A Letter of Credit Part 63

"Not much.--I used to do things for mother."

"Mrs. Busby is her sister?"

"Yes, ma'am; but not like her. O not a bit like her."

"Where was Mrs. Busby in those days?"

"Here. Just where she is now."

"Did she never come to see you?"

"She did not know where we were. Mother never let her know."

"Do you know why not, my dear?"

"She had been so unkind--" Rotha answered in a low voice.

Mrs. Mowbray thought to herself that probably there had been fault on both sides.

"You must try and forget all that, my dear, if there were old grievances.

It is best to forgive and forget, and Christmas is a capital time to do it. I never dare think of a grudge against anybody at Christmas. And your aunt seems disposed to be kind to you now."

"No, ma'am, I do not think she does."

"Don't you!"

"No, ma'am. I do not"

"Why, my dear, you must not bear malice."

"What is 'malice'?"

"Well,--ill-will."

"Ill-will--I do not think I wish any harm to her," said Rotha slowly; "but I do not forgive her."

"What do you want to do to her?"

"I do not know. I should like to make her feel ashamed of herself--if I knew how."

"I do not think that lies in your power, my dear; and I would not try.

That is a sort of revenge-taking; and all sorts of revenge-taking are forbidden to us. 'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord."

"I do not mean vengeance," said Rotha. "I mean, just punishment--a little bit."

"That is the meaning of the word 'vengeance' in that place;--just punishment; but in your heart, Rotha, it is revenge. Put it away, my dear. It is not the spirit of Christ. You must forgive, if you would be forgiven."

"I do not know how," said Rotha, low and steadily.

"See how Jesus did. When they were nailing him to the cross, he said, 'Father, forgive them.'"

"Yes, but he said too, Mrs. Mowbray,--'they know not what they do.'"

"My dear, n.o.body knows the evil he does. That does not excuse the evil, but it helps your charity for the sinner. n.o.body knows the evil he does.

I suppose Mrs. Busby has no notion how much she has hurt you."

Rotha thought, her aunt had as little _care;_ but she did not say it. She was silent a minute, and then asked if the poor people at the Old Coloured Home were all women?

"O no!" Mrs. Mowbray answered. "There are a great many men. I give _them_ a pound of tobacco each; but I prefer not to take that in the carriage with me. It is all up there now, I suppose, waiting for me and to-morrow."

With which the carriage stopped again.

Here it was a bookstore; a large and beautiful one. The light was brilliant; and on every counter and table lay spread about such treasures of printing, engraving, and the book-binder's art, as Rotha had never seen gathered together before. Mrs. Mowbray told her to amuse herself with looking at the books and pictures, while she attended to the business that brought her here; and so began a wonderful hour for Rotha.

O the books! O the pictures! what pages of interest! what leaves of beauty! Her eyes were drunk with delight. From one thing to another, with careful fingers and dainty touch she went exploring; sometimes getting caught in the interest of an open page of letterpress, sometimes hanging over an engraving with wondering admiration and sympathy. It seemed any length of time, it was really not more than three quarters of an hour, when Mrs. Mowbray approached her again, having got through her errands.

With cheeks red and eyes intent, Rotha was bending over something, the sense of hearing for the present gone into abeyance; Mrs. Mowbray was obliged to touch her. She smiled at Rotha's start.

"What had you there, my dear?"

"All sorts of things, Mrs. Mowbray! Just that minute, I was looking at an atlas."

"An atlas!"

"Yes, the most perfect I ever saw. O beautiful, and with so many things told and taught in it. A delightful atlas! And then, I was looking at the ill.u.s.trations in the 'Arabian Nights'--I think that was the name."

"You never read it?"

"O no, ma'am. I never had many books to read;--until now."

"Are you reading anything now, in course?"

"I haven't much time, there is so much history to read. But I have begun 'Waverley.'"

"Do you like it?"

"O, a great deal more than I can tell!"

"Do not let it draw you away from your studies."

"No, ma'am. There is no danger," said Rotha joyously.

Mrs. Mowbray did not speak again till the carriage stopped at Stewart's.

It was the first time Rotha had ever been inside of those white walls; and this visit finished the bewitchment of the evening. At first the size of the place and the numbers of people busy there engrossed her attention; nor did either thing cease to be a wonder; but by degrees one grows accustomed even to wonders. By degrees Rotha was able to look at what was on the counters, as well as what was before them; for a while she had followed Mrs. Mowbray without seeing what that lady was doing.

Mrs. Mowbray had a good deal of business on hand. When Rotha began to attend to it, the two had come into the rotunda room and were standing at the great glove counter. Between what was going on there, and what was doing at the silk counters around her, Rotha was fully engaged, and was only recalled to herself by Mrs. Mowbray's voice asking,

"What is your number, Rotha?"

"Ma'am?" said the girl "I did not understand--"

"What is the number of the size of glove you wear?"