With a beating heart, beating with joy, Rotha flew to get what was wanted; flew only outside the door though, for in the room her motions had no precipitation whatever. She came staidly and steadily, and noiselessly. It was necessary to cut open also the stocking, to get that off, but this was an easier matter; and then Rotha's fingers applied the cold salt and water, bathing softly and patiently, with fingers that almost trembled, they were so glad to be employed. For a long time this went on.

"Rotha--"

"Yes, Mr. Digby," said the girl eagerly.

"What o'clock is it?"

"Seven, just."

"You have had no tea."

"Nor you, either. Will you have some now, Mr. Digby?"

"You will. The foot is a great deal easier now, Rotha. Lay a wet cloth over the ankle and let it alone for a while; and have some tea, dear."

Rotha obeyed, moving with the utmost delicacy of soft and quiet movements. She made the foot comfortable; rang the bell, and desired the kettle to be brought; and noiselessly arranged the table when the servant had set the tea things upon it She made the tea then; and had just cut a slice of bread and put it upon the toasting fork, when the door opened and in came Mrs. Cord, her arms full of cloths and vials and a basin of water. Rotha dropped the toasting fork and sprang towards her.

"What do you want?" she said. "What are you going to do?"

Her accent and action were so striking, that the woman paused, startled.

"There's a sprained ankle here--I'm coming to see it."

"No, you are not," said Rotha with great decision. "I have done all that is necessary, and I am going to do all that is necessary. I can do it as well as anybody; and I do not want you. You may carry all those things away, Mrs. Cord. Mr. Digby is asleep; he is better."

"_You_ don't want me, maybe, Rotha, but Mr. Digby does. I've got what he wants here, and I knows my business. My business is to take care of him."

She would have pa.s.sed on.

"Stand back!" said Rotha, barring her way. "I tell you, he don't want you, and you are not coming. Stand back! Take your things away. I will manage all that is done here myself. You may go!"--The tone and action were utterly and superbly imperious.

The woman paused again, yielding before the slight girl, as matter always does yield to mind.

"What new sort o' behaviour is this?" she said however in high offence.

"_You_ to tell _me_ what I'm to do and not do! You're takin' a good deal upon you, my young lady!"

"I take it," said Rotha, supremely. "Go! and send the girl here, if you please. I heard her go up stairs just now. I want her to make a piece of toast."

Mrs. Cord greatly displeased, withdrew, after a glance at the closed eyelids on the sofa. The eyelids however were not so fast closed as they might be; Rotha's first words, spoken somewhat more emphatically than usual, had roused Mr. Digby out of his light slumber, and he had seen and heard all that pa.s.sed. He had seen it with not a little amus.e.m.e.nt; at the same time it had given him new matter for thought. This was Rotha in a new character. He had known indeed before, in a measure, the intense nature of the girl; yet in his presence her manner was always subdued, except in the pa.s.sion of grief that burst all bounds. But this was pa.s.sion of another sort, and in that concentration of force which draws out a kind of spiritual electricity from its possessor. He saw how it had magnetized Mrs. Cord, and rendered her bulkiness pa.s.sive. He had been intensely amused to see the large woman standing face to face with the slim girl, checked and indeed awed by the subtle lightning fire which darted from Rotha's eyes and seemed to play about her whole person. Mrs.

Cord was fairly cowed, and gave way. And Rotha's bearing; instead of a poor, portionless little girl, she might have been a princess of the house royal, if she were judged of by her mien and manner. There was nothing a.s.sumed or affected about it; the demonstration was pure nature, Mr. Digby saw well enough; but what sort of a creature was this, to whom such a demonstration could be natural? There was force enough there, he saw, to bring the whole machinery into disorder and ruin, if the force were not well governed and well guided, and the machinery wisely managed.

Who was to do this? Mrs. Busby? Mr. Digby was not sure yet what manner of person Mrs. Busby was; and he felt more than ever anxious to find out.

And now a sprained ankle!

Meanwhile, Rotha having driven her adversary from the field, was making peaceful arrangements. She had sent the toast to be made; seeing that Mr.

Digby's eyes were open, she carefully renewed the salt water application to his ankle; poured out a cup of tea, and brought it with the plate of toast to his side; where she sat down, the cup in one hand, the plate in the other.

"What now, Rotha?" said he.

"Your tea, Mr. Digby. I hope it is good."

She looked and spoke as gentle as a dove, albeit full of energetic alertness.

"And do you propose to enact dumb waiter?"

"If you want me to be dumb," she said.

He laughed. "Rotha, Rotha! this is a bad piece of work!" he said; but he did not explain what he meant.--"That won't do. Call Marianne and let her shove the table up to the sofa here--one corner of it."

"I like to hold the things, Mr. Digby, if you will let me."

"I don't like it. Call Marianne, Rotha, and we will take our tea together. I am not a South Sea Islander."

"Suppose you were,--what then?" asked Rotha as she rang the bell.

"Then I suppose I should think it proper for the ladies of the family to take tea after I had done."

The tea time was an occasion of unmitigated delight to Rotha, because she could wait upon her protector. He was suffering less now, and except that he was a prisoner seemed just as usual. After tea, however, he lay still, with closed eyes again; and Rotha had nothing to do but take care of his ankle and look at him. She thought it had never struck her before, what a beautiful person he was.

I use the word advisedly, and that I may justify it I will try, what I believe I have not done before, to describe Mr. Digby. He was not at all one of a cla.s.s, or like what one sees every now and then; in fact the combination of points in his appearance was very unusual. His features were delicately regular and the colour of skin fair; but all thought of weakness or womanishness was shut out by the very firm lines of the lips and chin and the gravity of the brow. His hair was light and curly, and a fair moustache graced the upper lip; not overhanging it, but trained into long soft points right and left. He wore no English whiskers nor beard.

Again, his hands were small and delicate, and the whole person of rather slight build, as far as outline and contour were concerned; but the joints were well knit and supple, and all the muscles and sinews as if made of steel. Rather slow and easy, generally, in movement, he could shew the spring and power of a cat, when it was necessary; nature and training having done their best. He was habitually a grave person; the gravity was sweet, but very decided, and even when crossed by a smile it was not lost. So at least Rotha had always seen him. There were several reasons for this; one being the yet unhealed wound left by the death of his mother, to whom he had been devotedly attached, and another the sudden death a year or more ago of the lady he was to have married. The world knew nothing of these things, and set Mr. Digby down as a ridiculously sober man, for a man in his circ.u.mstances. They gave him also largely the reputation of haughtiness; while no one had more gentle and brotherly sympathy with every condition of humankind, or shewed it more graciously. He got the reputation partly, perhaps, by his real separateness from the ma.s.s of men, and his real carelessness about the things in which they take concern; more, however, it came from the feeling of inferiority in his presence, which most people find it hard to forgive a man. He was a welcome guest wherever he appeared; but very few were acquainted with his real tastes and powers and inner nature, even as Rotha knew them.

She knew something of them. She did not misjudge him; but on the contrary dwelt on everything that belonged to him with a kind of worshipping admiration. So she sat and looked at him this evening, and thought she had never known before how beautiful he was; and the evening was not slow to her, nor long, though it was utterly silent.

By and by came in Mrs. Cord, again with her hands full.

"I beg your pardon--can I do anything for you, sir?"

"No, thank you. I have had all the care I needed."

Rotha's heart had beat fearfully, and now it swelled in triumph.

"I have some liniment here, sir, that is an excellent thing for a sprain--if a sprain it is; I wasn't allowed to examine."

"Nothing so good as salt and water. Mrs. Cord, let them make up a bed in the next room for me. I had better not go up stairs."

So the nurse was dismissed, and Rotha confirmed in her office, to her great joy.

CHAPTER XI.

MRS. BUSBY.

The weeks that now followed were a time of happiness to Rotha, as perfect as in her present circ.u.mstances it was possible for her to know. She was allowed to minister to Mr. Digby, she was constantly with him, and intercourse and lessons were tasted with redoubled zest. For she was kept very busy at her old studies, and new ones were added; she read aloud a good deal; Mr. Digby never shunned talk when she wanted information or help in any puzzle; and the meal times, when ministry was varied and the conversation ran upon lighter topics, were hours of unalloyed enjoyment.

I think these weeks were not disagreeable ones to the other party concerned; however, he was constantly reminded of the need of making new arrangements; and as soon as his ankle would permit his getting in and out of a carriage, he was ready to go to Mrs. Busby's. But when at last he was on the way, he thought to himself that he had another hard job on his hands. How would Rotha bear uprooting again, and transplanting to entirely different soil? she who took such terribly fast hold of any ground that suited her. Would Mrs. Busby's family be such ground? If it would not, if he saw cause to think it would not, Mr. Digby resolved she should not be put there. But how was he to find out? He came into Mrs.

Busby's drawing room with the full measure of his usual gravity.

It was almost the end of October now, and the family had been long enough returned from the country for the mistress of it to have her house put in perfect winter order. Carpets were down, curtains were up; mirrors and lamps were unswathed from their brown linen coverings; everything that was metal shone with the polish put upon it, and everything that was upholstery shewed soft and rich colours and draperies. It was all harmonious, it was all very handsome; the fault was the fault of so many rooms, a failure to shew cause why it should be at all. Nothing was done there, nothing could be done; there was plush and satin and brocade and gilding and lacquered wood; but no life. Even the fire, for there was a fire, was a solid ma.s.s of firestones; a glowing grateful of hard coal; if there was life in that, it was the life of mere existence.