She never forgot that meal in all her life. She wanted it; that was one thing; she was faint and tired, with her night journey and her morning watch. The place was brilliantly clean; the service rendered by neat young women, who went back and forth to a room in the rear whence the eatables were issued. And very excellent they were, albeit not in the least reminding one of Delmonico's; if Delmonico had at that day existed to let anybody remember him. No doubt, it might have been difficult to guess where the coffee was grown; but it was well made and hot and served with good milk and cream; and Rotha was exhausted and hungry. The coffee was simply nectar. The corn bread was light and sweet and tender; the baked potatoes were perfect; the butter was good, and the ham, and the apple sauce, and the warm biscuit. There was a pleasant sensation of independence and being alone, as Rotha sat at her little table in the not very brightly lit room; and it seemed as if strength and courage came back to her heart along with the refitting of her physical nature. She was not in a hurry to finish her breakfast. The present moment was pleasant, and afforded a kind of lull; after it must come action, and action would plunge her into she could not tell what. The lull came to an end only too soon. "Do you know where Mrs. Busby's place is?" she inquired of the girl that served her. "Place? No, I don't. Is it in Tanfield?" "It is near Tanfield." "You are not going by the train, then?" "No. I am going to this place. Can I get a carriage to take me there?" "I'll ask Mr. Jackson." Mr. Jackson came up accordingly, and Rotha repeated her question. He was a big, fat, comfortable looking man. "Busby?" he said with his hand on his chin--"I don't seem to recollect no Busbys hereabouts. O, you mean the old Brett place?" "Yes, I believe I do. Mrs. Busby owns it now." "That's it. Mrs. Busby. She was the old gentleman's daughter. The family aint lived here this long spell." "But there is somebody there? somebody in charge?" "Likely. Somebody to look arter things. You're a goin' there?" "If I can get a carriage to take me." "When'll you want it?" "Now. At once." "There aint no difficulty about that, I guess. Baggage?" "One small trunk." "All right I'll have the horse put to right away." So a little before eight o'clock Rotha found herself in a buggy, with her trunk behind her and a country boy beside her for a driver, on the way to her aunt's place.