CHAPTER XIX.

ROSE GUESSES SOMETHING.

"HERE is a letter from Gertrude," said Otto, walking into his sister-in-law's pleasant sitting-room one evening.

"That is always welcome. And so are you," answered Rose, looking up from her work.

Otto smiled slightly. He looked worn, and after the first flush caused by his brisk walk into Camptown had subsided, he seemed to become paler than his observant sister had ever seen him.

"Sit down," she said, putting aside her work, and stirring the fire into a blaze; "have you come to tea?"

"If you will have me."

"Willingly indeed. Have you read Gertrude's letter, or is it private and particular?"

"It is not private, but all her letters are particular—"

"Yes. So, Otto, we will have her letter together before I ring for the tea; then we shall not be interrupted."

She settled herself in her chair near the lamp, and opened the sheets, proceeding to read out what Otto had already heard: all Gertrude's account of the overturned basket, with its mysterious little pair of shoes.

Rose drew her breath as she reached that part of it, and when she had put down the letter, she looked into the fire with an absorbed gaze, while she seemed to forget Otto's presence altogether.

"Strange!" she murmured. "Otto, did it give you a queer feeling when you read that?"

"We are apt to fancy every little trifle may bear upon little Lester," he said softly, "but this seems too unlikely. Do not build upon it, dear Rose."

"I know I am too ready to do so," she answered sadly, "but—"

Still she looked into the fire in deep thought.

"Otto," she exclaimed, "I must go and call at that house!"

"They would not admit you."

"Do you think so? At any rate, I should like try. Oh, if I could have seen those little slippers! I should have known them anywhere."

She rose from her seat, and began pacing to and fro in the little room, her sweet, calm face looking worried and anxious.

"If—supposing, Otto, that man were afraid of what his basket had revealed, and were to move away as they did from Blank—"

"But, dear Rose, this may have nothing to do with them at all!"

"But then it may—"

She sat down again, looking troubled, her hands lying listlessly in her lap, her brow full of lines.

"'God is our Refuge and Strength, a very present help in trouble,'" said Otto. "Perhaps, Rose, He is leading us along, though we cannot see the way."

"But it is so hard to trust in the dark—"

"His road will lead to the light," said Otto; "there are no 'blind thoroughfares' with our Father, Rose!"

She looked up quickly. "'No' blind thoroughfares, Otto!" she answered, significantly, throwing off her own care as she so often did, in order to comfort another. "You must remember that, as well as I."

He flushed a deep red, but his eyes looked frankly into hers nevertheless.

"I do not forget it," he said quietly, "but I have had a long spell in the dark."

"You have," she answered.

After that there was silence, till, suddenly bethinking herself, she rang the bell, and began to busy herself in preparation for tea, taking some cake from the sideboard, and putting the caddy on the table.

When the maid had left the room, and they sat down to their meal, just those two, Rose began—

"Then you do not advise my going off to see Gertrude?"

"I cannot advise anything," said Otto, "but if you think it likely, it might be worth trying."

"I feel as if I must, Otto."

Again there was silence. She was planning when she could go, and what might be the consequences. He was wishing with a great longing that he could go too, and in his thoughts was almost forgetting little Lester altogether.

At last, their eyes met, and something in her brother-in-law's made Rose say gently—

"Otto, I hope it will all come right some day."

She was referring to his thoughts, not to her own.

Again, he coloured vividly, rising to go.

"So soon?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes, I only came over to bring you that letter." Then, as he stood in the doorway, he added abruptly: "Rose, I see you have guessed my secret. I never knew till she was gone that I could feel so much—and with my poverty and all, it is so hopeless."

"Nothing is hopeless when we look above," she said.

And when he was gone, she sat down again and took the lesson home to her own heart. And her thoughts shaped themselves into these words—

"'With God nothing shall be impossible.'"

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