A Letter of Credit Part 102

"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 n.o.body 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 st.u.r.dily. "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 ap.r.o.n 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed. 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.