"Yes. Your mother's sister; Mrs. Busby. You knew you had an aunt in the city?" Rotha disregarded the question. She left her seat and came and stood before the lounge, in the attitude of a young tragedy queen; her hands interlocked before her, her face pale, and not only pale but spotted with colour, in a way that shewed a startling interruption of the ordinary even currents of the blood. "O Mr. Digby," she cried, "not her! not her! Do not give me up to her!" "Why not?" he asked gently. "She is not good. She is not a good woman. I don't like her. I can't bear the thought of her. I don't want to have anything to do with her. _Please_, keep me from her! O Mr. Digby, don't let her have me!" These words came out in a stream. "My dear Rotha, is this reasonable? What cause have you to dislike your aunt?" "Because she wasn't good to mother--she didn't love her--she wasn't kind to her. She is not a good woman. She wouldn't like me. I don't like her _dreadfully_, Mr. Digby!" The words Rotha would have chosen she did not venture to speak. "Hush, hush, child! do not talk so fast. Sit down, and let us see what all this means." "O Mr. Digby, you will not put me with her?" "Yes, Rotha, it is the best. We will try it, at least. Why Rotha!-- Rotha!--" She had flung herself down on the floor, on her knees, with her head on a chair; not crying, not a tear came; nor sobbing; but with the action of absolute despair. It would have done for high tragedy. Alas, so it is with trouble when one is young; it seems final and annihilating. Age knows better. "Rotha," Mr. Digby said very quietly after a minute, "why do you dislike your aunt so? You do not know her." "O Mr. Digby," cried the girl in accents of misery, "are you going to give me up to somebody else? Are you going to give me up to _her?_" "No. Not to her nor to anybody. I am not going to give you up to anybody. Look here, Rotha. Look up, and bring your chair here and sit down by me, and we will talk this over. Come!" Yielding to the imperative tone in his words, she obeyed; rose up and brought her chair close and sat down; but he was startled to see the change in her face. It was livid; and it was woe-begone. She took her place submissively; nevertheless he could perceive that there was a terrible struggle of pain going on in the girl. He put out his hand, took hers kindly and held it. "Rotha--my child--I am not going to give you up to anybody," he repeated gravely. Rotha thought it practically amounted to that, to place her in her aunt's house; words were not at command. A sort of sob wrung from her breast. "What do you know about your aunt?" "Not much,--but too much," Rotha laconically answered. "Tell me what you know."