"You are not afraid, then?"

"No, indeed," said Rotha. "But I do not mean that I stand just where you do," she added soberly. "With my whole heart I think this is right and beautiful, and I am sure it is happy; and yet, you know,"--she went on colouring brightly, "I should like anything because you liked it; and that is not quite enough. But I will study the matter thoroughly now. I never thought of it before--not so."

There was frankness and dignity and modesty in her words and manner, enough to satisfy a difficult man; and Mr. Southwode was too much delighted to even touch this beautiful delicacy by shewing her that he liked it. He answered, with the words, "It is only to follow Christ fully"; and then there was silence. By and by however he began to allow himself some expression of his feelings in certain caresses to the fingers he still held clasped in his own.

"That you should be doing that to my hand!" said Rotha. "Mr. Southwode, what an extraordinary story it all is!"

"What do you mean?"

"Just think--just think. All this, the whole of it, has really come from my mother's shewing to a stranger precisely one of those bits of hospitality you have been speaking about. I wonder if she knows now? You remember how the words run,--'Full measure, pressed down, heaped up and running over, shall they give----'"

Rotha's eyes filled full, full; she was near losing her self-command.

"Do you forget there are two sides to it?" said Mr. Southwode, taking her in his arms very tenderly.

"It has all been on one side!" cried Rotha.

"Do you make nothing of my part?"

"Nothing at all!" said Rotha between crying and laughing. "You have given--given--given,--as you like to do; you have done nothing but give!"

"It is your turn now--" said he laughing.

Rotha was silent, thinking a great deal more than she chose to put into words.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

END OF SCHOOL TERM.

That same evening, just when Mrs. Mowbray was set free from a lesson hour, and the library was left to her sole occupation, a gentleman and lady were announced. The next minute Rotha was in her arms. Whatever she felt, the girl's demeanour was very quiet; her reception, on the other hand, was little short of ecstatic. Then Mrs. Mowbray gave a gracious, if somewhat distant, greeting to Rotha's companion; and then looked, with an air of mystified expectancy, to see what was coming next.

"I have brought Miss Carpenter back to you, Mrs. Mowbray," Mr. Southwode began.

"Where did you find her?"

"I found her at Tanfield."

"Tanfield!"--Mrs. Mowbray looked more and more puzzled.

"And now, I am going to ask you to take care of her, till next June."

"Till next June--" Mrs. Mowbray repeated.

"The school year ends then, does it not?"

"May I ask, what is to be done with her after next June?"

"I will take her into my own care."

"What does Mrs. Busby say to that?" Mrs. Mowbray inquired, still doubtful and mystified.

"She says nothing," said Rotha. "She has nothing to say. She never had any right to say what I should do, except the right Mr. Southwode gave her." She felt a secret triumph in the knowledge that now at least Mrs.

Mowbray would have to accept Mr. Southwode and make the best she could of him.

"Have you come from Mrs. Busby now?"

"No, madame; Mr. Southwode brought me straight here."

And then followed of course the story of the past five months. Rotha gave it as briefly as she could, slurring over as much as possible her aunt's action and motives, and giving a bare skeleton of the facts. Mrs.

Mowbray's mystified expression did not clear away.

"Chicago?" she said. "I do not think Mrs. Busby has been to Chicago. My impression is strong, that she has been in or near New York, all summer."

"So she was, madame."

Mrs. Mowbray considered things with a grave face.

"I have a request to make," Mr. Southwode began then; "a request which I hope Mrs. Mowbray will receive as of purely business character, and in no wise occasioned by curiosity. May I be informed, at a convenient time, what has been paid by Mrs. Busby to this house, on Miss Carpenter's account?"

"Nothing," said Mrs. Mowbray.

"No bills for schooling? or board?"

"Nothing at all. Antoinette's bills I have rendered, and they have been paid. I have never presented any bill for Miss Carpenter, and none has ever been asked for."

Rotha exclaimed, but Mr. Southwode went on----

"You will allow me to ask for it now."

Mrs. Mowbray looked doubtfully at the speaker.

"By what right could I put Mrs. Busby's obligations upon you? How could I account to her?"

"Count them my obligations," he said pleasantly. "I do not wish Miss Carpenter to leave any debts behind her, when she goes from her own country to mine. I will be much obliged, if you will have the account made out in my name and sent to me."

Mrs. Mowbray bowed a grave acknowledgment. "I had better speak to Mrs.

Busby first," she said.

"As you please about that," said Mr. Southwode rising.

"But next June!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "You are not going to take her away next June? I want her for a year longer at least. I want her for two years. That is one of the difficulties I have to contend with; people will not leave their children with me long enough to let me finish what I have begun. It would be much better for Rotha to stay with me another year. Don't you think so?"

"I am afraid a discussion on that point would not turn out in your favour, madame," he said. "Miss Carpenter is able to represent my part in it; I will leave it to her."

And he took leave. But when it came to Rotha's turn, he sealed all his pretensions by quietly kissing her; it was done deliberately, not in a hurry; and Rotha knew it was on purpose and done rather for her sake than his own. And when he was gone, she stood still by the table, flushed and proud, feeling that she was claimed and owned now before all the world.

There ensued a little silence, during which Mrs. Mowbray was somewhat uneasily arranging some disarranged books and trifles on the great library table; and Rotha stood still.