The Letter of Credit

judgment said. Rotha was already clinging to him with a devotion that would make the parting a hard business, even now; every week would make it harder. Besides, he had other work to do, and could not permanently play tutor. As soon as Mrs. Busby came home he would go to her and broach the matter. That would be, for the present, the best plan he could hit upon. A week or two more--

  Which calculations, like so many others of human framing, came to nothing. A day or two later, driving in the Park one evening, a pair of unruly horses coming at a run round a corner dashed into the little phaeton which held Mr. Digby and Rotha, and threw them both out. The phaeton was broken; Rotha was unhurt; Mr. Digby could not stand up. He believed it was a sprain, he said; no more; but one foot was unmanageable.

  A carriage was procured, he was assisted into it, Rotha took her place beside him, and the coachman was ordered to drive slowly.

  A silent pair they were for some distance; and both faces very pale. Rotha was the first one to speak.

  "Mr. Digby--does it hurt much?"

  "Rather, just now," he said forcing a smile. "Rotha, are you all right?"

  "O yes. What can I do, Mr. Digby?"

  "There is nothing to be done, till we get home."

  For which now Rotha waited in an impatience which seemed to measure every yard of the way. Arrived at last, Mr. Digby was assisted out of the phaeton, and with much difficulty into the house. Here he himself examined the hurt, and decided that it was only a sprain; no doctor need be sent for.

  "Is a sprain bad?" asked Rotha, when the assistants had withdrawn.

  "Worse than a broken bone, sometimes."

  Mr. Digby had laid himself down upon the cushions of the lounge; sweat stood on his brow, and the colour varied in his face. He was in great pain.

  "Where is Mrs. Cord?"

  "She's out. She's gone to New York. I know she meant to go. What shall I do for you, Mr. Digby?"

  "You cannot--"

  "O yes, I can; I can as well as anybody. Only tell me what. Please, Mr. Digby!"--Rotha's entreaty was made with most intense expression.

  "Salt and water is the thing,--but the boot must come off. You cannot get it off, nor anybody, except with a knife. Rotha, give me the clasp knife that lies on my table over yonder."

  Mr. Digby proceeded to open the largest blade and to make a slit in the leg of his boot. The slit was enlarged, with difficulty and evident suffering, till the whole top of the boot was open; but the ankle and foot, the hardest part of the task, were still to do, and the swollen foot had made the leather very tight.

  "I cannot manage it," said Mr. Digby throwing down the knife. "I cannot get at it. You'll have to send for a surgeon, after all, Rotha, to carve this leather."

  "Mr. Digby, may I try?"

  "You cannot do it, child." But the answer was given in the exhaustion of pain, and the young man lay back with closed eyes. Rotha did not hold herself forbidden. She took the knife, and carefully, tenderly, and very skilfully, she managed to free the suffering foot. It took time, but not more, nor so much, as would have been needed to send for a doctor.

  "Thank you!--that is great relief. Now the salt and water, Rotha."

  With a beating heart, beating with joy, Rotha flew to get what was wanted; flew only outside the door though, for in the room her motions had no precipitation whatever. She came staidly and steadily, and noiselessly. It was necessary to cut open also the stocking, to get that off, but this was an easier matter; and then Rotha's fingers applied the cold salt and water, bathing softly and patiently, with fingers that almost trembled, they were so glad to be employed. For a long time this went on.

  "Rotha--"

  "Yes, Mr. Digby," said the girl eagerly.

  "What o'clock is it?"

  "Seven, just."

  "You have had no tea."

  "Nor you, either. Will you have some now, Mr. Digby?"

  "You will. The foot is a great deal easier now, Rotha. Lay a wet cloth over the ankle and let it alone for a while; and have some tea, dear."

  Rotha obeyed, moving with the utmost delicacy of soft and quiet movements. She made the foot comfortable; rang the bell, and desired the kettle to be brought; and noiselessly arranged the table when the servant had set the tea things upon it She made the tea then; and had just cut a slice of bread and put it upon the toasting fork, when the door opened and in came Mrs. Cord, her arms full of cloths and vials and a basin of water. Rotha dropped the toasting fork and sprang towards her.

  "What do you want?" she said. "What are you going to do?"

  Her accent and action were so striking, that the woman paused, startled.

  "There's a sprained ankle here--I'm coming to see it."

  "No, you are not," said Rotha with great decision. "I have done all that is necessary, and I am going to do all that is necessary. I can do it as well as anybody; and I do not want you. You may carry all those things away, Mrs. Cord. Mr. Digby is asleep; he is better."

  "_You_ don't want me, maybe, Rotha, but Mr. Digby does. I've got what he wants here, and I knows my business. My business is to take care of him." She would have passed on.

  "Stand back!" said Rotha, barring her way. "I tell you, he don't want you, and you are not coming. Stand back! Take your things away. I will manage all that is done here myself. You may go!"--The tone and action were utterly and superbly imperious.

  The woman paused again, yielding before the slight girl, as matter always does yield to mind.

  "What new sort o' behaviour is this?" she said however in high offence. "_You_ to tell _me_ what I'm to do and not do! You're takin' a good deal upon you, my young lady!"

  "I take it," said Rotha, supremely. "Go! and send the girl here, if you please. I heard her go up stairs just now. I want her to make a piece of toast."

  Mrs. Cord greatly displeased, withdrew, after a glance at the closed eyelids on the sofa. The eyelids however were not so fast closed as they might be; Rotha's first words, spoken somewhat more emphatically than usual, had roused Mr. Digby out of his light slumber, and he had seen and heard all that passed. He had seen it with not a little amusement; at the same time it had given him new matter for thought. This was Rotha in a new character. He had known indeed before, in a measure, the intense nature of the girl; yet in his presence her manner was always subdued, except in the passion of grief that burst all bounds. But this was passion of another sort, and in that concentration of force which draws out a kind of spiritual electricity from its possessor. He saw how it had magnetized Mrs. Cord, and rendered her bulkiness passive. He had been intensely amused to see the large woman standing face to face with the slim girl, checked and indeed awed by the subtle lightning fire which darted from Rotha's eyes and seemed to play about her whole person. Mrs. Cord was fairly cowed, and gave way. And Rotha's bearing; instead of a poor, portionless little girl, she might have been a princess of the house royal, if she were judged of by her mien and manner. There was nothing assumed or affected about it; the demonstration was pure nature, Mr. Digby saw well enough; but what sort of a creature was this, to whom such a demonstration could be natural? There was force enough there, he saw, to bring the whole machinery into disorder and ruin, if the force were not well governed and well guided, and the machinery wisely managed. Who was to do this? Mrs. Busby? Mr. Digby was not sure yet what manner of person Mrs. Busby was; and he felt more than ever anxious to find out. And now a sprained ankle!

  Meanwhile, Rotha having driven her adversary from the field, was making peaceful arrangements. She had sent the toast to be made; seeing that Mr. Digby's eyes were open, she carefully renewed the salt water application to his ankle; poured out a cup of tea, and brought it with the plate of toast to his side; where she sat down, the cup in one hand, the plate in the other.

  "What now, Rotha?" said he.

  "Your tea, Mr. Digby. I hope it is good."

  She looked and spoke as gentle as a dove, albeit full of energetic alertness.

  "And do you propose
to enact dumb waiter?"

  "If you want me to be dumb," she said.

  He laughed. "Rotha, Rotha! this is a bad piece of work!" he said; but he did not explain what he meant.--"That won't do. Call Marianne and let her shove the table up to the sofa here--one corner of it."

  "I like to hold the things, Mr. Digby, if you will let me."

  "I don't like it. Call Marianne, Rotha, and we will take our tea together. I am not a South Sea Islander."

  "Suppose you were,--what then?" asked Rotha as she rang the bell.

  "Then I suppose I should think it proper for the ladies of the family to take tea after I had done."

  The tea