"And he put you under your aunt's care."
"Yes, for the present. But I was to tell him if anything went wrong; and I have never been able to speak a word to him since. Nor to write, because he had not given me his address."
"Mr. Southwode is an Englishman. It is probable, if his father is dead, that he will make his home in England for the future."
Rotha was silent. She thought Mr. Digby would not forget her, or fail in his promises; but she kept her views to herself.
"He did very properly in committing you to your aunt's care; and now I am very glad I have got you," Mrs. Mowbray went on cheerily. "Now we will try and get all those questions straightened out, that were troubling you. What was it? a question of duty, you said, didn't you?"
Mrs. Mowbray was arranging her heterogeneous masses of books in something like external order; she put a little volume into Rotha's hand as she said the last words. It was a very small New Testament; very small, yet in the clear English printing which made it delightfully legible. "That is the best thing to solve questions of duty with," she went on. "Keep it, my dear."
"O thank you, ma'am!" cried Rotha, a bright colour of pleasure rushing into her cheeks. "O thank you, ma'am! How beautiful! and how nice! But here is where I found my question," she added sorrowfully.
"I dare say. It is the old story—'When the commandment came, sin revived, and I died.' What was the point this time?"
"Just that point I spoke of, about aunt Serena. I do not forgive her; and in the fifth chapter of Matthew,—here it is: 'If thou bring thy gift to the altar—'"
"I know," Mrs. Mowbray broke in, very busy seemingly with her books and not looking at Rotha. "Why cannot you forgive her?"