Mr. Filmer pulled a chair to his side. "Come here, my girl," he answered, "for I cannot come to you. Look at my bandaged foot, Rose. I have not stepped on it for a month." "Oh, father! I am so sorry for you--and for myself." "I fell, my dear--fell down those spiral stairs in the library, and sprained myself very badly. Did you imagine I had forgotten?" "Mamma never told me--yes, I believe she did tell me--but I thought it was only a little hurt. I have been so selfishly miserable. And, oh, father! it is such a disappointment to me. I wanted you to take me to Antony." "That is folly, my child. Your husband is about his business. He will come home as soon as he can leave it; and you are not fit to travel." Then Rose remembered that her father had but a partial knowledge of the truth regarding her real position, and she hesitated. Lame and unable to help her, why should she make him unhappy? So she only said: "There is something a little wrong between Antony and me, and I want to talk to him. Letters always make trouble. I thought perhaps you might go with me; but you are lame--and busy, too, I see." "Unfortunately, I am lame at present; but if you are in any trouble, Rose, I am not busy. What is this to you?" he asked, lifting some manuscript and tossing it scornfully aside. "It is only my amusement; you are my heart, my honor, my duty! I would burn every page of my book if by so doing I could bring you happiness, my child." "There is nothing to call for such a sacrifice, papa," she said, while the grateful tears sprang to her eyes; "but somehow, I do not seem to have any friends but you and mamma; none, at least, from whom I can expect help." "In trouble, Rose, you may always go to God and to your father and mother for help. From them you cannot expect too much; and from men and women in general you cannot expect too little. Your mother will be home soon, so remain here to-night, and have a talk with her about this notion of going west to Antony. She will tell you that it is very foolish." "If I stay I must send home the carriage, and then no one knows what may happen if the house is without any one even to give an alarm. But I am glad to have seen you, papa. And it was good to hear you say you would burn your book for my sake. I feel ever so much better for having heard you say such splendid words." So Rose went home, without having made any advance towards her intention; but she was strengthened and comforted by her father's love and trust.