"But you must be in New York to do it, dear Fleda,--you can't do it here."
"I will go to New York."
"When?"
"To-morrow morning."
"But dear Fleda, you can't go alone! I can't let you, and you're not fit to go at all, my poor child!--" and between conflicting feelings Mrs. Rossitur sat down and wept without measure.
"Listen, aunt Lucy," said Fleda, pressing a hand on her shoulder,--"listen, and don't cry so!--I'll go and make all right, if efforts can do it. I am not going alone--I'll get Seth to go with me; and I can sleep in the cars and rest nicely in the steamboat--I shall feel happy and well when I know that I am leaving you easier and doing all that can be done to bring uncle Rolf home. Leave me to manage, and don't say anything to Marion,--it is one blessed thing that she need not know anything about all this. I shall feel better than if I were at home and had trusted this business to any other hands."
"You are the blessing of my life," said Mrs. Rossitur.
"Cheer up, and come down and let us have some tea," said Fleda, kissing her; "I feel as if that would make me up a little; and then I'll write the letters. I sha'n't want but very little baggage; there'll be nothing to pack up."
Philetus was sent up the hill with a note to Seth Plumfield, and brought home a favorable answer. Fleda thought as she went to rest that it was well the mind's strength could sometimes act independently of its servant the body, hers felt so very shattered and unsubstantial.