The Letter of Credit

mamma?"

  "Excellent people."

  "Country people!--"

  "Country people can be a very good sort. You need not sneer at them."

  "I remark that you have not been anxious to go back and see them, mamma."

  Rotha was dumb meanwhile, and during a longer continuance of this sort of talk; with a variety of feelings at work in her, among which crept a certain flavouring of suspicion. Was she to be _alone_ in her mother's old home at Tanfield? Alone, with companions that could not be companions? Was it any use to question her aunt further? She feared not; yet the questions would come.

  "What sort of persons are those in the house, aunt Serena?"

  "Quite sufficient to take good care of you. A man and his wife. Honest people, and kind."

  "Servants!"

  "In so far as they are serving me."

  Antoinette again pressed to be told who they were, was again put off. From the little altercation resulting, Mrs. Busby turned to Rotha with a new theme.

  "You will not want your New York wardrobe there,--what will you do? Leave your trunk here? That will be best, I think, till you come back again."

  "O no," said Rotha hastily. "I will take it with me."

  "You will not want it, my dear. Summer is just here; what, you need up there is some nice calico dresses; those will be just the thing. I will get some for you this very day, and have them cut out; and then you can take them and make them up. It will give you something to do. Your winter wardrobe would be of no service to you there, and to carry it back and forward would be merely trouble and risk."

  "To leave it here would be risk."

  "Not at all. There will be somebody in charge of the house."

  "I prefer to have the charge of my own clothes myself."

  "My dear, I am not going to take it from you; only to guard the things for you while you are away. They would be out of place in the summer and at Tanfield."

  "Some would; but they are all mixed up," said Rotha, trying to keep her patience, though the blood mounted into her cheeks dangerously.

  "They can be separated," said Mrs. Busby coolly. "When your trunks come, I will do that for you."

  Not if I am alive! thought Rotha; but she remembered the old word--"If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably--" and she held her tongue. However, later in the day when Mrs. Busby came in after buying the calicos, the proposition was renewed. She came to Rotha and demanded the keys of the boxes.

  "Thank you, aunt Serena--I would rather do what I want done, myself."

  "Very well," said Mrs. Busby pleasantly; "but if you will give me the keys, I will see what I think ought to be done. I can judge better than you can."

  "I would rather not," said Rotha. "If you please, and if you do not mind, ma'am, I would rather nobody went into my trunk but myself."

  "Don't be a child, Rotha!"

  "No, aunt Serena. I remember that I am one no longer."

  "But I wish to have your keys--do you understand?"

  "Perfectly; and I do not wish to give them. You understand that."

  "Your wish ought to give way to mine," said Mrs. Busby severely.

  "Why?" said Rotha, looking at her with a frank face.

  "Because you are under my care, and I stand in the place of a mother to you."

  Hot words sprang to Rotha's lips, hot and passionate words of denial; but she did not speak them; her lips opened and closed again.

  "Do you refuse me?" Mrs. Busby asked, after waiting a moment.

  "Entirely!" said Rotha looking up again.

  "Then you defy me!"

  "No, I mean nothing of the kind. You are asking a thing which no one has a right to ask. I am simply holding my rights; which I will do."

  "So shall I hold mine," said Mrs. Busby shortly; "and you do not seem to know what they are. Your trunk will not leave this house; you may make such arrangements as it pleases you. And I shall give myself no further trouble about one who is careless what annoyance she makes me. I had intended to accompany you myself and see you comfortably settled; but it appears that nothing I could do would be of any pleasure to you. I shall let you go without me and make your own arrangements."

  With which speech Mrs. Busby ended the interview; and Rotha was left to think what she would do next.

  Her trunk must be left behind. It was too plain that here power was on the side of her aunt. Without coming to downright fighting, this point could not be carried against her. Rotha longed to go and talk to Mrs. Mowbray; alas, that was not to be thought of. Mrs. Mowbray's hands and head were full, and her house was a forbidden place. How swiftly circumstances can whirl about in this world! Yesterday a refuge, to-day a danger. Rotha must leave her trunk. But many things in it she must not leave. What to do? I will not deny that her thoughts were bitter for a while. A little matter! Yes, a little matter, compared with Waterloo or Gravelotte; but _not_ a little matter to a girl in every day life and having a girl's every day liking for being neat and feeling comfortable. And right is right; and the infringing of right is hard to bear, perhaps equally hard, whether it concerns a nation's boundaries or a woman's wardrobe. If Rotha had been more experienced, perhaps the wisdom of doing nothing would have suggested itself; but she was young and did not know what to do. So she laid out of her trunk certain things; her Bible and Scripture Treasury; her writing materials; her underclothes; and her gloves. If Rotha had a weakness, it was for neat and _suitable_ gloves. The rest of her belongings she locked up carefully, and sat down to await the course of events.

  It was swift, as some intuition told her it would be. There was no more disputing. Mrs. Busby let the subject of the trunk drop, and was as benign as usual; which was never benign except exteriorly. She was as good as her word in purchasing calicos; brought home what seemed to Rotha an unnecessary stock of them; and that afternoon and the next day kept a dress-maker cutting and basting, and Rotha at work to help. These cut and basted dresses, as they were finished, Mrs. Busby stowed with her own hands in a little old leather trunk. Then, when the last one went in, she told Rotha to bring whatever she wished to have go with her.

  "To put in that?" Rotha asked.

  "Certainly. It will hold all you want."

  Rotha struggled with herself with the feeling of desperate indignation which came over her; struggled, grew red and grew pale, but finally did go without another word; and brought down, pile by pile, her neat under wardrobe. Mrs. Busby packed and packed. Her trunk was leather, and strong, but its capacities were bounded by that very strength.

  "All these!" she exclaimed in a sort of despair. "There is no use whatever in having so much linen under wear."

  Rotha was silent.

  "It is _much_ better to have fewer things, and let them be washed as often as necessary. A family would want a caravan at this rate."

  "This is Mrs. Mowbray's way," said Rotha.

  "Mrs. Mowbray's way is not a way to be copied, unless you are a millionaire. She is the most extravagant woman I ever met, without exception."

  "But aunt Serena, it costs no more in the end, whether you have a dozen things for two years, and comfort, or half a dozen a year, and discomfort."

  "You don't know that you will live two years to want them."

  "You don't know that you will live one, for that matter," said Antoinette, who always spoke her mind, careless whom the words touched. "At that rate, mamma, we ought to do like savages,--have one dress and wear it out before getting another; but it strikes me that would be rather disagreeable."

  "You will not find anybody at Tanfield to do all this washing for you," Mrs. Busby went on.

  "I shall have no more washing done than if I had fewer things," Rotha said.

  "Then there is no sort of use in lugging all these loads of linen up there just to bring them back again. The trunk will not hold them. Here, Rotha--take back these,--and these, and these--"

  Rotha received them silently; silently carried them up stairs
and came down for more. She was in a kind of despair. Her Bible and most precious belongings she had put carefully in her travelling bag, rejoicing in its beauty and security.

  "Mamma," said Antoinette now, "does Rotha know when she is going?"

  "I do not know."

  "Well, that's funny. I should think you would tell her. Why it's almost time for her to put on her bonnet."

  Rotha's eyes went from one to the other. She was startled.

  "I am going to send you off by the night train to Tanfield,"--Mrs. Busby said without looking up from the trunk.

  "The _night_ train!" exclaimed Rotha.