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£ , 2R,OSA_. Translated for Woman’s Work* by Miss Fannie L. Mitchell. CHAPTER I. “It is not true! I tell you it is not true!” exclaimed a little girl crimson with anger, in an imperious voice, stamping her foot as her nurse tried in vain to keep her still, while she was putting on her a dress of dark blue merino, the waist of which she had just finished. I “ I wish it was not, my poor darling,” replied the nurse, whose eyes were so dim with tears, that a slight trembling of her hand prevented her putting in the pin she held* “Your papa told me several days ago, but he forbade me to speak to you of it. Poor angel, it is only too true. I have had trouble enough swallowing my tears all this time; it almost broke my heart to see you playing and laughing as usual. Now there is no longer any way to keep it from you, •ince we start to-morrow.” “To-morrow! O, no, I will not start to morrow. They cannot force me to start! Why does papa wish me to go away ? I have not made him angry, he has never scolded me. lam going to him, and lam going to tell him that I—” “ Listen, Miss Rosa, I must tell you every thing. Your father would be happy never to be separated from you, for he loves you better than anything in the world; but it must be otherwise. A few days ago he was rich, he could indulge all your fancies; but he has lost his whole fortune, and is going to a strange country to regain it, where they pick up gold by the handful. He will return, and you will yet be rich and happy. You will have more beautiful dresses than any of your friends.” “What is that tome if I must leave papa now 1” cried Rosa, who had listened to this talk with a mixture of impatience and as tonishment. “ Ought he not to know that I would rather have only one calico dress and be with him ? Quick, quick, dear nurse, takeoff this waist, and let me go!” Before her pretty cashmere dress of Scotch pink could be well fastened, Rosa had slipped from under her nurse’s hands, and bounded from the chamber. In another room in the same suite of apartments, a man still young, with an anxious expression, was seated before a massive desk with innumerable drawers. For the hundreth time, he had finished a calculation, which for the hundreth time led to this conclusion: “I no longer have anything; there remains nothing to do but to go away.” He cast a sad look around the room that he had occupied so many years; where he had known great joys, and one great sorrow, for it was here that Rosa’s mother had died a short time after the birth of this only child. He kept his eyes fixed for a moment upon her portrait that was hung oyer the arm-chair in which she had so often sat by his side as he worked; then he turned away, thinking bitterly that, though >e could carry away this lifeless image of w he had loved so well, her living image— her child—must be left behind. His heart ached so painfully he would have been glad to weep; but this relief was not granted him, and burying his face in his hands, he remained for a long time absorbed in a painful struggle. Suddenly the door opened and Rosa paused on the threshold, arrested in her impetuous movement by the expression of her father’s face. “ What do you want,my child ?” he asked, raising his head, “I cannot be disturbed now.” Without allowing herself to be| intimi dated by this cold reception, to which she was accustomed, Rosa ran to her father, put her arms about his neck, drew his head down to a level with her own, the better to look into his eyes with her two great ones still wet with tears, and exclaimed: “ Papa, tell me that it is not true! Tell me that you do not wish to send me far away from you! Ido not want to leave you! I will not leave you when you are sad and ill— yes ill, I am sure of it, for I have never seen you so pale, and your hands are burning, papa, am I not your little girl that you love? How will you have the heart to send me away? Oh! papa, tell me quick, that it is all a wicked story of my nurse’s, that she is a naughty woman, to frighten me so!” While speaking the little girl had nestled upon her father’s knee, and laid her head against his breast, and looked at him with beseeching eyes. Mr. De Lastes pressed her to his heart a long time without trying to speak. At length, he gently pushed her away, and seated her near him upon a chair, as if to make her understand that he did not wish to treat her like a child, but to appeal to her reason; he put his hand upon her head. “My darling,” he said, “ you will soon be nine years old, you are old enough to know the meaning of the words, necessity and duty. Up to this time I have only asked one thing of you—to be happy; I was wrong perhaps; it might have been better if I had been more strict, and had not thought that I could make your life one long holiday. But I think I can still rely upon your reason. Are you listening to me, my child?” “Yes, papa,” replied Rosa m a firm voice, turning her face to him, with an attentive, serious look. She was sitting upright, and her face was radiant with pride and pleas ure, at being considered a reasonable being, “ I have lost everything I possessed, my child,” continued Mr. De Lastes, “ I can not explain to you how it happened, be cause you could not understand it. It is sufficient for you to know, that when I have paid my debts, I will only have money enough to pay my passage to America, and a small sum with which to try to rebuild my fortune.” “ But why do you not take me with you, papa?” “My child, it is impossible. When I go away I cannot live as I do here; I shall have no house, nor carriage nor servants. Even your nurse would be an additional expense that I could not permit.” “ But I can do without my nurse,” said Rosa resolutely. ‘I assure you. papa, I can. The other day, I tried, just for fun, to dress myself, and I succeeded in fastening everything except the last button of my dress.” “My dear child, I do not doubt either your skill or your good will; but admitting that you can dress yourself, and wait upon yourself, what would you do alone during the long days, while I was away at work ? Do you think I would have courage or freedom of mind, knowing that my little girl was alone in a strange land where I know no one to whom I could trust her?” Rosa hung her head, for she felt that this argument ad mitted no reply. “Where am I going?” she asked in a subdued voice. “That remains for me to tell you, my child,” replied Mr. De Lastes, again drawing her upon his knees, while he took both her hands in one of nis. “I have an aunt whom I have not seen for many years, but whose goodness I know; it is to her I am going to send you. She lives in a pretty country house, entirely alone with an old servant, who is perfectly devoted to her; your nurse will accom pany you to the railroad sta tion nearest her house. I have written to my good aunt Darcy to send there for you.” “ Will Virginia not remain with me?” asked Rosa. “ No, my child, she returns to her family; I can no longer pay her wages.” While making this answer, Mr. De Las tes looked at his daughter with a certain uneasiness, doubting the effect of this com munication. Rosa did not appear to be moved by it. She made a sign of assent, as if her heart was too burdened with im pressions for any new pain to hurt her. “Now, leave me, dear child, I have to work,” said her father. Rosa obeyed im mediately, and went slowly out; but when she reached the door, she turned, came back, laid her head against her father’s cheek, and asked in a low voice. . “When will you return | “ Soon, my beloved child, soon* replied Mr. De Lastes, kissing her on the forehead. She returned to her chamber so calm and quiet, that her nurse thought for a moment that her father had yielded, and Rosa was not going away. But she was soon undeceived, for the child opened a large bureau which contained part of’her wardrobe, and said in a voice that made Virginia tremble: “Since we are going away to-morrow, I must pack my trunk.” “Lord bless you, my dear angel, my sweet dove,” said the nurse with a stupid look. “ Who would have expected such a change 1” “ I shall not take this or that,” said Rosa putting aside certain dresses that were too fine for her new position. “ What a pity that you will no longer wear those pretty dresses. The last time you went to the Tuileries you had on that sky blue dress and your hat with the plume in it. You looked as pretty as a pink. Everybody was looking at you. Now there will be nobody about you but two old women who do not know the difference between a pretty face and a pumpkin.” “ What does that matter to me?” “ The Lord only knows how they will arrange your beautiful hair. Who will take care of these locks so fine and silky? Ah! Miss Rosa, if your father had wished it, I would have followed you to this hole, where you are going to live. It troubles me to think that you will have no one to take care of you and wait upon you.” “Papa will have no one to wait upon him. I had rather do like him.” “ But you will have no one there to love you.” “ Perhaps my aunt will love me.” “Oh! don’t count on the affections of those old mummies, dried up forty years ago with egotism. Don’t, speak to me about those peoplel” “ But, Virginia, papa said my aunt was very good.” “ I ask nothing better.” After this conversation Rosa felt that the courage that had sustained her for a moment was fast dying out. She went to bed early, and wept bitterly for twenty minutes, that she in good faith thought was almost all night. When she fell asleep at last, her body was still shaken by sobs, and her sleep troubled with confused dreams, full of sadness and vague appre hensions for the morrow. When day came, she was entirely un strung, and much less heroic than th6 day While the nurse dressed her for the jour ney, she wept and stamped alternately, according as the spoilt child, or the child initiated for several hours to real sorrow, had the predominating influence. At last, her father pressed her to his heart for the last time, and dropped a tear upon her head, that contained more sorrow and bit terness than all those that flowed in streams down the cheeks of his child. Yet he had seen that she had strength of character, and was capable of self-control, and he felt re assured as to her future. He could have felt still more so, if he had been able by faith and prayer to place her in the hands of Him of whom we can say, that which He guards, is well guarded. chapter 11. “ Martha, come here a moment, please.” “ What do you want, ma’am?” “I have just received a letter.” “ I know that, of course; I was the one who brought it to you.” “Yes, but you do not know that it an nounces a remittance that interests you, as much as it does me.” “ Is it some more tea of the best quality, or some old wine like your nephew sent you last year?” “No, indeed, it is something quite differ ent. My nephew has met with considera ble pecuniary losses. He is about to leave for America, where he hopes to re-establish his business, and he asks me to take his little girl during his absence.” “ And what are you going to do, ma’am?” “I do not know indeed, what would you advise, Martha?” asked the old lady, rais ing her eyes with an uneasy look. “It seems to me a very simple matter. You must write to your nephew that you cannot be made a convenience of, in this manner; that he can easily find a good boarding house for his little girl. Have a child in this house! mercy ! The most quiet house in the whole country, where you never hear one word louder than another, and that has always been as clean and tidy as a picture. The very idea puts me beside myself! I had rather leave the house my self this very day, and never put my foot in it again.” “ But, Martha, there is no time to refuse; the child is coming to-morrow—she is on the way now. We cannot do otherwise than to receive her.” “Then why did you ask my advice?” “Do be reasonable, Martha. What do ‘you want me to do?” “Whatever you please, ma’am; if you desire to make the house uninhabitable, I have nothing to say.” Speaking thus, Martha shut the door, in a surly manner, and for a long time after ward Mrs. Darcy heard a bustle and stir in the kitchen,which betrayed her irritation. Yet, Martha was neither wicked nor selfish. She was one of those types, rare in our day, of what servants formerly were. Devoted, active, familiar,even rude, she had a love for her mistress, which for years had been the ruling passion of her life. They lived in the greatest intimacy. The door of the kitchen—where Martha had ruled despotically formore than ten years— opened into the room where—for the same period—Mrs. Darcy had each day pursued the regular and monotonous routine of peaceful occupation that filled her life. Every morning, at the same hour, after having most carefully made her toilette, she would seat herself in the large arm chair that Martha placed near the fire in winter, and near the window in summer. While the kettle sang upon the hearth, Mrs. Darcy opened the big Bible that was placed before her upon a small table, took her spectacles from the case, wiped them carefully, and read in a low, monotonous voice, the chapter for the day. Then she knelt down and read a prayer. She had been a widow for many years, and had never had a child. Her husband’s death had made a great change in' her po sition, and had compelled her to leave an elegant home, and buy the small house, surrounded by a narrow garden, in which we find her. Martha having participatedin her mistress’ prosperity, also shared her pri vations. She worked the little garden, which yielded vegetables enough tc supply their frugal board, and flowers enough to orna ment, for the greater part of the year, the mantel-piece of the room which served both for a bed-room and a dining-room. Besides, she had built a chicken house, and the eggs of the pretty white and speckled hens, whose clucking alone broke the silence of this abode, was one of their great re sources in housekeeping. Martha always cherished the idea, that if any unexpected visitor should call out her old talent for cooking, a chicken was always there, ready to keep her, in the nick of time, from any embarrassment. “You see', ma’am, I arrange things so I can never be taken by surprise. If compa ny should happen to come in without send ing you word, give yourself no anxiety; I have a plan in my head well arranged, and