At first, in a strange place and with new surroundings and utterly changed life, the girl was exceedingly forlorn. The days passed in alternations of violent outbreaks of grief and fits of seeming apathy, which I suppose were simply nature's reaction from overstrain and exhaustion. The violence she rarely shewed in Mr. Digby's presence; Rotha was taking her first lessons in self-command; nevertheless he saw the work that was going on, knew it must be, for a time, and wisely abstained from interference with it. "There is a time to weep"; and he knew it was now; comfort would be mockery. He was satisfied that Rotha should have so much diversion from her sorrow as his presence occasioned; that she should be obliged to meet him at meals, and to behave then with a certain degree of outward calm, and the necessary attention to little matters; all useful in a sort of slow, unnoticed way. Otherwise for a few days he let her alone. But then he began to give her things to do. Lessons were taken up again, by degrees multiplied, until Rotha's time was well filled with occupation. It went very hard at first. Rotha even ventured on a little passive rebellion; even declared she could not study. Mr. Digby shewed her that she could; helped her, led her on, and let her see finally that he expected certain things of her, which she could not neglect without coming to an open rupture with him. That was impossible. Rotha bent her will to do what was required of her; and from that time the difficulty of Mr. Digby's task was over. She began soon to be interested again in what she was about and to make excellent progress. Then Mr. Digby would put himself in a hammock on the piazza or out under a great walnut-tree, and make Rotha read to him, and incite her to talk of what she read; or he would give her lessons in drawing; both occasions of the utmost gratification to Rotha; and when the scorching sun had got low down over the Palisades, he would take her in an easy little vehicle and go for a long drive. So one way and another they came to be together all the time. And after the first miserable days were past, and Rotha had been constrained to busy herself with something besides herself; her mental powers called into vigorous exertion and furnished with an abundant supply of new food; by degrees a sort of enjoyment began to creep into her life again, and grew, and grew. It was a help, that everything was so strange about her. Even her own dress.
"Mrs. Cord," Mr. Digby had said in the first week of this new life,—"how is Rotha off for clothes?"
"Well, sir," said the nurse, "of course they were people not likely to have much of that sort of thing; but Rotha has what will do her through the warm season."
"But is she supplied as a young lady ought to be, with everything needful?"
"As a young lady!—no, sir. It's what she never set up for, and don't need, and knows nothing about. Her mother was a very good woman, and didn't pretend to dress her as a young lady. But she's comfortable."
Mr. Digby half smiled at the collocation of things, however he went on with full seriousness.
"She will go to school by and by, and she will go there as a young lady. I wish, Mrs. Cord, you would see to it, as far as you know, that she has a full supply of everything. Go to one of the best shops for outfits and get plenty of every thing and of good quality, and send the bills to me. And get Mrs. Marble to make her some dresses."
"Mourning, sir?"
"No. Simple things, but no black."
"I asked, because it's customary, sir."