With this resolution he finished his lunch, paid his bill, went back to his hotel, packed up again, and sent off his luggage by express to Goeberlin. Later he ate dinner, settled with the office clerk, and started for the six-thirty express train to Goeberlin. He caught it, and was soon flying westward on his evil errand. CHAPTER XII ROMA’S DESPAIR Roma strove bravely to resist the dark cloud of despair that was fast settling down upon her soul. She could not concentrate her thoughts sufficiently to enable her to read or write, and to attempt to knit or to sew was to leave her mind too free to fly to themes which to dwell upon was maddening. Under these circumstances she devoted herself to Owlet, and found some distraction from her sorrow in the society of that strange child. She began to teach the little one to read and to sew, and gave two hours of the morning to this pleasant pastime. She found Owlet an apt and eager pupil. After the hours of tuition she would take her to walk over the plantation. She took her through those wonderful orchards, now in full blossom, that seemed to the child like forests of pink and white flowers. She showed her a pigeon box, with the young pair of pigeons in the nest, and she told her wonderful stories of the carriers. Owlet enjoyed all this with more intense delight than any child reared among such scenes, or having a less sensitive nature, could have felt. But through all her own pleasure Owlet perceived the deep trouble on the face of her benefactress, and responded to it for some days in silent sympathy. At length, one morning, after she had said her lesson in spelling words of three letters, she suddenly demanded, while looking wistfully into the lady’s face: “What is the matter with you?” Roma looked surprised, then lifted the child to her lap and kissed her in grave silence. “But what is the matter with you?” again inquired Owlet, with tender, persistent interest. Still Roma did not answer, but gently caressed the little one. How, indeed, could she answer the question? She could not tell the facts, for the child could not understand them; nor could she use the formula for such cases made and provided, and say: “Nothing is the matter,” or “I have a headache,” for neither statement would be true, and Roma was too purely truthful to prevaricate. “Have I hurted you? And are you too kind to scold me? Oh, you know I am very often naughty, and not respectful enough to people; but—but—that is only when—when I’m not possessed of common sense, you know. But, oh, I do love you! And I am so sorry if I hurted you!” Owlet exclaimed, clasping her benefactress around the neck. “You have not hurt me, darling; you never do,” gently replied the lady, returning the caress. “Don’t I? I’m so glad! But somebody has been very wicked to make you so sorry. Who is it? Aunt Serious?” “No, dear.” “She’s awful. I thought it might have been her.”