“Is she cryin’, now?” said Karen.

“I don’ know what you’d call it,” said Clam. “’Tain’t much like other folks’ cryin’.”

“Well there’s a letter Anderese fetched —­ you’d better take it to her as soon as it’ll do.  Maybe it’ll do her good.”

“Where from?” said Clam seizing it.

“Anderese fetched it from Mountain Spring.”

“Now I wish ’twas —­ but it ain’t! —­” said Clam.  “I’ll take it to her anyhow.”

Elizabeth knew that it wasn’t, as soon as she took it.  The letter was from the gentleman who had been her father’s lawyer in the city.

Mannahatta, Sept. 26, 1817.

“Dear madam,

“Upon arrangement of Mr. Haye’s affairs, I regret to say, we find it will take nearly all his effects to meet the standing liabilities and cover the failure of two or three large operations in which Mr. Haye had ventured more upon uncertain contingencies than was his general habit in business matters.  So little indeed will be left, at the best issue we can hope for, that Mrs. Haye’s interest, whose whole property, I suppose you are aware, was involved, I grieve to say will amount to little or nothing.  It were greatly to be wished that some settlement had in time been made for her benefit; but nothing of the kind was done, nor I suppose in the circumstances latterly was possible.  The will makes ample provision, but I am deeply pained to say, is, as matters stand, but a nullity.  I enclose a copy.

“I have thought it right to advertise you of these painful tidings, and am,

“Dear madam, with great respect,

“Your obedient servant,

“Dustus O. Brick.”

Elizabeth had read this letter, and pondered over it by turns half the day, when a startling thought for the first time flashed into her mind.  Rose’s desolate condition!  Less desolate than her own indeed, in so far that Rose had less strength to feel; but more desolate by far, because being as friendless she was much more helpless than herself.  “What will she do, without money and friends? —­ for she never had any near and dear friends but father and me.  Where can she live? —­ "

Elizabeth jumped up and ran into the house to get away from the inference.  But when she had sat down in her chair the inference stood before her.

“Bring her here! —­ I cannot.  I cannot.  It would ruin my life.”  Then, clear and fair, stood the words she had been reading —­ ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you —­’

“But there is no bed-room for her but this —­ or else there will be no sitting-room for either of us; —­ and then we must eat in the kitchen! —­”

“She has neither house, nor home, nor friend, nor money.  What wouldst thou, in her place? —­”

Elizabeth put her face in her hands and almost groaned.  She took it up and looked out, but in all bright nature she could find nothing which did not side against her.  She got up and walked the room; then she sat down and began to consider what arrangements would be necessary, and what would be possible.  Then confessed to herself that it would not be all bad to have somebody to break her solitude, even anybody; then got over another qualm of repugnance, and drew the table near her and opened her desk.