At length a happy thought came to Wentworth. His laundress, he knew, let lodgings. She lived in one of the small streets at the back of Clifford’s Inn, and he would take his charge there for the night. The woman was glad to oblige him, though she thought it vastly queer; but that was no concern of hers, or of anyone else, she thought, as long as she got the rent. ‘Mr. Wentworth,’ she remarked to her husband as he attempted, as is the manner of men, some deprecating criticism, ‘is a gentleman, and will behave himself as such;’ and she was right, though Wentworth in town had altered a great deal from the Wentworth of the Sloville meeting-house: the man seemed not quite so hopeful, not quite so raw and inexperienced. The laundress had a heart that could feel for another, and she had connections that could aid her. By her help Rose was introduced to an establishment where her services, as a clever hand at dressmaking, were speedily recognised and in the consciousness that she was honestly earning her living, and in the daily routine of duty, she soon forgot the bitterness of her past. She was herself again, perhaps a trifle more serious, but a good deal more wise. Wentworth went down to Sloville, and brought back Rose’s mother, and she was happy and content. The mother could find no fault with her girl, as she saw how bravely she had trampled on her past follies, how steadily she worked for her happiness, and her cup of joy was full. It had almost killed her when Rose ran away. What she suffered then she could hardly say, as the dull days and the long nights were spent in anxious watching and waiting for the well-known step at the door. Now she could but thankfully say to herself, ‘This, my precious one, was dead, but is alive again; was lost, but is found.’ Happy the father or the mother who can say as much! It was a pleasure to Rose to earn her own living; she was a very clever needle-woman, and got good wages in one of the grand emporiums of commerce in Regent Street. It was a pleasure to her to make her mother happy, and they never seemed as if they could do enough for one another. The mother never knew why her daughter, of whose beauty she was so proud, had run away from home, or why she refused to go back to the old home. Rose was young, and in due time recovered from what, for the time, was a crushing blow. She heard of the Baronet occasionally, for his family seat was near Sloville, and her mother loved to gossip of the place and people. He had married a rich wife, and paid all his debts. One son had been the result of the marriage, but that had died in a somewhat mysterious manner. The lady, whose health was very bad, chiefly resided at Elm Court, while her lord and master had returned to his evil courses in town—as a sow that had been washed, as the Bible coarsely puts it, to her wallowing in the mire.