The Letter of Credit

business."

  I think Rotha forgot at the moment that Mrs. Busby belonged to "her family." However, Miss Savage was not wrong in supposing that her interference with Miss Dunstable would come back upon her own head. She was made to feel that a large number of the girls looked down upon her and that they refused all community with her. Even from people one does not care for, this sort of treatment is more or less painful; and it certainly made Rotha's school days less joyous in some respects than they might otherwise have been. From one reason and another, the greater proportion of her companions turned her the cold shoulder. Some for partisanship, some for subserviency, some to be in the fashion, and others again for pure envy.

  For Rotha sprang forward in her learning and surpassed all who were associated with her, in their mutual studies. Her partial isolation contributed, no doubt, to this end; having little social distraction, no home outside her school walls, and no delight in the things which occupied most of the minds within them, she bent to her books; drank, and drank deep, of the "Castalian spring," and with ever increasing enjoyment. She studied, not to get and keep a high position, or to gain distinction, or to earn praise or prizes, but for pure pleasure in study and eagerness to increase knowledge and to satisfy Mrs. Mowbray. So her progress was not only rapid but thorough; what she gained she kept; and her mental growth was equal to her physical.

  The physical was rapid and beautiful. Rotha shot up tall, and developed into a very noble-looking girl; intelligent, spirited, sweet and strong at once. Her figure was excellent; her movement graceful and free, as suited her character; colour clear and brunette, telling of flawless health; and an eye of light and force and fire and honesty, which it was at all times a pleasure to meet, speaking of the active, brave and true spirit to which it belonged. By degrees, as all this became manifest, shewed itself also the effect of culture, and the blessing of real education. Refinement touched every line of Rotha's face, and marked every movement and every tone. She gained command over her impetuous nature, not so but that it broke bounds occasionally; yet the habit became moderation, and something of the beautiful quiet of manner which Rotha had always admired in Mr. Southwode, did truly now belong to herself. Mrs. Mowbray had perpetual delight in her. Was it wonderful, when so many faces were only carelessly obtuse, or stupidly indifferent, or obstinately perverse, that the mistress should turn to the bright eye which was sure to have caught her meaning, and watch for the answer from lips which were sure to give it with rare intelligence.

  Those lessons from her beloved teacher were beyond all other lessons prized and delighted in by Rotha. They gave incentive to a vast deal of useful reading, more or less directly connected with the subject in hand. Some of the girls followed out this 'reading extensively; and no one so much as Rotha. Her great quickness and diligence with her regular lessons made this possible.

  Meanwhile, it is not to be supposed that Rotha's feet remained permanently in their coarse habiliments. When the cold and the snows were gone, and lighter airs and warmer weather came in with spring, Mrs. Mowbray exchanged the uncomely boots and thick stockings for others which better suited Rotha's need and comfort. No more animadversions were heard on the subject from Mrs. Busby, who indeed seemed rather inclined to let Rotha alone.

  And so went by two years; two years of growth and up-building and varied developement; years of enjoyment and affection and peace. The short intervals during which she was an inmate of her aunt's family served only as enhancement of all the rest; foils to the brightness of Mrs. Mowbray's house, and sharpeners of the appetite that was fed there. Nothing was ever heard of Mr. Digby, not by Rotha at least; and this was her only grief. For Rotha was true to her affections; and where she had loved once, did not forget Once she asked Mrs. Mowbray if it was not strange she never got any word from Mr. Southwode? "Why should you, my dear?" Mrs. Mowbray replied, with an impenetrable face.

  "Because--I suppose, because I loved him so much," said Rotha innocently; "and I think he is true."

  "He has done a friend's part by you; and now there is nothing more for him to do. I see no reason why he should write to you."

  I do!--thought Rotha; but Mrs. Mowbray's tone did not invite her to pursue the subject; and she let it thenceforth alone.

  CHAPTEK XXII.

  A CHANGE.

  The two years of smooth sailing along the stream of life, were ended. What was coming next? But how should the sailor learn navigation, if he had never anything but calm weather and quiet airs?

  It was spring, late in May; when one evening Mrs. Mowbray came into Rotha's little room, shut the door, and sat down. Rotha looked up from her book and smiled. Mrs. Mowbray looked down at the book and sighed. A heavy sigh, it seemed to Rotha, and her smile died away.

  "You want to speak to me, madame?" she said, and laid her book away.

  "I am going to send you home--" said the lady abruptly.

  "Home!--" the word was but half uttered. What was this? The term was not near at an end.

  "You must go, my dear," Mrs. Mowbray went on more softly; for the first word had been spoken with the sternness of pain. "I must send you all away from me."

  "Whom?"

  "All of you! It has pleased heaven to visit me with a great calamity. You must all go."

  "What is it, Mrs. Mowbray?" said Rotha, trembling with a fear to which she could give no form.

  "I do not know, but I think it too probable, that a contagious disease has broken out in my family. The little Snyders are both ill with scarlet fever."

  "They are at home."

  "But Miss Tremont is taken in just the same way, and Miss de Forest is complaining. I have isolated them both; but I have no choice but to send all the rest of you away, till I shall know how the thing will go."

  Rotha looked terribly blank.

  "It is hard, isn't it?" said Mrs. Mowbray, noticing this with a faint smile; "but it is not best for us to have things go too smooth. I have had no rubs for two years or more."

  That this was a hard "rub" was evident. Mrs. Mowbray sat looking before her with a troubled face.

  "Why is it best for us that things should not go smooth?" Rotha ventured. To her sense the possible good of this disturbance was not apparent, while the positive evil was manifold.

  "The Lord knows!" said Mrs. Mowbray. "He sees uses, and needs, which we do not suspect. I am sorry for you, my dear child."

  "And I am sorry you are troubled, dear Mrs. Mowbray!"

  "I know you are. Your sympathy is very sweet to me.--We have had a pleasant two years together, have we not?"

  "Oh so pleasant!" echoed Rotha, almost in tears. "But--this sickness will pass over; and then we may come back again, may we not?"

  "It is too near the end of term, to come back this spring. It cannot be before next September now; and that is a long way off. One never knows what will happen in so many months!"

  Rotha had never seen Mrs. Mowbray look or speak so despondently. She was too utterly downhearted herself to say another word of hope or confidence. Four months of interval and separation! Four months with her aunt! What would become of her? What might happen in the mean time?

  "When must I go, Mrs. Mowbray?" she asked sadly.

  "To-night. Yes, my child, I must send you away from me. You have been a comfort to me ever since you came into my house; and now I must send you away." She folded Rotha in her arms and kissed her almost passionately. Then let her go, and spoke in business tones again.

  "Put up whatever you wish to take with you. The carriage will be at the door at half past eight. I shall go with you."

  With which words she departed.

  The tears came now, which had been carefully kept back until Mrs. Mowbray was gone; and it was under a very shower of heavy drops that Rotha folded and stowed away all her belongings.

  Stowed them in her trunk, which Mrs. Mowbray had at once sent up to her room. Amidst all her tears, Rotha worked like a sprite; she would leave nothing on her kind friend's hands
to do for her, not even anything to think of. She packed all away, wondering the while why this sudden interruption to her prosperous course of study and growth should have been allowed to come; wondering when and how the interrupted course would be allowed to go on again. Happily she did not know what experiences would fill the next few months, in which Mrs. Mowbray's fostering care would not help her nor reach her; nor what a new course of lessons she would be put upon. Not knowing all this, Rotha shed bitter tears, it is true, but not despairing. And when the summons came, she was ready, and joined Mrs. Mowbray in the carriage with calm self-possession restored.

  The drive was almost silent. Once Mrs. Mowbray asked if there was anything Rotha had left to be done for her in her room or in the house? Rotha said "Nothing;