The Letter of Credit

nevertheless she did not suffer to burst out. She would appeal to Mrs. Mowbray. She took leave somewhat curtly, carrying her two quires of paper with her, but leaving the coarse darning cotton which she did not intend to use.

  CHAPTER XX.

  STOCKINGS.

  Rotha went home in a storm of feelings, so tumultuous and conflicting that her eyes were dropping tears all the way. All the strength there was in her rose against this new injury; while a feeling of powerlessness made her tremble lest after all, she would be obliged to submit to it. She writhed under the bonds of circumstance. Could Mrs. Mowbray protect her? and if not, must her fine stockings go, to be worn upon her cousin's feet, or her aunt's? The up-rising surges of Rotha's rage were touched and coloured by just one ray of light; she had entered a new service, she had therewith got a new Protector and Helper. That thought made the tears come. She was no longer a hopeless slave to her own passions; there was deliverance. "Jesus is my King now! he will take care of me, and he will help me to do right." So she thought as she ran along. For, precisely what Adam and Eve lost by disobedience, in one respect, their descendants regain as soon as they return to their allegiance and become obedient. The riven bond is united again; the lost protection is restored; they have come "from the power of Satan, to God"; and under his banner which now floats over them, the motto of which is "Love," they are safe from all the wiles and the force of the enemy. Rotha was feeling this already; already rejoicing in the new peace which is the very air of the kingdom she had entered; glad that she was no longer to depend on herself, to fight her battles alone. For between her aunt and her own heart, the battle threatened to be hot.

  It was dinner-time when she got home, and no time to speak to Mrs. Mowbray. And Rotha had to watch a good while before she could find a chance to speak to her in private. At last in the course of the evening she got near enough to say in a low tone,

  "Mrs. Mowbray, can I see you for a minute by and by?"

  "Is it business?" the lady asked in the same tone, at the same time opening a Chinese puzzle box and putting it before another of her pupil-guests.

  "It is business to me," Rotha answered.

  "Troublesome business?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "We cannot talk it over here, then. I will come to your room by and by."

  Which indeed she did. She came when the work of the day was behind her; and what a day! She had entertained some of her girls with a visit to the book-making operations of the American Bible Society; she had taken others to a picture gallery; she had packed a box to send to a poor friend in the country; she had looked over a bookseller's stock to see what he had that could be of service to her in her work; she had paid two visits to relations in the city; she had kept the whole group of her pupils happily entertained all the evening with pictures and puzzles; and now she came to be a sympathizing, patient, helpful friend to one little tired heart. She came in cheery and bright; looked to see if the room were comfortable and entirely arranged as it should be, and then took a seat and an air of expectant readiness. Was she tired? Perhaps--but it did not appear. What if she were tired? if here was more work that God had given her to do. She did not shew fatigue, in look or manner. She might have just risen after a night's sleep.

  "Are you comfortable here, my dear?"

  "O very, ma'am, thank you."

  "Now what is the business you want to speak about?"

  "I want you to tell me what I ought to do!"

  "About what? Have you had a pleasant day?"

  "Not at all pleasant."

  "How happened that?"

  "It was partly my fault."

  "Not altogether?" Mrs. Mowbray asked with a smile that was very kindly.

  "I do not think it was all my fault, ma'am. Partly it was. I lost my temper, and got angry, and said what I thought, and aunt Serena banished me. Then at luncheon I apologized and asked pardon; I did all I could. But that wasn't the trouble. Aunt Serena told me to bring her all my nice stockings, and she would get me coarser and commoner ones. Must I do it?" And Rotha's eyes looked up anxiously into the lace of her oracle.

  "What made her give you such an order?"

  Rotha hesitated, and said at last she did not know.

  "Are your stockings too fine for proper protection to your feet in cold weather?"

  "O, no, ma'am! nothing was said about _that_ at all; only I am a poor girl, and have no business to have fine stockings."

  "How came you to have them so fine?"

  "They were given to me. They were got for me; by a friend who was not poor. Are they not mine now?"

  "And you say your aunt wants them?"

  "Says I must bring them to her, and she will get me some more fit for me."

  "What does she want with them?" cried Mrs. Mowbray sharply.

  "She says _she_ has none so fine, and she will keep them till I want them; but when would that be?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I said nothing. I was too terribly angry. I got out of the house without saying anything. It all came from asking her for some darning cotton to mend them; and what she gave me was too coarse."

  "I have got fine darning cotton," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will give you some."

  "Then you do not think I need let her have them? Dear Mrs. Mowbray, has she any _right_ to take my things from me?"

  "I should say not," Mrs. Mowbray answered.

  "Then you think I may refuse when she asks me for them?" said Rotha, joyfully.

  "What is your rule of action, my dear?"

  "My rule?" said Rotha, growing grave again. "I think, Mrs. Mowbray, I want to do what is right."

  "There is a further question. Do you want to do what I think right, or what you think right, or--what God thinks right?"

  "I want to do _that_," said Rotha, with her heart beating very disagreeably. "I want to do what God thinks right."

  "Then I advise you, my dear, to ask him."

  "Ask him what, madame?"

  "Ask what you ought to do in the circumstances. I confess I am not ready with the answer. My first feeling is with you, that your aunt has no right to take such a step; but, my dear, it is sometimes our duty to suffer wrong. And you are under her care; she is the nearest relative you have; you must consider what is due to her in that connection. She stands to you in the place of your parents--"

  "O no, ma'am!" Rotha exclaimed. "Never! Not the least bit."

  "Not as entitled to affection, but as having a right to respect and observance. You cannot change that fact, my dear. Whether you love her or not, you owe her observance; and within certain limits, obedience. She stands in that place with regard to you."

  "But my own mother gave me to Mr. Southwode."

  "He could not take care of you properly; as he shewed that he was aware when he placed you under the protection of your aunt."

  "She will never protect me," said Rotha. "She will do the other thing."

  "Well, my dear, that does not change the circumstances," said Mrs. Mowbray rising.

  "Then you think"--said Rotha in great dismay--"you think I ought to pray, to know what I ought to do?"

  "Yes. I know no better way. If you desire to do the will of the Lord, and not your own."

  "But how shall I get the answer?"

  "Look in the Bible for it. You will get it. And now, good night, my dear child! Don't sit up to-night to think about it; it is late. Start fresh to-morrow. You have a good time for that sort of study, now in the holidays."

  She gave a kind embrace to Rotha; and the girl went to bed soothed and comforted. True, her blood boiled when she thought of her stockings; but she tried not to think of them, and soon was beyond thinking of anything.

  The next day was filled with a white snow storm; with flurries of wind and thick, driving atoms of frost, that chased everybody out of the streets who was brought thither by anything short of stern business. A lovely day to make the house and one's own room seem cosy and cheery. It was positive
delight to hear the sharp crystals beat on the window panes and to see the swirling eddies and gusts of them as the wind carried them by, almost in mass. It made quiet and warmth and comfort feel so much the more delicious. Rotha had retreated to her room after breakfast and betaken herself to her appointed work.

  Her Bible had a new look to her. It was now not simply a book Mrs. Mowbray had given her; that was half lost in the feeling that it was a book God had given her. As such, something very dear and reverent, precious and wonderful, and most sweet. Not any longer an awesome book of adverse law, with which she was at cross purposes; but a letter of love, containing the