"The light is but dim, sir," said the old lady, as the traveler took it in his hand, and held the letter between his face and Mrs. Bond's.
Yes--the light _was_ dim, so were the traveler's eyes; he must have been sadly feeble too, for his hands trembled so that he could scarcely hold the letter.
"And you never heard from her, after this?" he asked, his eyes still riveted on the letter.
"Not a word, sir; it makes me so sad when I think of it; perhaps she may be dead."
"Perhaps so," answered the traveler, shuddering.
"May be you could make some inquiries, sir, if it would not trouble you, as you go along; her name was Rose, though she looked more like a lily when she left us, poor thing! Rose--and her lover's name was Vincent; perhaps you may have heard of _him_."
"The name sounds familiar," said the stranger; "perhaps I shall be able to get some clew to it."
"Thank you," said Mrs. Bond, gratefully; "and now, sir, as I get up early I go to rest early; so, if you please, I will show you your room; it is very plain--but it is all the spare one I have. It was poor Rose's room;" and Mrs. Bond taking her candle, led the way to it.
"There," said she, setting the light down upon the table, "many a time when she stood at that little window, sir, she and the babe, people stopped here to ask who they were, they were both so handsome, and so different from our country folks.
"On that very little table she left her letter; it was a long time before I could come here and feel that it was all right she should suffer so, although I know that God's ways are just; but I shall know all about it when I get to heaven; perhaps it was only 'the narrow way' to take _her_ there--who knows? I would rather be Rose than they who brought her here; and yet," said the mild old lady, hesitatingly, "perhaps they _thought_ they did right, but riches make us take strange views of things; it takes grace to be a _rich_ Christian. And when I feel displeased with Mrs. Howe's heartlessness, I say, _money_ might have turned _me_ aside too--who knows? Good-night, sir; heaven send you sweet sleep;" and Mrs. Bond went down into her small kitchen.
And it was here--in this very room, that Rose had wept, and suffered, and wrestled with her great sorrow! On that very pillow her aching head vainly sought rest; at that window she had sat thinking--thinking--till brain and heart grew sick, and God himself seemed to have forsaken her; and down that road she had fled, like a hunted deer, with slander's cruel arrow rankling in her quivering heart!