"The name sounds familiar," said the stranger; "perhaps I shall be able to get some clew to it."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Bond, gratefully; "and now, sir, as I get up early I go to rest early; so, if you please, I will show you your room; it is very plain—but it is all the spare one I have. It was poor Rose's room;" and Mrs. Bond taking her candle, led the way to it.
"There," said she, setting the light down upon the table, "many a time when she stood at that little window, sir, she and the babe, people stopped here to ask who they were, they were both so handsome, and so different from our country folks.
"On that very little table she left her letter; it was a long time before I could come here and feel that it was all right she should suffer so, although I know that God's ways are just; but I shall know all about it when I get to heaven; perhaps it was only 'the narrow way' to take her there—who knows? I would rather be Rose than they who brought her here; and yet," said the mild old lady, hesitatingly, "perhaps they thought they did right, but riches make us take strange views of things; it takes grace to be a rich Christian. And when I feel displeased with Mrs. Howe's heartlessness, I say, money might have turned me aside too—who knows? Good-night, sir; heaven send you sweet sleep;" and Mrs. Bond went down into her small kitchen.
And it was here—in this very room, that Rose had wept, and suffered, and wrestled with her great sorrow! On that very pillow her aching head vainly sought rest; at that window she had sat thinking—thinking—till brain and heart grew sick, and God himself seemed to have forsaken her; and down that road she had fled, like a hunted deer, with slander's cruel arrow rankling in her quivering heart!
Not on that pillow could sleep woo our weary traveler.
At the little window he sat and saw the night-shadows deepen, and only the shivering trees, as the night-wind crept through them, made answer to his low moan,
"Rose! Rose!"