"No. I remember when we were at Medwayville, everything I liked to do, I liked it more the more I did it."
"You are of a happy temperament. What did you use to like to do there?"
"O a load of things!" said Rotha sighing. "I liked our old dog, and my kittens; and riding about; and I liked very much going to the hay field and getting into the cart with father and riding home. And then—"
But Rotha's words stopped suddenly, and her companion looking down at her saw that her eyes were brimming full of tears, and her face flushed with the emotion which almost mastered her. A little kind pressure of the hand he held was all the answer he made; and then they made their way through the crowd and got into the cars to go home.
He had not discharged his commission; how could he? Things had taken a turn which made it almost impossible. It must be done another day. Poor child! The young man's mind was filled with sympathy and compassion, as he looked at Rotha sitting beside him and noted how her aspect had changed and brightened; just with this afternoon's pleasure and the new thoughts and mental stir and hope to which it had given rise. Poor child! what lay before her, that she dreamed not of, yet must face and meet inevitably. That in the near future; and beyond—what? No friend but himself in all the world; and how was he to take care of her? The young man felt a little pity for himself by the way. Truly, a girl of this sort, brimfull of mental capacity and emotional sensitiveness, was a troublesome legacy for a young man situated as he was. However, his own trouble got not much regard on the present occasion; for his heart was burdened with the sorrow and the tribulation coming upon these two, the mother and daughter. And these were but two, in a world full of the like and of far worse. He remembered how once, in the sight of the tears and sorrowing hearts around him and in view of the great flood of human miseries of which they were but instances and reminders, "Jesus wept;" and the heart of his servant melted in like compassion. But he shewed none of it, when he came with Rotha into her mother's presence again; he was calm and composed as always.
"Mrs. Carpenter," he said, as he found himself for a moment alone with her, Rotha having run off to change her dress,—"you did not tell me your sister's name. I think I ought to know it."
"Her name?" said Mrs. Carpenter starting and hesitating. What did he want to know her sister's name for? But Mr. Digby did not look as if he cared about knowing it; he had asked the question indifferently, and his face of careless calm reassured her. She answered him at last.
"Her name is Busby."
It was characteristic of Mr. Digby that his features revealed no quickening of interest at this; for he was acquainted with a Mrs. Busby, who was also the wife of a lawyer in the city. But he shewed neither surprise nor curiosity; he merely said in the same unconcerned manner and tone,
"There may be more Mrs. Busby's than one. What is her husband's name?"