Mr. Digby could hardly believe his ears. Mrs. Archibald Busby was very well known to him, and he was a welcome and tolerably frequent visiter at her house. Was it possible? he thought; was it possible? Could that woman be the sister of this? and such a sister? Nothing in her or in her house that he had seen, looked like it. He made neither remark nor suggestion however, but took quiet leave, after his wont, and went away; after arranging that a carriage should come the next day to take Mrs. Carpenter to the Park. CHAPTER VIII. STATEN ISLAND. Mr. Digby had a great many thoughts during the next few days; some of which almost went to make Mrs. Carpenter in the wrong. The Mrs. Busby he knew was so very unexceptionable a lady; how could she be the black sheep of the story he had heard? Mrs. Carpenter might labour under a mistake, might she not? Yet facts are said to be stubborn things, and some facts were hard for the truth of the story. Mr. Digby was puzzled. He would perhaps have gone promptly to Mrs. Busby's home, to make observations with a keenness he had never thought worth while when there; but Mrs. Busby and all her family were out of town, spending the hot months at a watering place, or at several watering places. Meanwhile Mr. Digby had his unfulfilled commission to attend to. Mrs. Carpenter went driving to the Park now every pleasant day; to the great admiration of Mrs. Marble, the wonderful refreshment of the sick woman herself, and the extravagant delight and pride of Rotha. She said she was sure her mother would get well now. But her mother's eye, as she said it, went to Mr. Digby's, with a warning admonition that he must neither be deceived nor lose time. He understood. "I am going down to Staten Island to-morrow," he remarked. "Would you like to go with me, Rotha?" "Staten Island?" she repeated. "Yes. It is about an hour's sail from New York, or nearly; across the bay. You can become acquainted with the famous bay of New York." "Is it famous?" "For its beauty." "Oh I should like to go very much, Mr. Digby, if it was as ugly as it could be!" "Then when your mother comes from the Park in the morning, we will go." Rotha was full of delight. But her mother, she thought, was very sober during that morning's drive; she tried in vain to brighten her up. Again and again Mrs. Carpenter's eyes rested on her with a lingering, tender sorrowfulness, which was not their wont. "Mother, is anything the matter?" she asked at length. "I am thinking of you, my child." "Then don't think of me! What about me?" "I am grieved that a shadow should ever come over your gay spirits. Yet I am foolish." "What makes you think of shadows? I am going to be always as gay as I am to-day." "That is impossible." "Why?" "It is not the way of this world." "Does trouble come to everybody?" "Yes. At some time."