she had hoped for, but this? so much better! Only five months; and her little imprisonment was ended, and its lessons all--_were_ they all--learned? With her heart filling and swelling, Rotha sat by her window and thought everything over, one thing after another. She had trusted; she might have trusted better!
Her aunt's sending her to this place had separated her from nothing, not even from Mr. Digby. Here he was, and had her again under his protection; and it was _he_ henceforth who would say what she should do and where she should go. Not Mrs. Busby henceforth. Rotha's heart thrilled and throbbed with inexpressible joy. Not without queer other thrills also, of what might be described as an instinct of scruple; a certain inner consciousness that in this condition of things there was somewhat anomalous and difficult to adjust. Yet I am by no means sure that this consciousness did in any wise abate the joy. Rotha went over now in imagination all her interview with Mr. Southwode; recalled all he said, and remembered how he looked at each turn of the conversation. And the more she mused, the more her heart bounded. Till at last she recollected that there was something else to be' done before eleven o'clock to-morrow; and she went from reverie to very busy activity.
It was all done, all she had to do, before breakfast time next day. After breakfast Rotha was in great doubt how to manage. If she dressed for her departure, Mr. and Mrs. Purcell would find out that something was going to happen, and perhaps try to hinder it. If she waited in her room until called for, she did not know but they would deny her being in the house at all and bar access to her. Doubtless Mr. Digby would not be permanently barred out, or thwarted in what he meant to do; but Rotha could not endure the thought of delay or disappointment. She would have gone out to meet him; but she was no longer a child, and a feeling of maidenly reserve forbade her. She made everything ready; knew she could change her dress in five minutes; and went down to the kitchen about ten o'clock; she could not stay any longer away from the scene of action. She took a knife and helped Mrs. Purcell pare the pears for stewing.
"You have been very kind to me, Prissy," she said, after some time of busy silence.
"'Cause I warnt no more put out about the pears, you mean? Well, I'll tell you. I was fit to bite a tenpenny nail off, when I see you come in with that lapful last night. But I knowed you didn't know no better. If Joe warn't so set I'd make him pick the pears; but he always says and sticks to it, the fruits o' the earth what grows on trees aint no good. He'll eat 'em fast enough, I tells him, and so he will; as long as I'll stand to cook 'em; but he won't lift never a hand to get 'em off the trees. No thin' but corn and oats, and them things, is work for a man, he thinks."
"Unreasonable--" said Rotha.
"When isn't men unreasonable?--What do you want, sir? This aint the front o' the house."
And Rotha came round with a start, for there, at the door of the kitchen, at the top of the steps leading up from the scullery, stood Mr. Southwode; and Prissy's question had been put with a strong displeased emphasis.
"I know it," said the intruder in answer, "and I beg your pardon; but--Does anybody live at the front of the house?
"Them as tries, finds out," said Mrs. Purcell, with a fierce knitting of her brows.
"That is also true, as I have learned by experience. I found that nobody lived there."
"Who did you think lived there? Who do you want?" asked Prissy, ungrammatically, but pointedly.
"Am I speaking to Mrs. Purcell?" And then the new-comer smiled at Rotha and shook hands with her.
"That is my name," said Prissy. "It aint her'n."
"I am aware of that too," said the stranger composedly, "and my present business is with Mrs. Purcell. I wish to know, in the first place, how many weeks Miss Carpenter has been in your house?"
"What do you want to know for?" said Prissy. "Is it any business o' yourn?"
"Yes. I may say it is nobody else's business. You have a right to ask; and that is my answer."
"What do you want to know for?"
"I wish to discharge your account. Miss Carpenter promised that you should be honestly paid, when the time came; and the time is come now."
"Be you come from Mis' Busby?"
"I saw Mrs. Busby a few days ago."
"And she sent you?"
"I am not honoured with any commission from Mrs. Busby. As I told you, this business is mine, not hers."
"Mis' Busby put her here in us's care; and us is bound to take care of her, Joe and me. Us can't take no orders but from Mis' Busby."
"No; but you can take money? Mrs. Busby, I think, will not pay you. I will. But I must do it now. I am going away, and may probably never come this way again."
"I don't see what you have to do, a payin' Miss Carpenter's o win's," said Prissy, eyeing him suspiciously from head to foot.
"The best reason in the world.--Rotha, will you go and get ready?"--and then as the door closed upon Rotha Mr. Southwode went on.--"Miss Carpenter has been under my care ever since she lost her mother. I placed her with her aunt when I was obliged to go abroad, to England; and now I am come to take her away."
"To take Rotha away?" cried Prissy.
"To take Miss Carpenter away."
"Maybe Mis' Busby don't want her to go."
"Maybe not. But that is of no consequence. Let me have your account, please."
"Be you goin' to many her?" Prissy asked suddenly.
"That is not a question you have any need to ask."
"I asks it though,"--returned Prissy sturdily. "Be you?"
"No."
"Then I wish you'd go and talk to Mr. Purcell, 'cos I don' know nothin' about it. If you was goin' to marry her, stands to reason everything else gives way; folks must get married, if they has a mind to; but if you aint, I don't see into it, and don't see no sense in it. Mr. Purcell's at the barn. I wish you'd just go and talk to him."
"I have had trouble enough to find you," said the gentleman; "I shall not try to find Mr. Purcell. If you wish me to see him, I will wait here till you bring him."
And so saying, Mr. Southwode deposited his hat on the table and himself sat down. Prissy gave him glance after glance, unsatisfied and uneasy. She did long to refer things to Joe; and she saw she could not manage her unwelcome visiter; so finally she took off her apron and threw it over her head and set off on a run for the barn. Meanwhile Rotha came down, all ready for the drive.
"Where are they all?" she exclaimed.
"One gone after the other. I think, Rotha, it will be the pleasantest way for you, to go out at once to the carriage and wait there for me; if you will let me be so discourteous. You may as well escape the discussion I must hold with these people. Where is your luggage?"
"I have only one little trunk, up stairs at the top of the house. The rest of my things are at aunt Busby's."
"We will not ask her for them. I will take care of your box and bring it along. And give me this."
He took Rotha's handbag from her hand as he spoke and dismissed her with a smile; and Rotha, feeling as if all sorts of burdens were lifted from her at once, went out and went round to where a phaeton was waiting at the front of the house. And there she stood, with her heart beating; remembering her sad coming five months before: (but the five months seemed five years;) thinking of all sorts of incongruous things; uncertain, curious as what was to be done with her; congratulating herself that she had _one_ nice dress, her travelling dress, which she had carefully saved until now; and wondering what she should do for others, her calicos being a good deal worn and only working dresses at the best. So she stood waiting; doubtful, yet on the whole most glad; questioning, yet unable to be anxious; while five minutes after five minutes passed away. At last came the procession; Prissy in front, her husband following with Rotha's trunk on his shoulders, Mr. Southwode bringing up the rear.
"I never thought you'd go like _that_," said Prissy reproachfully. "If us is poor folks, us has hands clean enough to shake."
"I never meant to go without bidding you good
bye, Prissy," said Rotha, grasping her hand heartily,
"Looks awful like it--" rejoined Mrs. Purcell.
"I shall always remember your kindness to me," Rotha went on.
"Pay and forget!" said Prissy. "It's all paid for now; and it's us as must give thanks." Then she added in a lower tone, "Where be you goin' now?"
"To Tanfield first, I suppose."
Prissy looked significantly at Mr. Southwode, who was ordering