A Letter of Credit Part 43

"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 unimpa.s.sioned 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.

n.o.body 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 impa.s.sive.

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 ma.s.sive bal.u.s.ters 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 pa.s.sed 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 b.u.mps 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 b.u.mps are, and where she finds a b.u.mp 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 b.u.mp ought to be."

"There are no b.u.mps on my head," said Rotha a little proudly; "it is quite round."

"O you're mistaken; everybody has b.u.mps; 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?"