The Letter of Credit

"Yes. All. The place, the old place, and all. She had everything."

"And kept it."

"O yes. Of course. She is a rich woman. Her husband has prospered in his business; and they are very well off now. They have only one child, too."

Mrs. Carpenter was silent, and Mr. Digby paused a minute or two before he spoke again.

"Still, my dear friend, do you not think your sister would shew herself your sister, if she knew where you are and how you are? Do you not think it would be right and kind to let her know?"

Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. "No," she said, "it would be no comfort to me; and you are mistaken if you think it would be any satisfaction to her. She is a rich woman. She keeps her carriage, and she has her liveried servants, and she lives in style. She would not like to come here to see me."

"I cannot conceive it," said Mr. Digby. "I think you must unconsciously be doing her wrong."

"I tried her," said Mrs. Carpenter. "I will not try her again. When my husband got into difficulties, and his health was giving way, and he was driven a little too hard, I wrote to my sister in New York to ask her to give us some help; knowing that she was abundantly able to do it, without hurting herself. She sent me for answer – " Mrs. Carpenter stopped; the words seemed to choke her; her lip quivered; and when she began to speak again her voice was a little hoarse.

"She wrote me, that if my husband died, she would have no objection to my going back to the old place, and getting along there as well as I could; Rotha and I."

One or two sore, sorrowful tears forced their way out of the speaker's eyes; but she said no more. And Mr. Digby did not know what further to counsel, and was also silent. The silence lasted some little time, while a strawberry seller was making the street ring with her cries of "Straw…berr_ees_," and the hot air wafted in the odours from near and far, and the water trickled from the pump nose again. At last Mrs. Carpenter began again, with some difficulty and effort; not bodily however, but mental.

"You have been so exceedingly kind to me, to us, Mr. Digby, I – "

"Hush," he said. "Do not speak of that. You have done far more for me than I ever can do for you?"

"I? No. I have done nothing."

"You saved my father's life."

"Your father's life? You are under some mistake. I never knew a Mr. Digby till I knew you I never even heard the name."

"You knew a Mr. Southwode," said he smiling.

"Southwode? Southwode! The English gentleman! But you are not his son?"

"I am his son. I am Digby-Southwode. I took my mother's name for certain business reasons."

"And you are his son! How wonderful! That strange gentleman's son! – But I did not do so much for your father, Mr. Southwode. You have doneeverything for me."

"I wish I could do more," said he shortly.

"I am ashamed to ask, – and yet, I was going to ask you to do something more – a last service – for me. It is too much to ask."

"I am sure it is not that," he said with great gentleness. "Let me know what you wish."

Mrs. Carpenter hesitated. "Rotha does not know," – she said then. "She has no idea – "

"Of what?"

"She has no idea that I am going to leave her."

"I am afraid that is true."

"And it will be soon Mr. Digby."

"Perhaps not; but what is it you wish of me?"

"Tell her – " whispered Mrs. Carpenter.

The young man might feel startled, or possibly an inevitable strong objection to the service demanded of him. He made no answer; and Mrs. Carpenter soon went on.

"It is wrong to ask it, and yet whom shall I ask? I would not have her learn it from any of the people in the house; though they are kind, they are not discreet; and Rotha would in any case come straight to me; and I – cannot bear it. She is a passionate child; violent in her feelings and in the expression of them. I have been thinking about it day and night lately, and I cannot get my courage up to face the first storm of her distress. My poor child! she is not very fitted to go through the world alone."

"What are your plans for her?"

"I am unable to form any."

"But you must tell me what steps you wish me to take in her behalf – if there is no one whom you could better trust."

"There is no one whom I can trust at all. Except only my Father in heaven. I trust him, or I should die before my time. I thought my heartwould break, a while ago; now I have got over that. Do you know He has said, 'Leave thy fatherless children to me'?"

Yet now the mother's tears were falling like rain.

"I will do the very best I can," said the young man at her side; "but I wish you would give me some hints, or directions, at least."

"How can I? There lie but two things before me; – that Mrs. Cord should bring her up and make a sempstress of her; or that Mrs. Marble should teach her to be a mantua-maker; and I am so foolish, I cannot bear the thought of either thing; even if they would do it, which I do not know."

"Make your mind easy. She shall be neither the one thing nor the other.

Rotha has far too good abilities for that. I will not give her to Mrs.

Cord's or Mrs. Marble's oversight. But what would you wish?"

"I do not know. I must leave you to judge. You can judge much better than I. I have no knowledge of the world, or of what is possible. Mrs. Marble tells me there are free schools here – "

"Of course she shall go to school. I will see that she does. And I will see that she is under some woman's care who can take proper care of her. Do not let yourself be troubled on that score. I promise you, you need not. I will take as good care of her as if she were a little sister of my own."

There was silence at first, the silence of a heart too full to find words. Mrs. Carpenter sat with her head a little bowed.

"You will lose nothing by it," she said huskily after a few minutes.

"There is a promise somewhere – "

But with that she broke down and cried.

"I don't know what you will do with her!" she said; "nor what anybody will do with her, except her mother. She is a wayward child; passionate; strong, and also weak, on the side of her affections. She has never learned yet to submit her will, though for love she is capable of great devotion. She has shewed it to me this past winter."

"Is there any other sort of devotion that is worth much?" asked the young man.

"Duty? – "