A Letter of Credit Part 49

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I hope you have made some friends here. Miss Doolittle, won't you be helpful to Miss Carpenter if you can? she is a stranger among us.-- Good morning, young ladies!"

The lady swept away from the room; but all that day there hovered in Rotha's thoughts a vision of beauty and grace and dignity, an accent of kindness, a manner of love and authority, which utterly fascinated and wholly captivated her. It was quite a sweetener of that day's dry work.

She looked to see the vision come again the next day, and the next; in vain; but Rotha now knew the voice; and not a word was let fall from those lips, in reading or prayer, at the school opening now, that she did not listen to.

Days went on. At last one day Mrs. Busby said it was no use to wait any longer for the mantua-makers; Rotha might as well come down and have her dinner with the family. She could not stay in the drawing room of course, until she was decently dressed; but she might as well come to dinner.

Rotha could not understand why so much could not have been granted from the first; there was n.o.body at the dinner table but her aunt and cousin and Mr. Busby. Mr. Busby was a very tall, thin man, always busy with newspapers or sheets of ma.n.u.script; whose "Good morning, my dear!" in that peculiar husky voice of his, was nearly all Rotha ever heard him say. He took his breakfast, or his dinner, and went off to his study at once.

Rotha climbed the stairs to Mrs. Busby's dressing room, after the meal was over, and sat down to think. She was consuming herself in impatience and fretting. By and by Lesbia came in to see to the fire.

"Lesbia," said Rotha with sudden resolution, "will you do something for me?" She looked at the girl eagerly.

"Mebbe, miss. Like to know what 'tis, fust."

"It is only, to tell me something," said Rotha lowering her voice.

"Aint nothin' harder 'n to tell things," said the girl. "That's the hardest thing I know."

"It isn't hard, if you are willing."

"Don' know about that. Well, fire away, Miss Rotha. What you want?"

Rotha went first to the door and shut it. Then came back and stood by the table where Lesbia was lighting the gas drop.

"Lesbia, I want you to tell me-- You always open the door, don't you?"

"'Cept when I aint there."

"But in the evenings you do?"

"I'm pretty likely to, miss--if it aint my evening out."

"I want you to tell me--" Rotha lowered her voice to a whisper,--"if Mr.

Southwode has been here lately?"

Lesbia stood silent, considering.

"You know him? You know Mr. Southwode?"

"He brought you here the fust, didn't he?"

"Yes. Yes, that is he. When was he here last?"

"Don't just 'member."

"But _about_ when? Two weeks or three weeks ago?"

"Well, 'pears to me as if I'd seen him later 'n that."

"When, Lesbia? Oh do tell me! do tell me!"

"Why he aint nothin' particular to you, is he?"

"He is _everything_ to me. He is the only friend I have got in the world.

When was he here, Lesbia?"

"He's a mighty handsome gentleman, with hair lighter than your'n, and a mustaches?"

"Yes. He came with me that first day. Tell me, Lesbia!"

"But Miss Rotha, I can't see what you want to know fur?"

"Never mind. I tell you, he is all the friend I have got; and I'm afraid something is wrong, because I don't see him."

"I reckon there is," said Lesbia, not rea.s.suringly.

"What?"

"Mrs. Busby will kill me."

"No, I shall not tell her you told me. O Lesbia, Lesbia, speak, speak!"

Lesbia glanced at the girl and saw her intense excitement, and seemed doubtful.

"You'll be so mad, you'll go tellin' the fust thing," she said.

Rotha sat down, in silence now, and gazed in Lesbia's face with her own growing white. Lesbia seemed at last overcome.

"He was here last week, and he was here this week," she said.

"This week!--and last week too. What day this week, Lesbia?"

"This here is Friday, aint it. Blessed if I kin keep the run o' the days.

Let us see--Mr. Southwode was here the last time, Tuesday."

"Tuesday? And I was here studying."

"Then you don't know?" said Lesbia eyeing her. "He's done gone away."

"What do you mean? That can't be."

"He's done gone, miss. Sailed Wednesday. I heerd 'em talking about it at dinner. His name was in the list, they was sayin'; in the papers."

"Sailed Wednesday? O where to, Lesbia?"

"Don' know, miss; some place where the s.h.i.+ps goes."

"England?"