It was so. The reader may remember that one evening when Frank went in to see Dame Bell soon after she had come to London, she had told him that Rosaline had gone to Oxford Street on some mysterious errand: mysterious in so far as that Rose had not disclosed what she went for. The fact was, that Rosaline had then gone to this very milliner's by appointment, having procured a letter of introduction to her from a house of business in Falmouth, with the view of tendering her services. For she knew that her mother's income was too small to live on comfortably, and it would be well if she could increase it. Madame François, pleased with her appearance and satisfied with the letter she brought, engaged her at once. Rosaline had been there ever since: going up in a morning and returning home at night. The milliner had wished her to be entirely in the house, but she could not leave her mother. On this day, as usual, Rosaline sat at her work in the back-room, planning out new bonnets--that would be displayed afterwards in the window as "the latest fashion from Paris:" and directing the young women under her. That she had a wonderful and innate taste for the work was recognized by all, and Madame François had speedily made her superintendent of the room. The girl, as madame thought, always seemed to have some great care upon her: when questioned upon the point, Rosaline would answer that she was uneasy respecting the decaying health of her mother. More thoughtful than usual, more buried in the inward life, for the appearance of Mrs. Frank Raynor, whom she knew by sight, had brought back old reminiscences of Trennach, Rosaline sat to-day at her employment until the hours of labour had passed. Generally speaking she went home by omnibus, though she sometimes walked. She walked this evening: for it was mild and pleasant, and she felt in great need of fresh air. So that it was tolerably late when she arrived home: very nearly half-past nine. The first thing to be noticed was, that her mother's chair was empty: the room also. Rosaline passed quickly into the bedchamber, and saw that her mother had undressed and was in bed. "Why, mother! what's this for? Are you not well?" "Not very," sighed the dame. "Your supper is ready for you on the table, Rose." "Never mind my supper, mother," replied Rose, snuffing the candle, and putting two or three things straight in the room generally, after taking off her bonnet. "Tell me what is the matter with you. Do you feel worse?" "Not much worse--that I know of," was the answer. "But I grew weary, and thought I should be better in bed. For the past week, or more, I can't get your poor father out of my head, Rose: up or in bed, he is always in my mind, and it worries me." "But you know, mother, this cannot be good for you--as I have said," cried Rosaline: for she had heard the same complaint once or twice lately.