Poor Rotha's heart, when once a passion of displeasure seized it, was like the seething pot in Ezekiel's vision. She was helpless to stay the outpour of anger and pride and grief and contempt and mortification, every one of which in turn came uppermost and took forms of utterance in her imagination. She had a firm determination to follow Mr. Digby's teaching and example; but for the present she was alone, and the luxury of passion might storm as it would. Upon this state of things came the dinner, borne by the hands of Lesbia, who was a very sable serving maid; otherwise very sharp. She set the tray on the table. Rotha lifted a white face and fiery eyes, and glared at it and at her. Gladly would she have sent it all down again; but she was hungry, and the tray steamed a pleasant savour towards her. "Thank you," said Rotha, with the courtesy she had learned of her friend. "Would you like anything else?" the girl asked with an observing look. "Nothing else, thank you." "Why aint miss down stairs with the rest?" "I couldn't go down to-day. That will do, thank you." Lesbia withdrew, and Rotha mustered her viands. A glass of water and a piece of bread, very nicely arranged; a plate with hot potatoes, turnips mashed, beets, and three small shrimps fried. Rotha cleared the board, and found the fish very small. By and by came up Lesbia with a piece of apple pie. She took the effect of the empty dishes. "Did miss have enough?" "It will do very well, thank you," said Rotha, attacking the piece of pie, which was also small. "Didn't you want a bit of the mutton?" "Mutton!" exclaimed Rotha, and again an angry colour shewed itself in her cheeks. "Roast mutton and jelly and sweet potatoes. You hadn't only fish, had ye? Don't ye like yaller potatoes? Car'lina potatoes?" "Yes, I like them," said Rotha indifferently. N. B. She had eaten them but a few times in her life, and thought them a prime delicacy. "I'll bring you some if you like, and some of the meat." "No, thank you," said Rotha, finishing her pie and depositing that plate with the rest. "You'll have time enough," said Lesbia sympathizingly. "They won't come up stairs; they stays down to see company." "No, thank you," said Rotha again; but a new pang seized her. Company! Mr. Digby would be company. What if he should come? Lesbia went off with the tray, after casting several curious glances at the new comer, whom she had heard talked of enough to give her several clues. Rotha was left in the darkening dressing room; for the afternoon had come to its short November end. CHAPTER XIII. NOT DRESSED. Mr. Digby did not come that evening. Next evening he did. He came early, just as the family had finished dinner. Mrs. Busby welcomed him with outstretched hand and a bland smile.