"Because, sometimes I am in great confusion, and can not understand myself."
"Let me help you when those times come."
"One of the times is to-day," said Rotha in a low tone.
"Ah? What's the matter?" said he looking down kindly at her. Rotha had laid her forehead against the edge of the window frame, and was looking out with an intent grave eye which amused him, and made him curious too.
"Because I want to tell you something of how feel, Mr. Digby, and I
cannot."—(He had told her not to say can't, and now she never did.)
"It's all mixed up, and I don't know what comes first; and you will think
I am—ungrateful."
"Never in the world!" said he heartily. "I shall never think that. I think I know you pretty well, Rotha."
Yet he was hardly prepared for the look she gave him; a glance only, but so intent, so warm, so laden with gratitude, ay, and so burdened with a yet deeper feeling, that Mr. Digby was well nigh startled. It was not the flash of brilliancy of which Rotha's eyes were quite capable; it was a rarer thing, the dark glow of a hidden fire, true, and deep, and pure, and unconscious of itself. It gave the young man something to think of.
CHAPTER X.
L'HOMME PROPOSE.
Mr. Digby thought of it a good deal. He was obliged to recognize the fact, that this friendless child was pouring upon him all the affection of a very passionate nature. Child, he called her in his thoughts, and yet he knew quite well that the time was not distant when Rotha would be a child no longer. And already she loved him with the intensity of a concentrated power of loving. Certainly this was not what Mr. Digby wished, or had in any wise contemplated as possible, and it seemed to him both undesirable and inconvenient; and yet, it is sweet to be loved; and he could not recall that intense look of devotion without a certain thrill. Because of its beauty, he said to himself; but it was also because of its significance. He read Rotha; he knew that she was one of those natures which have a great tendency to concentration of affection; with whom the flow of feeling is apt to be closed in to a narrow channel, and in that channel to be proportionately sweeping and powerful. What training could best be applied to correct this tendency, not happy for the possessor, nor beneficent in its effects upon others? These are the sort of natures that when untrained and ungoverned, use upon occasion the dagger and the poison cup; or which even when not untrained are in danger, in certain cases of shipwreck, of going to pieces altogether. In danger at all times of unwise, inconsiderate acting; as when such a stream meets with resistance and breaks its bounds, spreading waste and desolation where it comes. Truly, he trusted that this little girl's future might be so sheltered and cared for, that no such peril might overtake her; but how could he know? What could he do? and what anyhow was to be the outcome of all this? It was very pleasant to have her love him, but he did not want her to love him too well. At any rate, he could not be her tutor permanently; he had something else to do, and if he had not, the arrangement would be inadmissible. Mrs. Busby would return to town in a few weeks, and then— Yes, there was nothing else to do. Rotha must go under her aunt's care, for the present. How would they agree? Mr. Digby did not feel sure; he had an anticipation that the change would be a sore trial to Rotha. But—it must be made.