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
