"Yes."

"They leave no stone unturned, they work by night and by day, they think of nothing else, until their object is gained. Mark those two places, Rotha, and mark them in the fly leaf of your Bible, 1. and 2."

"Suppose," he went on when she had done this, "suppose you have sought in this way, and the light does not come, and you are in danger of losing heart. Then turn to Hosea, sixth chapter and third verse. There you have an antidote against discouragement. You shall know, 'if you _follow on_ to know the Lord;' if you do not give over seeking and grow tired of praying. 'His going forth is prepared as the morning.' Blessed words!"----

"I do not know what they mean," said Rotha.

"Do you know how the morning is prepared?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know why the sun rises when morning comes?"

"It wouldn't be morning, if he didn't rise, would it?"

"No. Well, when the time comes," said Mr. Digby laughing. "Do you know why the sun rises? and why does he not rise where he went down?"

"No--" said Rotha, her eyes kindling with intelligent curiosity.

Whereupon Mr. Digby turned himself out of his hammock, and coming to the table gave Rotha her first lesson in astronomy; a lesson thoroughly given, and received by her with an eagerness and a delight which shewed that knowledge to her was like what the magnet is to the iron. She forgot all about the religious bearing of the new subject till the subject itself was for that time done with. Then Mr. Digby's questions returned into the former channel.

"You see now, Rotha, how the morning is 'prepared,' do you?"

"Yes, Mr. Digby," she answered joyously.

"And sure to come. If the earth goes on turning round, it cannot help coming. Even so: the Lord's coming is prepared and sure, for any one who persistently seeks him. Keep on towards the east and you will certainly see the sun rise."

"Yes," said Rotha, "I see. It is beautiful."

"Mark that No. 3 in the fly leaf! But Rotha, remember, anybody truly in earnest and searching 'as for hid treasure,' will be willing to give up whatever would render the search useless."

"Yes, of course. But what would?" said Rotha, though she was thinking more of the improvised planetarium with which her imagination had just been delighted.

"Turn once more to the fourteenth of John and read the 21st verse." But Mr. Digby himself gave the words.

"'He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me; and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him.'"

"That is somebody who has found the treasure, I think, Mr. Digby; it is 'he that _loveth me_.'"

"Quite true; nevertheless, Rotha, it remains a fact that n.o.body who is not willing to do the Lord's will, can come to the knowledge of him."

"Mr. Digby, why are wrong things so easy, and right things so hard?"

"They are not."

"I thought they were," said Rotha in surprise. "Am I worse than other people?"

"It all depends upon where you stand, Rotha. Would you find it easy to do something that would cause me great pain?"

"No, Mr. Digby,--impossible."

"I believe it," he said. "Then just put the case that you loved Christ much better than you do me; which would be the hard and the easy things then?"

Rotha was silent. But the whole conversation had rather given new food for the meditations it had interrupted and which had occasioned it. Where was all this to end?--the young man asked himself. And when should it end, in so far as the immediate state of things was concerned? As soon as possible! his 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 a.s.sisted 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 a.s.sisted 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 a.s.sistants 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."