" But her breath came and went hastily. 
+Then he came and put his arms round her, and told her to speak. 
+
+"It is not easy to speak--what I want to say." 
+
+"I am not anxious to make it easy!" 
+
+"Why not?" said Rotha, looking suddenly up at him, with such innocent, 
+eager, questioning eyes that he was much inclined to put a sudden stop to 
+her communications. But she had something on her mind, and it was better 
+that she should get rid of it; so he restrained himself. 
+
+"Go on, Rotha. What is it?" 
+
+"I can hardly talk to you so, Mr. Digby. I think, if I were standing over 
+yonder by the window, with all that space between us, I could manage it 
+better." 
+
+"I am not going to put space between us in any way, nor for any reason. 
+What is this all about?" 
+
+"It is just that, Mr. Southwode. I think--I am afraid--I think, perhaps, 
+you spoke hastily to me yesterday, and might find out afterwards that it 
+was not just the best thing--" 
+
+"What?" 
+
+"I--for you," said the girl bravely; though her cheeks burned and every 
+nerve in her trembled. He could feel how she was trembling. "I think--
+maybe,--you might find it out after a while; and I would rather you 
+should find it out at once. I propose,"--she went on hurriedly, forcing 
+herself to say all she had meant to say;--"I propose, that we agree to 
+let things be as if you had not said it; let things be as they were--for 
+a year,--until next summer, I mean. And _then_, if you think it was not a 
+mistake, you can tell me." 
+
+She had turned a little pale now, and her lip quivered slightly. And 
+after a slight pause, which Mr. Southwode did not break, she went on,--
+
+"And, in the mean time, we will let nobody know anything about it." 
+
+"I shall tell Mrs. Mowbray the first five minutes I am in her company," 
+he said. 
+
+Rotha looked up again, but then her eyes fell, and the strained lines of 
+brow and lips relaxed, and the colour rose. 
+
+"About Mrs. Busby, you shall do as you please. You do not know me yet, 
+Rotha--my little Rotha! Do you think I would say to any woman what I said 
+to you yesterday, and not know my own mind?" 
+
+"No--" Rotha said softly. "But I thought I was so unfit I do not know 
+what I thought! only I knew I must speak to you." 
+
+"You are a brave girl," said he tenderly, "and my very darling." And he 
+allowed himself the kisses now. "Was that all, Rotha?" 
+
+"Yes," she whispered. 
+
+"You have nothing else on your mind?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"Then come to breakfast. It is always bad to go to breakfast with 
+anything on your mind. It is only on _my_ mind that it is so long to next 
+June!" 
+
+Rotha however was very willing it should be so. She wanted all these 
+months, to study, to work, to think, to make herself as ready as she 
+could be for what was before her. 
+
+The train could not take them until eleven o'clock. After breakfast Rotha 
+sat for a time meditating, no longer on troublesome subjects, while Mr. 
+Southwode finished the letter he had begun earlier. As he began to fold 
+up his paper, she came out with a question. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode, what do you think I had better specially study this 
+winter?" 
+
+He did not smile, for if the question was put like a child, the work he 
+knew would be done like a woman. He asked quietly, 
+
+"What is your object in going to school at all?" 
+
+The answer lingered, till his eyes looked up for it; then Rotha said, 
+while a lovely flush covered the girl's face,--
+
+"That you may not be ashamed of me." 
+
+"That contingency never came under my consideration," he said, commanding 
+his gravity. 
+
+"But indeed it did under mine!" 
+
+"Allow me to ask a further question. After that, do you expect to make it 
+the main business of your life to please me?" 
+
+"I suppose so," said Rotha, flushing deeper but speaking frankly, as her 
+manner was. "It would be nothing new." 
+
+"I should think that would come to be terribly monotonous!" he said with 
+feigned dryness. 
+
+"On the contrary!" said Rotha. "That is just what saves life from 
+monotony." And then her colour fairly flamed up; but she would not 
+qualify her words. 
+
+"Right in principle," he said, smiling now, "but wrong in application." 
+
+"How, Mr. Digby?" said Rotha, a little abashed. 
+
+He threw his letter on one side, came and sat down by her, and putting 
+his arm round her shoulders, answered first by one of those silent 
+answers which--sometimes--say so much more than anything spoken. 
+
+"I should be a sorry fellow," he said, "if I did not estimate those words 
+at their full value, which to me is beyond value. I know you of old, and 
+how much they mean. But, Rotha, this is not to be the rule of your 
+life,--nor of mine." 
+
+"Why not?" she asked shyly. 
+
+"Because we are both servants of another Master, whom we love even better 
+than we love each other." 
+
+Did they? Did _she?_ Rotha leaned her head upon her hand and queried. Was 
+she all right there? Or, as her heart was bounding back to the allegiance 
+she had so delighted to give to Mr. Digby, might she be in danger of 
+putting that allegiance first? He would not do the like. No, he would 
+never make such a mistake; but she?--Mr. Southwode went on, 
+
+"That would put life at a lower figure than I want it to be, for you or 
+for myself. No, Christ first; and his service, and his honour, and his 
+pleasure and his will, first. After that, then nothing dearer, and 
+nothing to which we owe more, than each of us to the other." 
+
+As she was silent, he asked gently, "What do you say to it, Rotha?" 
+
+"Of course you are right. Only--I am afraid I have not got so far as you 
+have." 
+
+"You only began the other day. But we are settling principles. I want 
+this one settled clearly and fully, so that we may regulate every 
+footstep by it." 
+
+"Every footstep?" Rotha repeated, looking up for a glance. 
+
+"You do not understand that?" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"It is the rule of all my footsteps. I want it to be the rule of all 
+yours. Let me ask you a question. In view of all that Christ has done for 
+us, what do we owe him?" 
+
+"Why--of course--all," said Rotha looking up. 
+
+"What does 'all' mean? There is nothing like defining terms." 
+
+"What can 'all' mean _but_ all?" 
+
+"There is a general impression among many Christians that the whole does 
+not include the parts." 
+
+"Among Christians?" 
+
+"Among many who are called so." 
+
+"But how do you mean?" 
+
+"Do you know there is such a thing as saying 'yes' in general, and 'no' 
+in particular? What in your understanding of it, does 'all' include?" 
+
+"Everything, of course." 
+
+"That is my understanding of it. Then we owe to our Master all we have?" 
+
+"Yes--" said Rotha with slight hesitation. Mr. Southwode smiled. 
+
+"That is certainly the Bible understanding of it. 'For the love of Christ 
+constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then 
+were all dead; and that he died for all, that they which live should not 
+henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them and 
+rose again.'" 
+
+"But how much is involved in that 'living to him'?" 
+
+"Let us find out, if we can. Turn to Lev. xiv. and read at the 14th 
+verse. These are the directions for the cleansing of a leper who has been 
+healed of his leprosy." He gave her his Bible, and she read. 
+
+"'And the priest shall take some of the blood of the trespass offering, 
+and the priest shall put it upon the tip of the right ear of him that is 
+to be cleansed, and upon the thumb of his right hand, and upon the great 
+toe of his right foot. And the priest shall take some of the log of oil, 
+and pour it into the palm of his own left hand, and shall sprinkle of the 
+oil with his finger seven times before the Lord: and of the rest of the 
+oil that is in his hand shall the priest put upon the tip of the right 
+ear of him that is to be cleansed, and upon the thumb of his right hand, 
+and upon the great toe of his right foot, upon the blood of the trespass 
+offering.'" 
+
+"I do not see the meaning of that," said Rotha. 
+
+"Yet it is very simple.--Head and hand and foot, the whole man and every 
+part of him was cleansed by the blood of the sacrifice; and whereever the 
+redeeming blood had touched, there the consecrating oil must touch also. 
+Head and hand and foot, the whole man was anointed holy to the Lord." 
+
+"_Upon the blood of the trespass offering_. O I see it now. And how 
+beautiful that is! and plain enough." 
+
+"Turn now to Rom. xii. 1." 
+
+"'I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye 
+present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to the Lord.'" 
+
+"You understand?" 
+
+"Partly; I think, only partly." 
+
+"The priests of old offered whole rams and bullocks upon the altar as 
+tokens and emblems of the entireness with which the worshipper was given 
+to God; the whole offering was consumed by fire and went up to heaven in 
+smoke and fume, all except the little remainder of ashes. We are to be 
+_living_ sacrifices, as wholly given, but given in life, and with our  
+whole living powers to be used and exist for God." 
+
+"Yes," said Rotha. "I see it now." 
+
+"Are you glad to see it?" 
+
+"I think I am. It makes me catch my breath a little." 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"It must be difficult to live so." 
+
+"Not if we love Christ. Indeed if we love him much, it is impossible to 
+live any other way." 
+
+"I understand so far," Rotha said after a pause; "but I do not quite know 
+what you are coming to." 
+
+"I am coming to something serious; for I do not know whether in this 
+matter you will like what I like." 
+
+In Rotha's eyes there flashed an innocent unconscious response to this 
+speech, saying plainly that she could like nothing else! It was so 
+innocent and so unconscious, and withal so eloquent of the place he held 
+with her, that Mr. Southwode could have smiled; did smile to himself; but 
+he would not be diverted, nor let her, from the matter in hand; which, as 
+he said, was serious. He wished to have it decided on its own merits too; 
+and perceived there would be some difficulty about that. Rotha's nature 
+was so passionately true to its ruling affection that, as he knew, that 
+honest glance of her eyes had told but the simple truth. Mr. Southwode 
+looked grave, even while he could willingly have returned an answer in 
+kind to her eyes' sweet speech. But he kept his gravity and his composed 
+manner, and went on with his work. 
+
+"Read one more passage," he said. "1 Cor-vi. 20." 
+
+"'Ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in 
+your spirit, which are God's.' That is again just like the words in 
+Leviticus," said Rotha;--"head and hand and foot redeemed, and head and 
+hand and foot belonging to the Redeemer." 
+
+"Exactly," said Mr. Southwode. "That is not difficult to recognize. The 
+question is, will we stand to the bargain?" 
+
+"Why?" 
+
+"It costs so much, to let it stand." 
+
+"It has not cost _you_ much," said Rotha. "I should not say, by your 
+face, it has cost you anything." 
+
+"It has cost me all I have." 
+
+"Well, in a way--" 
+
+"Truly," he said, meeting her eyes. "I do not count anything I have my 
+own." 
+
+"But in practice--" 
+
+"In practice I use it all, or I try to use it all, for my Master; in such 
+way as I think he likes best, and such as will best do his work and 
+honour his name." 
+
+"And you do not find that disagreeable or hard," said Rotha. "That is 
+what I said." 
+
+"Neither disagreeable nor hard. On the contrary. I am sure there is no 
+way of using oneself and one's possessions that gets so much enjoyment 
+out of them. No, not the thousandth part." 
+
+"Then what do you mean by its 'costing so much'?" 
+
+"Read 1 Cor. x. 31." 
+
+"'Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the 
+glory of God.'" Rotha read, and this time did not look up. 
+
+"What do you think of going by that rule?" 
+
+"You mean, for Christ's sake," said Rotha slowly. She knew she was 
+willing to go by any rule for her lover's sake. "Mr. Southwode, I do not 
+think I ever studied it out." 
+
+"Shall we study it out now?" 
+
+"O yes, please! But you must help me." 
+
+"Let us come to particulars. What sorts of things that are bought with 
+money, for instance, do you take most pleasure in?" 
+
+Rotha looked up, curious, questioning, wondering, pondering, very honest. 
+
+"I do not know what _most_," she said. "I take so much pleasure in 
+everything. Books especially. And pictures I delight in. And--do not 
+laugh at me, Mr. Digby! I always did,--I take pleasure in nice, pretty, 
+comfortable, becoming, dresses and clothes generally. So do you, don't 
+you?" 
+
+It went beyond Mr. Southwode's power of gravity, the quaint frankness of 
+this speech; and he laughed. Rotha joined in the laugh at herself, but 
+looked seriously for the answer. 
+
+"It is a comfort to talk to you," he said. "One can get at the point. And 
+here we have it, Rotha. I think your liking of all the things specified 
+is thoroughly justified and perfectly right; and as you suggest, I share 
+it with you. Now comes the question. The word says 'whatsoever'; 
+therefore it covers books and pictures and dresses too. Take then the 
+homeliest instance. Are you willing, in buying a gown or a bonnet or 
+anything else, to do it always, as well as you know how, to the glory of 
+God?" 
+
+"How can it be done so?" 
+
+"Think. If this is your rule, you will choose such a bonnet or gown as 
+you can best do your work--God's work,--in. Therefore it will not be 
+chosen to give the impression that you wish to excite attention or 
+admiration, or that you wish to impose by your wealth, or that dress 
+occupies a large place in your thoughts; it _will_ be such as suits a 
+refined taste, such as becomes you and sets off your good qualities to 
+the very best advantage; and it will not cost more than is truly 
+necessary for these ends, because the Lord has more important work for 
+his money to do. Perhaps I rather overrate than underrate the importance 
+of good dressing; it is an undoubted power; but really good dressing is 
+done for Christ, as his servant and steward equips herself for his 
+service; but she uses no more of the Lord's silver and gold than is 
+needful, because that would be unfaithfulness in stewardship."  
+
+"But that makes dressing a noble art!" cried Rotha. Her eyes had looked 
+eagerly into the speaker's eyes, taking in his words with quick 
+apprehension. 
+
+"Carry out the principle into all other lines of action, then; and see 
+what it will make the rest of life." 
+
+"'To the glory of God.' The Bible says, eating and drinking?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"Well how that, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"And if eating and drinking, then the houses in which we assemble, and 
+the tables at which we sit down." 
+
+"Yes, but you are going a little faster than I can follow," said Rotha. 
+"In the first place, it seems to me that people in general do not think 
+as you do." 
+
+"I told you so." 
+
+"Hardly anybody." 
+
+"Hardly anybody!" 
+
+"Then, is it not possible--" 
+
+"That I am straining the point? You have read the Bible testimony 
+yourself; what do you think?" 
+
+Rotha was silent. Could all the Christian world, almost all of it, be 
+wrong, and only Mr. Southwode right? Was the rule indeed to be drawn so 
+close? She doubted. The Bible words, to be sure,--but then, why did not 
+others see them too? 
+
+"Read Rom. xii. 1, again." 
+
+Rotha read it, and looked up in silence. Mr. Southwode's face wore a 
+slight smile. He did not look, she thought, like a man who felt the 
+poorer for what he had given up. 
+
+"Well?--" said he. 
+ 
+"Well. I have read this often," said Rotha. "I know the words." 
+
+"Have you obeyed them?" 
+
+"I--do--not--know. I am afraid, not." 
+
+"When a man has given his body a living sacrifice, has he anything left 
+to give beside?" 
+
+"Why not?" 
+
+"Think. In that case, his hands are his Master's. They cannot do anything 
+inconsistent with his use of them, or interrupting it, or hindering it. 
+All they do will be, indirectly or directly, for Him." 
+
+"Yes--" said Rotha. "But nothing for himself, then?" 
+
+"Anything, that will fit him for service, or help him in it." 
+
+"But for instance. I am very fond of fancy work," said Rotha. 
+
+"Useless fancy work?" 
+
+"I am afraid you would call it so." 
+
+"Never mind what I call it," said Mr. Southwode, laughing a little; for 
+Rotha's frankness and directness were delightful;--"I am not skilled in 
+fancy work, and I speak in ignorance. What do you call it?" 
+
+"Some of it is not of any use," Rotha said thoughtfully; "it is just a 
+putting together of lovely colours. Of course, people must have mats and 
+rugs and cushions and things; and it is pretty work to make them; but 
+they could be bought cheaper, what would do just as well." 
+
+"Then the question rises, in view of all these pretty things,--Is it the 
+best use I can make of my time and my money?" 
+
+Rotha's fingers drummed upon the table. 
+
+"But one must have amusement," she said. "One cannot be always studying." 
+
+"Quite true. The question remains, whether this is the best amusement to 
+be had." 
+
+"I give that up," said Rotha. "I see what you think." 
+
+"Never mind what I think--for once," said he smiling. "Try the question 
+on its own merits." 
+
+"I give that up," Rotha repeated. "Except for odds and ends of chances, 
+it does take a fearful amount of time, and money too. But go on, Mr. 
+Digby; I am getting dreadfully interested." 
+
+"You can go on without my help." 
+
+"But I want it. Please go on." 
+
+"You can transfer to eyes and ears and lips and feet what I have said 
+about hands. All would be the Lord's servants. Have I anything else left 
+to give, if I have once given my body a living sacrifice?" 
+
+"No. Nothing. But why did I never see that before?" 
+
+"What do you think of it, now you do see it?" 
+
+"It is grand!" said the girl thoughtfully. "And beautiful. Such a life 
+would be woven all of golden threads. But Mr. Southwode, it would make 
+one different from everybody else in the whole world!" 
+
+"Did not Jesus say? 'Ye are not of the world, _even as I am not of the 
+world_.' And--'Therefore the world hateth you.'" 
+
+"Yes,--" said Rotha slowly--"I see." 
+
+"How would you furnish a house, on this principle?" Mr. Southwode went 
+on. 
+
+"A house?" Rotha repeated. 
+
+"Yes. Suppose the old house at Southwode was to be refurnished; how 
+should we do it? I would like to have everything there please you." 
+
+"But on your principle," said Rotha, colouring beautifully, though she 
+laughed, "you would not arrange it to please me at all." 
+
+"If my principle were your principle?"--he said with a flash in his eye 
+which was part pleasure and part amusement. 
+
+"I never considered the subject," she said shyly. 
+
+"Well let us consider it. What are the points to be principally regarded, 
+in furnishing a house?" 
+
+Rotha pondered, a good deal amused; this whole discussion was so novel to 
+her. "I suppose," she said, "one ought to aim at a good appearance--
+according to one's means,--and the comfort of the family that are to live 
+in the house,--and prettiness,--and pleasantness." 
+
+"And the Lord's service?" 
+
+"I do not see how that comes in." 
+
+"I must state another question, then. What are the uses for which the 
+house is intended? what is to be done in it, or what ought to be done?" 
+
+"People are to be made comfortable in it; they must see their friends,--
+and do their work." 
+
+"Very well. What work?" 
+
+"I do not know. That depends, I suppose." 
+
+"But what work is set out in the Bible for every Christian house to do?" 
+
+"Mr. Southwode, I do not know. I do not seem to know much of what is in 
+the Bible, at all!" 
+
+"After five months of study?" said he kindly. "Well, listen. The Bible 
+bids us not be forgetful to entertain strangers." 
+
+"Strangers!" 
+
+"That is the word." 
+
+"And of course we are to entertain our friends?" 
+
+"That may safely be left to people's natural affection. But our 
+_entertainments_ it bids us keep for the poor and the maimed and the 
+lame and the blind; for people, in short, who can make us no return in 
+kind."
+
+"Does it!" 
+
+"Christ said so expressly." 
+
+"I remember he did," said Rotha thoughtfully. "But then--but then, Mr. 
+Southwode,--in that case, people are all abroad!" 
+
+He was silent. 
+
+"But are we not to have society?" 
+
+"Undoubtedly, if we can get it." 
+
+"Then we must entertain them." 
+
+"According to Christ's rule." 
+
+"But then, especially if one is rich, people will say--" 
+
+"The question with me is, what the Master will say." 
+
+"People will not want to come to see you, will they, on those terms?" 
+
+"Those will who care to see _us_," said Mr. Southwode; "and I confess  
+those are the only ones I care to see. The people who come merely for the 
+entertainment can find that as well elsewhere." 
+
+"One thing is certain," said Rotha. "A house could not be furnished to 
+suit both those styles of guests." 
+
+"Then the Bible bids us bring the poor that are cast out, to our houses." 
+
+"But that you cannot! Not always," said Rotha. "They are not fit for it." 
+
+"There is discretion to be observed, certainly. You would not invite a 
+tramp into your drawing room. But I have known two instances, Rotha, in 
+which a miserable and very degraded drunkard was saved to himself and to 
+society, saved for time and eternity, just in that way; by being taken 
+into a gentleman's house, and cared for and trusted and patiently borne 
+with, until his reformation was complete. In those cases the individuals, 
+it is true, had belonged to the respectable and educated classes of 
+society; but at the time they were brought to the gutter." 
+
+"That is not easy work!" said Rotha shaking her head. 
+
+"Not when you think of Christ's 'Inasmuch'?" 
+
+Rotha was silent a while. 
+
+"Well!" she said at last, "I see now that the furnishing of a house has 
+more meaning in it than ever I thought." 
+
+"You see, I hope also," Mr. Southwode said gently, "that your conditions 
+of comfort and prettiness and pleasantness are not excluded?" 
+
+"I suppose not," said Rotha, thinking busily. "The house would do its 
+work better, even its work among these people you have been speaking 
+of,--far better, for being pretty and comfortable and pleasant. I see 
+that. Refinement is not excluded, only luxury." 
+
+"Say, only _useless_ luxury." 
+
+"Yes, I see that," said Rotha. 
+
+"Then the Bible bids us use hospitality without grudging. That is, 
+welcoming to the shelter and comfort of our houses any who at any time 
+may need it. Tired people, homeless people, ailing people, poor people. 
+So the house and the table must be always ready to receive and welcome 
+new guests." 
+
+"I see it all, Mr. Digby," said Rotha, lifting her eyes to him. 
+
+"There is no finery at Southwode--I might say, nothing fine; there are 
+some things valuable. But the house seems to me to want nothing that the 
+most refined taste can desire. I think you will like it." 
+
+"I think I understand the whole scheme of life, as you put it," Rotha 
+went on, shyly getting away from the personal to the abstract. "So far as 
+things can be done, things enjoyed,--books and music and everything,--by 
+a servant of Christ who is always doing his Master's work; so far as 
+they would not hinder but help the work and him; so far you would use 
+them, and there stop." 
+
+"Does such a life look to you burdened with restrictions?" 
+
+"They do not seem to me really restrictions," Rotha answered slowly. 
+"Taking it altogether, such a life looks to me wide and generous and 
+rich; and the common way poor and narrow." 
+
+"How should it be otherwise, when the one is the Lord's way, and the 
+other man's? But people who have not tried do not know that." 
+
+"Of course not." 
+
+"They will not understand." 
+
+"I suppose they _cannot_." 
+
+"And the world generally does not like what it does not understand." 
+
+"I should think _that_ could be borne." 
+
+"You are not afraid, then?" 
+
+"No, indeed," said Rotha. "But I do not mean that I stand just where you 
+do," she added soberly. "With my whole heart I think this is right and 
+beautiful, and I am sure it is happy; and yet, you know,"--she went on 
+colouring brightly, "I should like anything because you liked it; and 
+that is not quite enough. But I will study the matter thoroughly now. I 
+never thought of it before--not so." 
+
+There was frankness and dignity and modesty in her words and manner, 
+enough to satisfy a difficult man; and Mr. Southwode was too much 
+delighted to even touch this beautiful delicacy by shewing her that he 
+liked it. He answered, with the words, "It is only to follow Christ 
+fully"; and then there was silence. By and by however he began to allow 
+himself some expression of his feelings in certain caresses to the 
+fingers he still held clasped in his own. 
+
+"That you should be doing that to my hand!" said Rotha. "Mr. Southwode, 
+what an extraordinary story it all is!" 
+
+"What do you mean?" 
+
+"Just think--just think. All this, the whole of it, has really come from 
+my mother's shewing to a stranger precisely one of those bits of 
+hospitality you have been speaking about. I wonder if she knows now? You 
+remember how the words run,--'Full measure, pressed down, heaped up and 
+running over, shall they give----'"
+
+Rotha's eyes filled full, full; she was near losing her self-command. 
+
+"Do you forget there are two sides to it?" said Mr. Southwode, taking her 
+in his arms very tenderly. 
+
+"It has all been on one side!" cried Rotha. 
+
+"Do you make nothing of my part?" 
+
+"Nothing at all!" said Rotha between crying and laughing. "You have 
+given--given--given,--as you like to do; you have done nothing but give!" 
+
+"It is your turn now--" said he laughing. 
+
+Rotha was silent, thinking a great deal more than she chose to put into 
+words. 
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. 
+
+
+END OF SCHOOL TERM. 
+
+
+That same evening, just when Mrs. Mowbray was set free from a lesson 
+hour, and the library was left to her sole occupation, a gentleman and 
+lady were announced. The next minute Rotha was in her arms. Whatever she 
+felt, the girl's demeanour was very quiet; her reception, on the other 
+hand, was little short of ecstatic. Then Mrs. Mowbray gave a gracious, if 
+somewhat distant, greeting to Rotha's companion; and then looked, with an 
+air of mystified expectancy, to see what was coming next. 
+
+"I have brought Miss Carpenter back to you, Mrs. Mowbray," Mr. Southwode 
+began. 
+
+"Where did you find her?" 
+
+"I found her at Tanfield." 
+
+"Tanfield!"--Mrs. Mowbray looked more and more puzzled. 
+
+"And now, I am going to ask you to take care of her, till next June." 
+
+"Till next June--" Mrs. Mowbray repeated. 
+
+"The school year ends then, does it not?" 
+
+"May I ask, what is to be done with her after next June?"  
+
+"I will take her into my own care." 
+
+"What does Mrs. Busby say to that?" Mrs. Mowbray inquired, still doubtful 
+and mystified. 
+
+"She says nothing," said Rotha. "She has nothing to say. She never had 
+any right to say what I should do, except the right Mr. Southwode gave 
+her." She felt a secret triumph in the knowledge that now at least Mrs. 
+Mowbray would have to accept Mr. Southwode and make the best she could of 
+him. 
+
+"Have you come from Mrs. Busby now?" 
+
+"No, madame; Mr. Southwode brought me straight here." 
+
+And then followed of course the story of the past five months. Rotha gave 
+it as briefly as she could, slurring over as much as possible her aunt's 
+action and motives, and giving a bare skeleton of the facts. Mrs. 
+Mowbray's mystified expression did not clear away. 
+
+"Chicago?" she said. "I do not think Mrs. Busby has been to Chicago. My 
+impression is strong, that she has been in or near New York, all summer." 
+
+"So she was, madame." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray considered things with a grave face. 
+
+"I have a request to make," Mr. Southwode began then; "a request which I 
+hope Mrs. Mowbray will receive as of purely business character, and in no 
+wise occasioned by curiosity. May I be informed, at a convenient time, 
+what has been paid by Mrs. Busby to this house, on Miss Carpenter's 
+account?" 
+
+"Nothing," said Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"No bills for schooling? or board?" 
+
+"Nothing at all. Antoinette's bills I have rendered, and they have been 
+paid. I have never presented any bill for Miss Carpenter, and none has 
+ever been asked for." 
+
+Rotha exclaimed, but Mr. Southwode went on----
+
+"You will allow me to ask for it now." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray looked doubtfully at the speaker. 
+
+"By what right could I put Mrs. Busby's obligations upon you? How could I 
+account to her?" 
+
+"Count them my obligations," he said pleasantly. "I do not wish Miss 
+Carpenter to leave any debts behind her, when she goes from her own 
+country to mine. I will be much obliged, if you will have the account 
+made out in my name and sent to me." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray bowed a grave acknowledgment. "I had better speak to Mrs. 
+Busby first," she said. 
+
+"As you please about that," said Mr. Southwode rising. 
+
+"But next June!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "You are not going to take her away 
+next June? I want her for a year longer at least. I want her for two 
+years. That is one of the difficulties I have to contend with; people 
+will not leave their children with me long enough to let me finish what I 
+have begun. It would be much better for Rotha to stay with me another 
+year. Don't you think so?" 
+
+"I am afraid a discussion on that point would not turn out in your 
+favour, madame," he said. "Miss Carpenter is able to represent my part in 
+it; I will leave it to her." 
+
+And he took leave. But when it came to Rotha's turn, he sealed all his 
+pretensions by quietly kissing her; it was done deliberately, not in a 
+hurry; and Rotha knew it was on purpose and done rather for her sake than 
+his own. And when he was gone, she stood still by the table, flushed and 
+proud, feeling that she was claimed and owned now before all the world. 
+There ensued a little silence, during which Mrs. Mowbray was somewhat 
+uneasily arranging some disarranged books and trifles on the great 
+library table; and Rotha stood still. 
+
+"My dear," said the former at last, "am I to congratulate you?" 
+
+"There is no occasion, madame," said Rotha. 
+
+"What then did Mr. Southwode mean?" said Mrs. Mowbray, stopping her work 
+and looking up much displeased. 
+
+"O yes,--I beg your pardon,--if you mean _that_," said Rotha, while the 
+blood mounted into her cheeks again. 
+
+"Are you going to marry Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"He says so, madame." 
+
+"But what do _you_ say?" 
+
+"I always say the same that Mr. Southwode says," Rotha replied demurely, 
+while at the same time she was conscious of having to bite in an 
+inclination to laugh. 
+
+"My dear, let us understand one another. When I saw him two or three days 
+ago, he did not even know where you were." 
+
+"No, ma'am. He found me." 
+
+"Have you had any communication with him during these years of his 
+absence?" 
+
+"No, madame." 
+
+"Did you know, when Mr. Southwode went away, three years ago, that he had 
+any such purpose, or wish?" 
+
+"He had no such purpose, or wish, I am sure." 
+
+"Then, my dear, how has this come about?" 
+
+"I do not know, madame." 
+
+Rotha felt the movings within her of a little rebellion, a little 
+irritation, and a great nervous inclination to laugh; nevertheless her 
+manner was sobriety itself. 
+
+"My dear, I seem to be the only one in the world to take care of you; and 
+that is my excuse for being so impertinent as to ask these questions. You 
+will bear with me? I _must_ take care of you, Rotha!" 
+
+"Thank you, dear Mrs. Mowbray! There can be no questions you might not 
+ask me." 
+
+"I am a little troubled about you, my dear child. This is very sudden." 
+
+"Yes, ma'am," said Rotha slowly,--"I suppose it is." 
+
+"And I do not like such things to be done hurriedly." 
+
+"No." 
+
+"People ought to have time to know their own minds." 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"My dear, is it certain that Mr. Southwode knows his?" 
+
+"I should not like to ask him, madame," said Rotha, while the corners of 
+her mouth twitched. "He is not that kind of man. And there is nobody else 
+to ask him. I am afraid we shall have to let it stand." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray looked doubtful and ill at ease. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode is a very rich man,--" she remarked after a minute or two. 
+
+"What then, Mrs. Mowbray?" Rotha asked quickly. 
+
+"And, my dear, you have only known him as a little girl," the lady went 
+on, waiving the question. 
+
+"What of _that_, madame?" 
+
+"You can hardly be said to know him at all." 
+
+"It is too late to speak of that now," said Rotha, laying her gloves 
+together and taking off her scarf. "But I saw more as a child, than most 
+people have a chance to see as grown-up people." 
+
+"My dear, I am concerned about your welfare, in this most important step 
+of your life. Have you accepted this gentleman out of gratitude?" 
+
+"I do not think he would want me, madame, on those terms, if he thought 
+so." 
+
+"Yes, he would, perhaps," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Men make that mistake 
+sometimes. But you--you must not make a mistake now, my dear!" 
+
+As Rotha was silent, Mrs. Mowbray rose and came to her where she was 
+standing by the table, and put her arms fondly round the girl. 
+
+"You know," she said, kissing her repeatedly, "I love you, Rotha. I 
+cannot let you run into danger, if I can help it; and so I put my hand 
+in, perhaps unwarrantedly." 
+
+"Never, dear Mrs. Mowbray!" said Rotha gratefully. "You cannot. You may 
+say anything." 
+
+"You are one of those people with whom impulse is strong; and such people 
+often do in a minute what they are sorry for all their lives." 
+
+"I hope that tendency has been a little sobered in me," said Rotha. 
+"Perhaps not much." 
+
+"Well, won't you give me a little comfort about this matter?" said Mrs. 
+Mowbray, still holding her close and looking at her. "What are you going 
+to marry this man--this gentleman--for?" 
+
+But to answer this question, to any but one person, was foreign to all 
+Rotha's nature. She could not do it. The blood flashed to cheek and brow, 
+making its own report; all that Rotha said, was, 
+
+"He wishes it, madame." 
+
+"And are you to do everything that Mr. Southwode wishes?" 
+
+Rotha said nothing, yet this time Mrs. Mowbray got an answer. There was a 
+little unconscious flash of the girl's eye, as for half a second it 
+looked up, which swift as it was, told the whole story. Mrs. Mowbray knew 
+enough of human nature and of the human countenance, to read all she 
+wanted to know in that look. All as far as Rotha was concerned, that is. 
+And that was the principal thing; Mr. Southwode ought to know his own 
+mind, and was at any rate at his own risk; and furthermore it was not 
+Mrs. Mowbray's business to take care of him. And as regarded Rotha, she 
+now saw, there was nothing to be done. 
+
+"Then I must lose you!" she said with a sigh and kissing Rotha again. "My 
+dear, I want nothing but your happiness; but I believe I am a little 
+jealous of Mr. Southwode, that he has got you so easily." 
+
+Easily! Well, Rotha could not explain that, nor discuss the whole matter 
+at all with Mrs. Mowbray. She went up to her room, feeling glad this talk 
+was over. 
+
+And then things fell immediately into school train. And of all in the 
+house, there was no such diligent worker as Rotha during the months of 
+that school term. She was not only diligent. Mrs. Mowbray greatly admired 
+the quiet dignity and the delicate gravity of her manner. She was grave 
+with a wonderful sweet gravity, compounded of a happy consciousness of 
+what had been given her, and a very deep sense of what was demanded of 
+her. Her happiness, or rather the cause of it, for those months remained 
+secret. Nobody in the house, excepting Mrs. Mowbray, knew anything about 
+it; and if anybody surmised, there was nothing in Rotha's quiet, reserved 
+demeanour to embolden any one to put questions. All that Antoinette and 
+Mrs. Busby knew was, that Mr. Southwode had found Rotha and brought her 
+back. "Like his impudence!" Antoinette had said; but Mrs. Busby 
+compressed her lips and said nothing. Both of them kept aloof. 
+
+Mr. Southwode himself was little seen by Rotha during those months. He 
+came sometimes, as a guardian might; and there did arise in the house a 
+subdued murmur of comment upon Rotha's very distinguished-looking 
+visiter. Once or twice he took her out for a drive; however, he during 
+that winter played the part of guardian, not of lover, before the eyes of 
+the world; as he had said he would. When spring came, Mr. Digby went 
+home, and was gone three months; not returning till just before the 
+school term closed. 
+
+The story is really done; but just because one gets fond of people one 
+has been living with so long, we may take another look or two at them. 
+
+School was over, and the girls were gone, and the teachers were 
+scattered; the house seemed empty. Mrs. Mowbray found Rotha one day 
+gathering her books together and trifles out of her desk. She stood and 
+looked at her, lovingly and longingly. 
+
+"And now your school days are ended!" she said, with a mixed expression 
+which spoke not only of regret but had a slight touch of reproach in it. 
+
+"O no indeed!" said Rotha. "Mr. Southwode used always to be teaching me 
+something, and I suppose he always will." 
+
+"I wish I could have you two years more! I grudge you to anybody else for 
+those two years. But I suppose it is of no use for me to talk." 
+
+Rotha went off smiling. It was no use indeed! And Mrs. Mowbray turned 
+away with a sigh. 
+
+Down stairs, a few hours later, Mr. Southwode was sitting in the little 
+end room back of the library--Mrs. Mowbray's special sanctuary. He was 
+trying to see what was the matter with a cuckoo clock which would not 
+strike. The rooms were all in summer order; sweet with the fragrance of 
+India matting, which covered the floors; cool and quiet in the strange 
+stillness of the vacation time. Mrs. Mowbray was a wonderful housekeeper; 
+everything in her house was kept in blameless condition of purity; the 
+place was as fresh and sweet as any place in a large city in the month of 
+July could be. It was July, and warm weather, and the summer breeze blew 
+in at the windows near which Mr. Southwode was sitting, with a fitful, 
+faint freshness, pushing in the muslin curtains which were half open. 
+There was the cool light which came through green India jalousies, but 
+there was light enough; and everywhere the eye could look there was 
+incentive to thought or suggestion for conversation, in works of arts, 
+bits of travel, reminiscences of distant friends, and tributes from 
+foreign realms of the earth. Books behind him, books before him, books on 
+the table, books on the floor, books in the corners, and books in a great 
+revolving bookstand. There was a dainty rug before the fireplace; there 
+were dainty easy chairs large and small; there was a lovely India screen 
+before the grate; and there was not much room left for anything else when 
+all these things were accommodated. Mr. Southwode however was in one of 
+the chairs, and a cuckoo clock, as I said, on his knees, with which he 
+was busy. 
+
+Then came a light step over the matting of the library, and Rotha entered 
+the sanctuary. She came up behind his chair and laid her two hands on his 
+shoulder, bending down so as to speak to him more confidentially. There 
+came to Mr. Southwode a quick recollection of the first time Rotha had 
+ever laid her hand on his shoulder, when her mother was just dead; and 
+how in her forlorn distress the girl had laid her head down too. He 
+remembered the feeling of her thick locks of wavy hair brushing his 
+cheek. Now the full locks of dark hair were bound up, yet not tightly; it 
+was a soft, natural, graceful style, which indeed was the character of 
+all Rotha's dressing; she had independence enough not to be unbecomingly 
+bound by fashion. Mr. Southwode knew exactly what was hanging over his 
+shoulder, though he did not look up. I may say, he saw it as well as if 
+he had. 
+
+"I do not know how to speak to you," Rotha began abruptly. "You do not 
+like me to call you 'Mr. Southwode.'" 
+
+"No." 
+
+"But I do not think I know your Christian name." 
+
+"My name is Digby." 
+
+"That is your surname--your half surname, I thought." 
+
+"Yes, but I was christened Digby. That is my name. I took the surname 
+Digby afterwards in compliance with the terms of a will, and legally my 
+name is Digby Digby; but I am of course by birth Southwode." 
+
+"Then if I called you 'Digby,' it would sound as if I were simply 
+dropping the 'Mr.' and calling you by your surname; and that is very 
+ugly. It does not sound respectful." 
+
+"Drop the respect." 
+
+"But I cannot!" cried Rotha, laughing a little. "I have heard women speak 
+so, and it always seemed to me very ungraceful. Fancy aunt Serena saying 
+'Busby' to her husband! She always says so carefully 'Mr. Busby'--" 
+
+"She is a woman of too much good taste to do otherwise." 
+
+"She _has_ a good deal," said Rotha, "in many ways. Then what will you 
+think of me, if _I_ do 'otherwise'?" 
+
+"You are not logical this afternoon," said Mr. Southwode laughing. "Am I 
+an equivalent for Mr. Busby, in your imagination?" 
+
+"Will you make that clock go?" 
+
+"I think so." 
+
+There was a little pause. Rotha did not change her position, and Mr. 
+Southwode went on with his clock work. 
+
+"What shall I do about aunt Serena?" Rotha then began again, in a low 
+voice. 
+
+"In what respect?" 
+
+"Must I ask her to come here?--Monday, I mean?" 
+
+"Do you wish to have her come?" 
+
+"Oh no, indeed!" 
+
+"Then I do not see the 'must.'" 
+
+"But they are dying to come." 
+
+"Have they asked? If so, there is no more to be said." 
+
+"O they have not asked in so many words. But they have done everything 
+_but_ ask. Aunt Serena even proposed that I should come there--just  
+fancy it!" 
+
+"And be married from her house?" 
+
+"Yes." 
+
+"I am glad it did not occur to you to agree to the proposal." 
+
+"Agree!--But what ought I to do?" 
+
+"State the arguments, for and against." 
+
+"Well!--I cannot help feeling that it would not be pleasant to have 
+them." 
+
+"That is my feeling." 
+
+"But then, one ought to forgive people?" 
+
+"Forgiveness is one thing, and reinstating in forfeited privileges is 
+another. I have forgiven Mrs. Busby, I hope; but only her repentance 
+could restore her to my respect. I have seen no sign of repentance." 
+
+"That involves, and means, punishment." 
+
+"Involuntary--and unavoidable." 
+
+"I am sorry for aunt Serena!" 
+
+"So am I," said Mr. Southwode laughing; "but I do not see why, to save 
+her from being punished, I should punish myself." 
+
+Through the rooms behind them now came another step, and Mrs. Mowbray 
+presently entered the little room, which was full when the three were in 
+it. She was in a white summer robe, her hair in its simple coil at the 
+back of her head shewing the small head and its fine setting to great 
+advantage. Nothing more elegant, more sweet, more gracious can be 
+imagined, than her whole presence. It was not school time; duty was not 
+laying a heavy hand of pressure upon her heart and brain; there was the 
+loveliest expression of rest, and good will, and sparkling sympathy, and 
+ready service, in her whole face and manner. She sat down, and for a 
+while the talk flowed on in general channels, full of interest and 
+vitality however; Mrs. Mowbray had learned to know Mr. Southwode by this 
+time, and had thoroughly accepted him; in fact I think she liked him 
+almost as well as she liked Rotha. The talk went on mainly between those 
+two. Rotha herself was silent when she could be so. She was grave and 
+soft, full of a very fair dignity; evidently her approaching marriage was 
+a somewhat awful thing to her; and though her manner was simple and frank 
+as a child in her intercourse with Mr. Southwode, yet after the fashion 
+of her excitable nature the sensitive blood in her cheeks answered every 
+allusion to Monday, or even the mention of her bridegroom's name when he 
+was not by, or the sound of his step when he came. Mrs. Mowbray was 
+delighted with her; nothing could be more sweet than this delicate 
+consciousness which was grave and thoughtful without ever descending to 
+shyness or hardening to reserve. As for Mr. Southwode, he saw little of 
+it, Rotha was so exactly herself when she was with him; yet now as the 
+talk went on between him and Mrs. Mowbray his eye wandered continually to 
+the eyes which were so downcast, and the quiet withdrawn figure which 
+held itself a little more back than usual. 
+
+"And what are your movements?" inquired Mrs. Mowbray at length. "Do you 
+go straight home?" 
+
+"I think we shall take a roundabout way through Switzerland and Germany, 
+and stay there awhile first." 
+
+"You are carrying away from me my dearest pupil," said Mrs. Mowbray. "She 
+has never been anything but a blessing in my house, ever since she came 
+into it. If she is as good to you as she has been to me, you will have 
+nothing left to ask for. But I grudge her to you!" 
+
+"I find that very pardonable," said Mr. Southwode with a smile. 
+
+"I was dreadfully set against you at first," Mrs. Mowbray went on, with a 
+manner between seriousness and archness. "I tried hard to make out to my 
+satisfaction that Rotha had accepted you only out of gratitude--in which 
+case I should have made fight; but I found I had no ground to stand on." 
+
+Here Rotha made a diversion. She came, as Mrs. Mowbray finished her 
+speech, and kneeled down on a cushion at her feet, laying one hand in her 
+friend's hand. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray--_this_ vacation we shall not be there but next summer, if 
+all's well, you will come and spend the whole time at Southwode?" 
+
+"Ah, my dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, "I never know a year beforehand what 
+will become of me!" 
+
+"But I said, if all's well?" 
+
+"What Rotha petitions for, I petition for also, Mrs. Mowbray," Mr. 
+Southwode added; "and this time with double urgency, for I ask on her 
+account and on mine too." 
+
+"You will come," said Rotha. "And," she went on, laying her other hand on 
+Mrs. Mowbray's shoulder,--"And some day, you know, you will give up 
+schooling; and then--then--Mr. Southwode says, you must come and live the 
+rest of your days with us. He says the house is big enough, and you shall 
+have a separate establishment to yourself, if you like." 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray looked silently at the eager face so near her, and her eyes 
+gathered a little moisture, a tendency which probably she repelled. 
+
+"I expect to die in harness,"--she said, while the two pair of eyes 
+looked steadily into one another. 
+
+"In one way--but not in school harness! Don't say anything about it; but 
+when you stop work--this work--your home is there." 
+
+The beautiful lips trembled a little, but Mrs. Mowbray would not give 
+way. 
+
+"That would be a delightful dream!" she said. "Thank you, my dear. When I 
+am tired out with people and things, I will think of this and be 
+refreshed. Now will you bring Mr. Southwode in to tea?" 
+
+She rose and swept on before them, leading the way. Her self-command had 
+been successful. Rotha was less in training, and several tears dropped 
+from her eyes as she followed through the library. She was a little 
+disappointed, and the girl's heart was full. Her eager affection had not 
+got the answer it wanted. Rotha did not mistake her friend's manner; she 
+did not think Mrs. Mowbray was without feeling because she would not shew 
+feeling; nor that her appeal had not met a response due and full, because 
+the response was not given in words. She knew that probably Mrs. Mowbray 
+could not trust herself to put it in words. Nevertheless, she felt a 
+little thrown back and disappointed, and "Monday" was near; and I suppose 
+she felt what any girl feels at such a time, the want of a mother. Rotha 
+had nobody but Mrs. Mowbray, and she was parting from her. Two or three 
+tears fell before she could prevent it. And then Mr. Southwode, who had 
+been watching her, and could read her feelings pretty well, stretched out 
+his hand, took one of hers and drew it through his arm. It was a little 
+thing, but done, as some people can do things, in a way that quite took 
+it out of the category. There was in it, somehow, an assurance of mutual 
+confidence, of understanding, and sympathy, and great tenderness. He had 
+not looked at her, nor spoken, but Rotha's step grew lighter immediately; 
+and in quiet content she followed Mrs. Mowbray up stairs and down and 
+along passages and through one room after another. The tea table was not 
+set in the great dining rooms; they too were sweet with fresh matting, 
+and lay in summer coolness and emptiness, giving a long dusky vista 
+towards the front windows, where the blinds shaded the light and muslin 
+curtains shielded from the dust of the streets. But in the smaller end 
+room at the back the great windows were open, and the sea breeze came in 
+fitfully, and the colours of the evening sky were discernible, and there 
+the table was prepared. What a table! Mrs. Mowbray had gathered all sorts 
+of delicacies together; cold birds, and fruit, and dainty India 
+sweetmeats, and rich cheese of best English make, and a cold ham; 
+together with some very delicate warm tea cakes, which I am afraid Mr. 
+Southwode, being an Englishman, did not appreciate properly. 
+
+"Do not think this is our usual and ordinary tea!" Rotha said laughing. 
+"All this extreme luxury is on your account." 
+
+"Rotha and I dine early, these summer days," said Mrs. Mowbray; "and I 
+did not wish to starve you when I asked you to stay to tea. This is not 
+dinner, nor any meal that deserves a name--but perhaps you will kindly 
+put up with it, in place of dinner." 
+
+"Dinner!" said Mr. Southwode. "This looks festive!" 
+
+"O we are always festive in vacation time," said Rotha joyously. "In 
+other houses people call in numbers to help them make merry; here we are 
+merry when the people go!" 
+
+They were softly merry round that board. Rotha had got back her gayety, 
+and Mrs. Mowbray was the most charming of hostesses. No one could take 
+such care of her guests; no one could make the time pass so pleasantly; 
+no one had such store of things to tell or to talk of, that were worth 
+the while, and that at the same time were not within the reach of most 
+people; no one had a more beautiful skill to give the conversation a turn 
+that might do somebody good, without in the least allowing it to droop in 
+interest. To-day there was no occasion for this particular blessed 
+faculty to be called into exercise; she could let the talk run as it 
+would; and it ran delightfully. In general society Mr. Southwode was very 
+apt to play a rather quiet part; keeping the ball going indeed, but doing 
+it rather by apt suggestion and incentive applied to other people; this 
+evening he came out and talked, as Rotha was accustomed to hear him; 
+seconding Mrs. Mowbray fully, and making, which I suppose was partly his 
+purpose, an engrossing entertainment for Rotha. 
+
+Following a little pause which occurred in the conversation, Mrs. Mowbray 
+broke out,--
+
+"What are you going to do about Mrs. Busby?" 
+
+The question was really addressed to Rotha; but as Rotha did not 
+immediately answer, Mr. Southwode took it up, and asked "in what 
+respect?" 
+
+"Is she to be invited?" 
+
+"I was just talking to Mr. Southwode about it," said Rotha. "Why should 
+she be invited? It would be no pleasure to any one." 
+
+"It would be a pleasure to her." 
+
+"I do not think it, Mrs. Mowbray! O yes, she would like to come; but 
+_pleasure_--it would be pleasure to nobody. I know she wants to come." 
+
+"Well, my dear, and she is your mother's sister. Always keep well with 
+your relations. Blood is thicker than water." 
+
+"I do not think so!" cried Rotha. "I do not feel it so. If she were not 
+my mother's sister, I would not care; she would be nothing to me, one way 
+or another; it is _because_ she is my mother's sister that she is so 
+exceedingly disagreeable. If people who are your relations are 
+disagreeable, it is infinitely worse than if they were not relations. It 
+is the relationship that puts them at such an unapproachable distance. 
+You are near to me, Mrs. Mowbray, and my aunt Serena is a thousand miles 
+away." 
+
+"It is best the world should not know that, my dear. Do you not agree 
+with me, Mr. Southwode?" 
+
+"Better still, that there should be nothing to know," he answered 
+somewhat evasively. 
+
+"Yes!" said Rotha; "and if I could have been good and gentle and sweet 
+when I first went to her, things might have been different; but I was 
+not. I suppose I was provoking." 
+
+"Cannot you make up the breach now?" 
+
+"I have not the wish, Mrs. Mowbray. I see no change in aunt Serena; and 
+unless she could change, I can only wish she were not my mother's sister. 
+I have forgiven her; O I have forgiven her!--but love and kinship are 
+another thing." 
+
+"My dear, it would not hurt you, much, to let her come. I know she would 
+feel it a gratification." 
+
+"I know that well enough." 
+
+"Always gratify people when you can innocently." 
+
+"How far?" said Rotha, laughing now in the midst of a little vexation. "I 
+know they are just aching for an invitation to Southwode. There has been 
+enough said to let me see that." 
+
+"That must be as your husband pleases." 
+
+"_That_ must be as my wife pleases," said Mr. Southwode with a smile. 
+
+Poor Rotha passed both hands hastily over her face, as if she would wipe 
+away the heat and the colour; then letting them fall, turned her face 
+full to the last speaker. 
+
+"Mr. Southwode, you do not want to see them there!" 
+
+"Miss Rotha, I do not. But--if you do, I do." 
+
+"That throws all the responsibility upon me." 
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, "that is what men always like to do--get 
+rid of responsibility--if they can find somebody else to put it on." 
+
+"Ever since Adam's day--" Mr. Southwode added. 
+
+"Is there any possible reason why aunt Serena, and Mr. Busby and 
+Antoinette, should be asked to come to Southwode? If there is any  
+_reason_ for it, I have no more to say; but I do not see the reason." 
+
+"She is your mother's sister--" Mrs. Mowbray repeated. 
+
+"And that fact it is, which puts her so far from me. Just that fact." 
+
+"Maybe it will do her good," suggested Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+Rotha laughed a short, impatient laugh. "How should it?" she asked. 
+
+"You never can tell how. My dear, it is not good to have breaches in 
+families. Always heal them up, if you can." 
+
+Rotha turned in despair to Mr. Southwode. 
+
+"Mrs. Mowbray is right, in principle," he said. "I entirely agree with 
+her. The only question is, whether a breach which remains a breach by the 
+will of the offending party alone, ought to be covered over and condoned 
+by the action of the injured party." 
+
+"You must forgive,--" said Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"Yes; and forgiveness implies a readiness to have the breach bridged over 
+and forgotten. I think it does not command or advise that the offender be 
+treated as if he had repented, so long as he does not repent." 
+
+"I have no doubt Mrs. Busby repents," said Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"I have no doubt she is sorry." 
+
+"I know she is," said Rotha; "but she would do it again to-morrow." 
+
+"What has she done, after all? My dear, human nature is weak." 
+
+"I know it is," said Rotha eagerly; "and if I thought it would do her the 
+least bit of good, as far as I am concerned, I would be quite willing to 
+ask her to Southwode. I do not at all wish to give her what I think she 
+deserves." 
+
+"I am afraid I do," said Mr. Southwode; "and that is a disposition not to 
+be indulged. Let us give her the chance of possible good, and ask her, 
+Rotha." 
+
+"Then I must ask her here Monday." 
+
+"I suppose I can stand that." 
+
+There was a little pause. 
+
+"Well," said Rotha, "if you think it is better, I do not care. It will be 
+a punishment to her,--but perhaps it would be a worse punishment to stay 
+away." 
+
+"Now," said Mrs. Mowbray, "there is another thing. Don't you think Rotha 
+ought to wear a veil?" 
+
+Mrs. Mowbray was getting mischievous. Her sweet blue eyes looked up at 
+Mr. Southwode with a sparkle in them. 
+
+"Why should I wear a veil?" said Rotha. 
+
+"It is the custom." 
+
+"But I do not care in the least for custom. It's a nonsensical custom, 
+too." 
+
+"Brides are supposed to want a shield between them and the world," Mrs. 
+Mowbray went on. She loved to tease, yet she never teased Rotha; one 
+reason for which, no doubt, was that Rotha never could be teased. She 
+could laugh at the fun of a suggestion, without at all making it a 
+personal matter. But now her cheeks shewed her not quite unconcerned. 
+
+"The world will not be here," she replied. "I understand, in a great 
+crowd it might be pleasant, and as part of a pageant it is pretty; but 
+here there will be no crowd and no pageant; and I do not see why there 
+should be a veil." 
+
+"It is becoming--" suggested Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"But one cannot continue to wear a veil; and why should one try to look 
+preternaturally well just for five minutes?" 
+
+"They are five minutes to be remembered," said Mrs. Mowbray, while both 
+Rotha's hearers were amused. 
+
+"I would rather they should be remembered to my advantage than to my 
+disadvantage," the latter persisted. "It would be pitiful, to set up a 
+standard which in all my life after I never could reach again." 
+
+"It is a very old institution"--Mrs. Mowbray went on, while the mischief 
+in her eyes increased and her lips began to wreathe in lines of loveliest 
+archness; Rotha's cheeks the while growing more and more high-coloured. 
+"Rebecca, you know, when she saw her husband from a distance, got down 
+respectfully from her camel and put on her veil." 
+
+"That was after her marriage," said Rotha. "That was not at the wedding 
+ceremony." 
+
+"I fancy there was nothing that we could call a wedding ceremony," Mr. 
+Southwode remarked. "Perhaps we may say she was married by proxy, when 
+her family sent her away with blessings and good wishes. Her putting on 
+her veil at the sight of Isaac shewed that she recognized him for her 
+husband." 
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Mowbray; "it was the old sign of the woman's being under 
+subjection." 
+
+"And under protection--" added Mr. Southwode. 
+
+"But it does not mean anything _now_," Rotha said quickly. Mrs. Mowbray 
+laughed, and Mr. Southwode could not prevent a smile, at the naive energy 
+of her utterance. 
+
+"You need not think I am afraid of it," Rotha said, facing them bravely. 
+"When I was only a little girl, and very wayward, I never wanted to do 
+anything that would displease Mr. Digby. It is not likely I should begin 
+now." 
+
+"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray, with every feature in a quiver of 
+mischief,--"do you think you have given over being wayward?" And Rotha's 
+earnest gravity broke into laughter. 
+
+"I think after all," said Mr. Southwode demurely, "all that old meekness 
+was because in your conscience you thought I was right." 
+
+"N--o," said Rotha slowly, looking at him,--"I do not think it was." 
+
+"And you would fight me now, if I tried to make you do something you 
+thought was wrong." 
+
+"Would I?" Rotha said. But her eyes' swift glance said more, which he 
+alone got the benefit of; an innocent glance of such trust and love and 
+such utter scorn of the suggested possibility, that Mr. Southwode did not 
+for a minute or two know very well what he or anybody else was doing. 
+
+"We have wandered away from the question," said Mrs. Mowbray. 
+
+"What is the question?" he asked. 
+
+"Why, the veil! I believe in the value of symbols, for keeping up the 
+ideas of the things symbolized. Don't you?" 
+
+"Unquestionably." 
+
+"Well--don't you propose, Mr. Southwode, to maintain the Biblical idea of 
+subjection in your family?" 
+
+"As well without the veil as with it." 
+
+"I see!" said Mrs. Mowbray. "I shall have to succumb; and Rotha will have 
+her own way. But I did want to see her in a veil. We have had a great 
+deal of trouble over that dress, Rotha and I!" 
+
+To Rotha's relief however, Mr. Southwode did not ask why or how, but let 
+the conversation drift on to other subjects. 
+
+As they were returning through the long course of rooms and passages to 
+the library, Mrs. Mowbray as before leading the way; in one of the lower 
+rooms, dimly lighted, Rotha's steps lingered. She came close to her 
+companion's side and spoke in a lowered tone, timidly. 
+
+"Digby--will _you_ ask aunt Serena to come to Southwode?" 
+
+"No, my darling," said he, drawing her up to him;--"I will not." 
+
+"Then--I?" 
+
+"You, and no other. And without my name coming in at all." 
+
+"It will not hold for half as much." 
+
+"It must. You are the mistress of the house. And besides,--it may be very 
+well that you, who have been injured, should shew your forgiveness; but I 
+am under no such necessity." 
+
+"You, who have not been injured, do _not_ forgive her?" said Rotha, 
+laughing a little. 
+
+"Yes, I forgive her; but I do not propose to reward her." 
+
+"You like me to do it?" 
+
+"I like you to do it." 
+
+They stood still a moment. 
+
+"Digby," said Rotha again, with a breath of anxiety, "_do_ you care how I 
+am dressed Monday?" 
+
+"Do I?--Yes." 
+
+He had both arms round her now, and was looking down into her changing 
+face. 
+
+"You do not think it need be costly, do you? Mrs. Mowbray has a notion 
+that it ought to be rich." 
+
+"Will you let me choose it?" 
+
+Rotha hesitated, looked down and looked up. 
+
+"It is all yours--" she said, somewhat vaguely, but he understood her. 
+"Only, remember that I am a poor girl, and it _ought_ not to be costly." 
+
+"Mrs. Digby Southwode will not be a poor girl," he said, with caresses 
+which shewed Rotha how sweet the words were to him. 
+
+"But you know our principle," said Rotha. "I had a mind to wear just my 
+travelling dress; but Mrs. Mowbray said you would not like that, and I 
+must be in white." 
+
+"I think I would like you to be in white," he said. 
+
+_________
+
+
+And everybody declared that was a pretty wedding; the prettiest, some 
+said, that ever was seen. There were not many indeed to say anything 
+about it; the Busbys were there, and one or two of Rotha's school 
+friends, and one or two of Mrs. Mowbray's family, and two or three of the 
+teachers, who thought a great deal of Rotha. These were gathered in the 
+library, with the clergyman who was to officiate. Then, entering the 
+library from the drawing room, came Rotha, on Mr. Southwode's arm. She 
+was in white to be sure, with soft-flowing draperies; there was not a 
+hard line or a harsh outline about her. The sleeves of her robe opened 
+and fell away at the elbow, and the arms beneath were half covered with 
+the white gloves. Or rather, one of them; for only one glove was on. The 
+other was carried in the left hand which Rotha had providently left bare. 
+Her young friends were a little shocked at such irregularity, and even 
+Mrs. Mowbray was annoyed; but Rotha came in too quietly, calmly, 
+gracefully, not to check every feeling but one of contented admiration. 
+Her cheek was not pale, and her voice did not falter, and her hand did 
+not tremble; nor was there apparently any feeling of self-consciousness 
+whatever to trouble the beautiful dignified calm. It was the calm of 
+intensity however, not of apathy; and one or two persons noticed 
+afterwards that Rotha was trembling. 
+
+When congratulations had been spoken and Rotha went to get ready for 
+travelling, the little company thinned off. Her young friends went to 
+help her; then Mrs. Mowbray too slipped away; then Mr. Southwode 
+disappeared; and the rest collected at the front windows to see Rotha go. 
+After which final satisfaction Mrs. Busby and her daughter walked home 
+silently. 
+
+"Mamma," said Antoinette when they were alone at home, "didn't you think 
+Rotha would have a handsomer wedding dress? I thought she would have 
+white silk at least, or satin; and she had only a white muslin!" 
+
+"India muslin--" said Mrs. Busby rather grim. 
+
+"Well, India muslin; and there was a little embroidered vine all round 
+the bottom of it; but what's India muslin?" 
+
+"It looks well on a good figure," said Mrs. Busby. 
+
+"I suppose Rotha has what you would call a good figure. But no lace, 
+mamma! and no veil!" 
+
+"There was lace on her sleeves--and handsome." 
+
+"O but nothing remarkable. And no veil, mamma?" 
+
+"Wanted to shew her hair--" said Mrs. Busby. It had been a sour morning's 
+work for the poor woman. 
+
+"And not a flower; not a bouquet; not a bit of ornament of any kind!" 
+Antoinette went on. "What is the use of being married so? And I know if  
+_I_ was going to be married, I would have a better travelling bonnet.  
+Just a common little straw, with a ribband round it! Ridiculous." 
+
+"Men are very apt to like that kind of thing," said her mother. 
+
+"Are they? Why are they. And if they are, why don't we wear them? 
+Mamma!--isn't it ridiculous to see how taken up Mr. Southwode is with 
+Rotha?" 
+
+"I did not observe that he was so specially 'taken up,'" Mrs. Busby said. 
+
+"O but he had really no eyes for anybody else; and he and I used to be 
+good friends once. Of course, Mr. Southwode is never _empress?_--but I 
+saw that she could not move without his knowing it; and if a chair was 
+half a mile off he would put it out of her way. Mamma--I think _I_ should 
+like to be married." 
+
+"Don't be silly, Antoinette! Your turn will come." 
+
+"Will it? But mamma, I want somebody every bit as good as Mr. Southwode." 
+
+Silence. 
+
+"Mamma," Antoinette began again, "did he ask you to come to Southwode?" 
+
+"No." Short. 
+
+"Only Rotha?" 
+
+Mrs. Busby made no reply. Another pause. 
+
+"Mamma, you said you could manage Mr. Southwode;--and you didn't do it!" 
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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