Adoring ‘Boy’”
Adoring ‘Boy’”
By the time the Empress reached the last word of that missive her face had assumed the color of a gobbler’s wattles, and her eyes were blazing. Eleanor was nearly frightened to death at the Genius of Wrath which she had invoked.
“To whom does this nauseating thing belong?”
“It was not in an envelope when I found it, Miss Woodhull.”
“Where did you find it?”
Eleanor hesitated, it would never do to seem too communicative.
“Did you understand my question?”
“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”
“Then reply at once.”
“I found it in the south wing,” she said hesitatingly.
“Ah!” The word was exhaled triumphantly. “In the lower end of that wing?”
“Yes, Miss Woodhull.”
“Near Suite 10?”
She recalled the tall, acrobatic visitor of All Saints’ Eve. She had always suspected Beverly and her suspicions had been confirmed when Admiral Ashby asked her to sanction visits fromAthol and Archie. “You did quite right to come to me with this letter. It is far too serious a matter to be dealt with by my subordinates. I highly commend your discretion. I shall sift the matter to the bottom.”
Eleanor winced. That “sifting” might change from a small affair to a large one, as a snowball may grow into an avalanche. Then she said with well-assumed contrition, “Oh, Miss Woodhull, I would not for the world accuseanyone. It may be just fun——”
“There is no element of fun in such a letter as this, and absolutely no humor. I have realized for some time that a decided atmosphere was being created in this school, but have been unable to discover its origin, andthis,” giving the letter the vicious shake a terrier would give a rat, “may prove the touchstone. I need hardly enjoin absolute secrecy upon your part. You have already proved your discretion. If you make any further discoveries you will, of course, come to me at once. By-the-way, when did you find the letter?”
“Why—er—several days ago, Miss Woodhull.”
“Then why have you so long delayed coming to me?” The eyes were very searching.
“I was afraid—afraid—I might be mistaken. That after all it really didn’t mean anything. The girls often play jokes upon one another, you know.”
“Not such senseless jokes as this one I trust. What caused you to alter your opinion?”
The professional stage certainly missed a star when it failed to discover Eleanor. She hesitated, looked down, then up with appealing eyes. She twisted her fingers together and untwisted them. She shifted from one foot to the other, all of which was maddeningly irritating to Miss Woodhull.
“This is no time for hesitation,—speak!”
“This afternoon,” whispered Eleanor.
“Sit in that chair and tell me everything without further circumlocution.” The tone was final.
With appropriate hesitancy the events of the afternoon were graphically pictured for the Empress. When they were completely drawn she said with the grimness of Fate: “You may go, but remember, not one word to your companions.”A most superfluous admonition, for Eleanor was nearly petrified with fear as it was. She retreated to her room with all possible speed and her room-mate wondered what had taken place to make her look so pale, but refrained from asking questions. Eleanor and her room-mate were not entirely congenial.
It was close to nine-thirty when she entered her room which was on the floor above Beverly’s. Down in hospitable Suite 10 the social spirit was rampant. The Basket-ball victory was being celebrated by a spread. Light bell did not ring until ten Saturday nights. Beverly was in the act of biting into a chocolate eclair when Miss Stetson came to the door. Beverly was sitting back to it and supposed it was one of her companions.
As all will concede, an eclair is, to say the least, an uncertain quantity. Even upon a plate and carefully manipulated with a fork, it is given to erratic performances. When held between a thumb and forefinger, andbitteninto, its possibilities are beyond conjecture. Miss Stetson appeared at a most inopportune moment (she usually did) and each girl rose toher feet, Beverly under the circumstances being the last to do so because she had no idea that Miss Stetson was anywhere near No. 10. Her tardy uprising brought about the inevitable result. Her teeth came together upon her eclair and the filling escaped its bounds, landing in many places that it should not have landed. When Miss Stetson had removed about a tablespoonful of cream filling from her bosom, she said icily: “Miss Ashby, you are to report at Miss Woodhull’s study at once,” and utterly ignored Beverly’s apologies.
“Report at Miss Woodhull’s office at nine-thirty at night?”
Consternation fell upon the revellers. The hair had snapped and Damocles’ sword had certainly fallen.
CHAPTER XVIA CRISIS
Fully as bewildered as the girls she had left behind her, Beverly went quickly to Miss Woodhull’s study. So far as she could recollect nothing could be scored against her deportment unless, at this late date her wild gallop to Kilton Hall had become known, or the presence of Athol and Archie at the Hallowe’en frolic had been discovered. True, she had recognized Athol and his companion as they were leaving the gymnasium that afternoon, but she did not believe that any one else had. As to any foreknowledge of that prank she had not had the slightest. So her conscience was quite clear on that score anyway. She tapped at the door and was bidden enter. Miss Woodhull’s expression as she looked at Beverly was most forbidding.
“Good-evening, Miss Woodhull. Miss Stetson said you wished to see me.”
Utterly ignoring the greeting, Miss Woodhull thrust toward Beverly the incriminating letter, at the same time demanding: “Who has had the audacity to send such a thing as this to you while you are a pupil in my school?”
Beverly started at sight of the lost love billet, Miss Woodhull noted the start and a sneer curved her set lips.
“No one sent it to me, Miss Woodhull,” she answered calmly.
“You will probably add that you have never seen it before.”
Beverly did not reply.
“Answer me at once.”
“Yes, I have seen it before.”
“Where did you last see it?”
“In my English history book.”
“How came it there, pray?”
“I put it there myself.”
“And yet you have the temerity to tell me that it is not yours? Are you in the habit of reading letters which are addressed to other people?”
“Was the letter addressed, Miss Woodhull? It was not even in an envelope when it came into my possession.”
“You have no doubt destroyed the envelope. Nevertheless, I must insist upon knowing who wrote that letter.”
“I cannot tell you, Miss Woodhull. I have never looked at the signature.”
“How dare you resort to such fencing with me? You cannot evade a direct answer, for I have resolved to learn the writer’s name, and report him to the principal of his school,” asserted Miss Woodhull, jumping at conclusions.
“I cannot tell you the writer’s name.”
“You mean that youwillnot. But, I warn you, this obstinacy only adds to the gravity of the situation.”
“It is not obstinacy, Miss Woodhull; I do not know it.”
“Yet you admit having had this open letter in your possession and insist that it is not your own? A curious combination, to say the least,” was the sarcastic retort.
“I had the letter, but it is not mine. I never read it, and I do not know the writer’s name.” This was entirely true, Beverly had never heard dear “Reggie’s” surname.
“Perhaps you are likewise ignorant of theidentity of the two people who masqueraded as Tweedle-dee and Jack o’ Lantern?”
“They were my brother and his friend Archie,” was the prompt reply.
“Ah! Then you will admit something of this intrigue.”
“If it can be called by so portentious a name,” answered Beverly smiling.
That smile acted like a match to gunpowder. Miss Woodhull’s temper and self-control vanished together, and for a few moments Beverly was the object of a scathing volley of sarcastic invective. As it waxed hotter and hotter Beverly grew colder and colder, though her eyes and cheeks were blazing.
“It is useless to keep up this silly deception. You may as well try to make me believe that you were not aware of the presence of your brother and your silly sweetheart disguised as girls this afternoon, and that you did not lay the whole disgraceful plan for them to escape at the rear of the grounds.” Miss Woodhull did not confide to Beverly that she had been most beautifully hoodwinked by those same girls, who had actually gone into the receptionroom, partaken of the “eats” with the other guests, held charmingly lisping conversations with two or three of the faculty, Miss Woodhull included, who had afterward commented upon the “charming manners of the two young girls who had come from Luray,” they having so informed that lady.
“Sweetheart?” repeated Beverly in amazement. It was the one word which burned itself into her brain. The tone in which she echoed it ought to have enlightened Miss Woodhull. “Archie my sweetheart?”
“I dare say that is what you call him, since he so terms you in this missive,” sneered Miss Woodhull.
“Archie is like an older brother to me, Miss Woodhull. We were raised together,” said Beverly with a simple dignity which should have prohibited further taunts of the kind.
“Raised?” queried the lady. “Do you class yourself with the vegetable or the lower animal kingdom?”
“I think you must have heard that expression used before in Virginia,” was the quiet reply, though her cheeks grew a deeper red, andhad Mrs. Ashby been present, and occupying the tribunal it is safe to assume that she would have been prepared for something to happen right speedily. Indeed it was a wonder something had not happened long ago.
“It is just such barbarisms of speech that I have spent a quarter of a century in a vain endeavor to eliminate from the extraordinary vocabulary of this section of the United States, but I recognize it to be a Sisyphus task. That, however, is aside the question. The vital ones at this moment are: By whom was this letter written? When did you receive it? What is the meaning of its contents, and how you could have had the audacity to hold clandestine meetings with this young man? Also, how many times he has actually forced himself into my school disguised as a girl?”
In a slow even voice Beverly replied to each question:
“I do not know the name of the person who wrote that letter. I never received it. I can not tell you the meaning of the contents because I do not know them. I have never held any clandestine meetings with Athol or Archie, andso far as I knew until after the game today they had been in this school but once. At that time I knew they were coming and we did it partly for a lark and partly because I wanted so terribly to see Athol.” A little catch came into her voice just there. Miss Woodhull wholly misinterpreted the reason for it and murmured sarcastically:
“Athol.”
“Yes, my twin brother, Miss Woodhull. I do not expectyouto understand what we have always been to each other. As to their presence here this afternoon, I knew absolutely nothing of it until Athol pitched his muff into the air and gave our old yell of victory at the end of the game,” and Beverly nearly laughed at the recollection of her start when the old familiar sound fell upon her ears, and the memory of the way in which that muff had hurtled into the air.
“Your mirth is most ill-timed, Miss Ashby. This is by no means a facetious occasion, please understand. I do not lightly tolerate the infringement of my rules, as you will learn to your cost. If, as you state, you are ignorant ofthe contents of this letter you may now read it aloud in my presence. Perhaps that may refresh your memory and enable you to answertruthfullythe other questions.”
Miss Woodhull held the letter toward Beverly. The girl did not stir.
“Did you understand my command?”
“I did, Miss Woodhull. I have already told you the entire truth, but I must decline to read that letter because it is not mine.”
“Decline! Decline!” almost shrieked the infuriated principal. “Do you dare defy my commands?”
“I do not wish to defy your orders, Miss Woodhull, but I can not read someone else’s letter.”
Beverly’s voice was trembling partly from nervousness, partly from outraged pride.
“You shall read that letter to me whether it is yours or not though I have not the slightest doubt that it is yours, and that you are trying to shield yourself behind some purely fictitious person. You seem to possess a lively imagination.”
Beverly stood rigid. Miss Woodhull waited.
“Perhaps you will be good enough to give a name to your fictitious being?”
“I do know to whom that letter was sent, for I saw her drop it. I picked it up to return it to her, but before I could do so it disappeared from my history. I could not help reading the first line because it stood out so plainly before me when I picked the letter from the floor. I know nothing further of its contents, and I do not wish to. That line was silly enough. The girl did not know what had become of it until I went to her later and told her about finding it and also about its loss afterward. From that moment to this I have never laid eyes upon it, and I wish I never had seen it at all. You may believe me or not as you choose, but until I came into this school such things had never entered my head, and mother and Uncle Athol would be perfectly disgusted with the whole showdown. And so am I.” Beverly paused for want of breath.
“Who dropped that letter?”The words were in italics, notwithstanding the fact that some vague doubts were beginning to form in the back of the principal’s brain.
“Do you for one second think that I will tell you?” blazed Beverly.
“I am very positive that you will tell me without a moment’s delay, or you will be suspended from this school within twenty-four hours, if not expelled. Her name! At once!”
“I shall never tell you no matter what you do to me. What do you take me for? Howdareyou think me capable of such a low-down, mucker trick?” Unconsciously she had lapsed into Athol’s vernacular. It was the last touch to Miss Woodhull’s wrath. She actually flew up out of her chair and catching Beverly by her shoulders shook her soundly. Then it all happened in a flash. Miss Woodhull was a tall woman and a large woman as well. She weighed at least one-hundred-seventy pounds. But from lack of proper exercise (she loathed walking) and the enjoyment of the many luxuries which the past successful years had made possible, she was exactly like a well-modeled India rubber figure.
Beverly was tall for a girl not yet sixteen, and as the result of having grown up with two active healthy boys, and having done every earthlything which they had done, she was a living, vital bunch of energy and well-developed muscles, and fully as strong as Athol.
Never since tiny childhood when Mammy Riah had smacked her for some misdeed, or her mother had spanked her for some real transgression, had hand been laid upon her excepting in a caress. That any human being could so lose her self-control as to resort to such methods of correction she would not have believed possible.
Then in a flash all the fighting blood of the Ashbys and Seldons boiled, and with a cry of outraged feelings Beverly Ashby laid hold of Miss Woodhull’s flabby arms with a pair of slender muscular hands, backed her by main force against the chair which she had so hastily vacated, and plumped that dumbfounded lady down upon it with a force which made her teeth crack together, as she cried indignantly:
“How dare you touch me! How dare you!”
Then with a whirl she was across the room, out of the door and up the stairs to Study 10, which she entered like a cyclone and rushed across into her bedroom, slamming and locking the door.
What mental processes took place behind that locked door her astonished room-mates, who had been eagerly awaiting her return, could not even guess, and dared not venture to inquire. Not a sound came from the room.
“What do you suppose has happened?” asked Sally breathlessly.
“Something a good deal more serious than we have any idea of. Beverly Ashby is not the kind of girl to look or act like that without a mighty good cause. Did you notice her face? It frightened me,” was Aileen’s awed reply.
“What can we do?” asked Sally in deep distress.
“Not one single, solitary thing, and that’s the very worst of it. We don’t even know what has happened,” and the two girls began to prepare for bed in a bewildered sort of way.
Meanwhile down in that perfectly appointed study a very dazed woman sat rigid and silent. For the very first time in all her life she had encountered a will stronger than her own, had met in the person of an individual only a quarter of her own age a force which had literally and figuratively swept her off her feet and set atnaught a resolution which she believed to be indomitable. And worst of all, it had all come to pass because she had lost her self-control. Up to her own outbreak Miss Woodhull was forced to admit that Beverly had been absolutely courteous. It was purely her own act which had precipitated that climax. For fully half an hour she sat as one stunned, then she said, and the words almost hissed from her colorless lips:
“I shall make an example of her! She shall be expelled in disgrace!” though then and there she resolved that none should ever learn of that final scene, and—well—somehow, though she could not explain her conviction, she knew that the outside world would never learn of it through Beverly.
CHAPTER XVIIIN THE WEE SMA’ HOURS
When Beverly swept into her room her thoughts were like a seething cauldron; One instant one impression boiled to the surface, only to be submerged the very next by others surging to the top. She could not think connectedly. Everything seemed jumbled pell mell in her brains. Just one incident took definite shape: She had been shaken like a naughty child and told that she was lying. And all because every instinct of honor and justice forbade her betraying a class-mate, even though she entertained for her little less than contempt. And the effect of Miss Woodhull’s act was very much as though a man had deliberately walked up to Admiral Seldon, accused him of lying and slapped his face.
During the six months which she had spent at Leslie Manor, Beverly Ashby had been nomore nor less than just herself: neither better nor worse than the average girl. But for her six months in a boarding-school presided over by a woman who had never known any real girlhood, or girlhood’s exuberance, was an experience far different than for the average girl. Miss Woodhull had grown more and more iconoclastic, and more of a law unto herself with each advancing year. She had become as adamant to all natural impulses, and apparently dead to all affection. Bitterly intolerant of suggestion, advice, or even the natural laws of ethics. With each year she had grown more difficult to live with, and less and less fitted to govern growing girls. But in the beginning the school had established a reputation for the thoroughness of its curriculum and its instruction, as well as for its discipline, and there is little doubt that some of the girls which had come to it during the past thirty years were in need of some discipline.
But Beverly Ashby was not of the type who required discipline of the order Miss Woodhull believed in. Beverly had lived for more than fifteen years under the discipline of love andgood judgement, and had developed fairly well in that atmosphere. Her mother had never reproved or punished her in anger. The Admiral, while adoring her, was “boss of the ship,” and both she and Athol had always recognized that fact. His word was law. Moreover, she had always been treated as a reasoning human beinginvariablytrusted; a nice code of honor having been established from the moment the twins could understand the meaning of that fine old word. And that is much earlier in children’s lives than a good many grownups believe.
No wonder an outraged little mortal now sat at her window, her heart beating tattoo, her temples throbbing, her cheeks blazing, her eyes flashing, but her hands clenched and icy cold. There she sat until all sounds in the big house were hushed. She was as rigid as though carved from marble, even though her breath came and went pantingly.
The hand upon the clock in the stable tower crept from hour to hour, the bell telling off the half-hours. She neither saw nor heard. Then came the twelve long deliberate strokes announcing the witching hour. At the first strokeBeverly started into life. By the time the last had sounded the pretty pink dinner gown she had been wearing lay in a tumbled heap upon the bed where she had tossed it.
By this time the moon which had been pouring its flood of light into her room was dropping behind the tall trees and the room was growing dark. The steam heat had long since died down and the room was cold. She was entirely unconscious of physical conditions. Silently as a shadow she worked, and with the swiftness of a cloud scudding before a gale of wind. In ten minutes the room was in perfect order and she was garbed in her stout riding-boots, heavy riding skirt, a warm flannel shirt waist and heavy sweater. Her wool skating cap was pulled tight down about her ears, and she carried her riding crop in her gloved hands.
Gently raising her window she slipped out upon the piazza roof, crawled upon her hands and knees to the edge, tossed her riding crop to the ground and then, boy-fashion slid down the piazza pillar as easily as Athol could have done it. Picking up the riding crop she sped across the lawn to the stable, well hidden by the foliage.
Andrew Jackson Jefferson and his two assistants slept in a little cottage behind the stable. The stable door was locked but a small window at the side had been left open for ventilation. Monkey-wise she scrambled up and through it. A low nickering from the horses greeted her; they knew her at once. Apache was contentedly munching his hay. Horses sleep or eat capriciously. To slip on his bridle, adjust and cinch his saddle took but a few minutes. Then she led him from his stall, silently unbarred the big doors, led him outside, again closed the doors carefully, and mounted him. The night was clear and cold. The moon, though now well toward the western mountains, still made it bright. Not a sound had Beverly uttered for over two hours, but now, leaning forward she clasped both arms around the little broncho’s neck, rested her face against his mane, and whispered:
“Apache, no Seldon or Ashby can ever be told that they are lying. Do you understand? We are going back to people who don’t say such things. It’s a long distance, and I don’t know the way very well I may get lost, but I don’tbelieve thatyouwill. Take me safely home, Apache.Please, pleasetake me home to dear old Woodbine and mother and Uncle Athol and Mammy Riah and Athol and—and everybody I love.”
A little sob ended the entreaty, and as though he understood every word she had spoken Apache gave a neigh loud enough to waken the Seven Sleepers.
Beverly clapped her hand across his nostrils as she cried:
“Oh, you mustn’t! You will wake everybody up! Go!” and with a bound Apache went, but as though he now fully understood he swept like a shadow across the lawn, out through a side gate and down the pike. Jefferson on his cot in the cottage roused enough to mutter:
“Dat hawse a-hollerin’. I bettah get up an’ see——” and then resumed his snore just where Apache’s farewell had interrupted it. And out in the great lonely, silent night the little horse sped away like the wind. For a mile Beverly let Apache gang his ain gait, then she drew him down to the steady lope which he could keep up for hours without tiring.
The lines: “But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down,” might have been written of the first five miles of the road Beverly was following, and which led to Front Royal. Those miles were covered in less than half an hour. But over thirty still lay ahead and some of them would have been pretty rough riding even in summer time and with the roads in good condition.
The moon was now dropping behind the distant range of the great North Mountains, the air was chill and penetrating, and the dense darkness which precedes the dawn enveloped all the world. Front Royal, save for a few scattered, flickering lights, lay in absolute darkness. Beverly drew a quick breath and shut her teeth hard. From Front Royal to Luray her way must be on dead reckoning and Apache’s incomprehensible instinct, and those miles seemed to Beverly to be double the length of ordinary miles. Still, she knew, that she could not go far astray if she kept between the railroad and the river, so plucking up her courage she fled through the sleeping town like a wraith. Once beyond it the roads branched and her firstdoubt had to be settled. Dismounting, she went close to the stone mile post and tried to read the sign. She managed to make out the name, but it might as well have been Greek. She knew nothing of the town indicated three miles beyond.
“Apache,” she said desperately, “do you know that it’s up toyou?” Then she looked to her saddle cinch and her stirrup straps, took the little beast’s head in her arms and hugged him, and kissed his velvety muzzle. “Yes, it’s up to you. You’ve got to pull out for Woodbine and Uncle Abel somehow.”
Perhaps Uncle Abel’s name was the pass word. At any rate, Apache nuzzled Beverly, neighed, pawed the ground impatiently, and indicated in every possible way that he would do all any horse could.
“All right then. Now make good!” and with a light spring she was again in the saddle.
There is no time to dwell in detail upon that dark, cold, terrible ride between Front Royal and Luray. Beverly had never been so cold in all her life. She let Apache choose his own way, and take his own gait, which was now slowand doubtful, and then like an arrow, as his confidence grew. Luray was reached in time and skirted, then all was plain sailing to Sprucy Branch fourteen miles beyond. Apache had often been to Luray and knew every inch of that road, but Beverly was by that time nearly numb from the cold. Then:
“As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with the utmost speed.
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay
WithWoodbineonly eight miles away.”
Three-thirty A. M. had just been struck by the ship’s clock near the head of Admiral Seldon’s bed, the “seven bells” rousing him slightly. He had never ceased counting time by “watches,” and as sure as “morning watch” drew near he would waken. The habits of early years are not readily forsaken.
The faintest suggestion of dawn was visible over the Blue Ridge when, instead of turning over again and settling down for his last, snug morning nap, the old gentleman started wide awake and keenly alert.
“Had he heard a horse neigh?” Impossible! The stables were too far from his bedchamberfor any such sound to reach him. “Reckon I must have been dreaming of Beverly and her little skallawag,” he said softly, and was about to settle down once more when a neigh, loud, clear and insistent, pierced the crisp morning air.
“What the ——?” he cried, springing out of bed with surprising agility for his years, and switching on the electric lights. Hurrying to the window which commanded the sweep of the driveway he peered out. In the faint light the indistinct outline of a horse was visible.
“Now which of those young devils of colts has escaped?” was his query, as he hastily donned his clothes, and started down stairs.
But that neigh had been heard by others also, and as the Admiral reached the end of the hall Mrs. Ashby came from her bedroom arrayed in bath robe and bed slippers.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The Lord only knows. One of those confounded colts broken loose I dare say, and if it is I’ll crack Uncle Abel’s head for him,” and away he hurried.
But Uncle Abel, who possessed six instead of fivesenses, the sixth being “horse sense” had heard that neigh, too, and the ceremony of his robing requiring less time than the Admiral’s, he was already speeding toward that sound as fast as his old legs would carry him. As he turned the corner of the house he was welcomed by a most jubilant neigh, and the next second had reached the steaming Apache, and exclaiming:
“Ma Lawd-Gawd-A’mighty, what done happen! Is dat yo’, Miss Bev’ly? Baby! Honey! Is yo’ daid?” for a rigid, unconscious little figure was leaning forward with her arms clasped tightly around the panting horse’s neck.
Quicker than it takes to tell it Abel had unclasped the clinging arms and was tenderly lifting her from the horse’s back. At that moment the Admiral burst through the big front door and came striding across the lawn, storming at each step:
“You Abel! You old fool! How did that horse break loose? How——My God! Who is that?” for he was now near enough to see the three figures and to hear Abel’s sobs which punctuated his words as he held the helpless little figure in his arms.
“What is it? What has happened?”
“Gawd only knows, Mars Athol. But he’p me wid dis chile quick please sur. She lak ter die ef we don’ do some’n.”
No need of that request. Relieved of his precious burden, Apache sped away for the stable, his duty faithfully performed. There many willing hands cared for him while his little mistress, the excitement, fatigue and cold having completed Miss Woodhull’s cruel work, was tenderly carried into the house by old Abel and her uncle, the latter muttering:
“It’s some of that damned woman’s work! I know it is, and I’ll bring the whole school down about her ears unless I find out the truth of it all. My little girl! My little girl! Over thirty-five miles in the dead of night, alone and nearly frozen. Mary! Mary! Mammy! Everybody come quick and phone for Doctor Marshall!”
But Beverly was not dying, and within an hour, under her mother’s and good old Mammy Riah’s ministrations, was warm and snug in her bed, though weak and exhausted. When the doctor came he ordered absolute quiet and undisturbed rest. “She will soon drop off to sleep,and let her sleep for hours if she can. She is utterly worn out and as much from nerve strain as physical fatigue if I know anything of symptoms. What happened, Seldon?”
“The good Lord who brought her through it only knows, for I don’t, though I mean to learn as soon as that child is in a condition to tell me. And then by the great guns something’s going to let loose. I’ve talked with that stone image of a woman at Leslie Manor and I know what it can say. It isn’t a woman; It’s a blight upon the sex: A freak: It’sstone, and when lightning strikes stone something bursts to smithereens. And by all that’s powerful the lightning’s going to strikethistime. Thirty-five miles all alone in the dead of the night. Marshall I’m all bowled over. Good Lord! Good Lord!” The Admiral paced the library like a caged lion.
“A woman without children is only half a woman,” sputtered fat little Doctor Marshall. “I’ll be in again toward evening. Don’t worry about her, for she’ll come out all right. She has a constitution like India rubber.”
“Well may the Lord help that old maid if she doesn’t!” was the Admiral’s significant answer.
CHAPTER XVIIIWHEN THE LIGHTNING STRUCK
“Hurry up Bev! You’ll be late for breakfast. You’ve done some sleeping since ten o’clock last night,” called Sally, pounding upon the door of bedroom A, but getting no response.
Aileen had already knocked and called without eliciting a reply, and both the girls were worried but tried not to show it. When ten more minutes passed in silence Aileen looked troubled and asked:
“Do you think she is ill? Ought we to call Miss Stetson?”
“Miss Stetson!” snapped Sally. “If she is ill she would rather see the old Nick himself than Miss Stetson. I’ll run and get Mrs. Bonnell.”
In spite of her anxiety Aileen laughed. True enough, Miss Stetson was not exactly the person to call in when one was ill. “That’s true, Mrs.Bonnell will be the one to call. But I wish Bevwouldanswer. It scares me almost to death. And I’d like right well to know what happened last night. Beverly Ashby is not the sort of girl to go up in the air over nothing, believe me, but she was pretty high up last night. Do go for Bonny, Sally. I’m too nervous to wait another minute.”
“All right,” and away sped Sally down the corridor. As she reached the foot of the stairs she almost ran into Wesley.
“Has yo’ heard what done happen las’ night, Miss Sally?” he asked excitedly.
“No. What was it?” asked Sally eagerly.
“Miss Bev’ly’s hawse done been stole f’om de stable; saddle, bridle an’ all.”
“Never!” cried Sally.
“Yas ma’am, dey done been! Jeff’son yonder in de study a-tellin’ Miss Woodhull ’bout it right dis minute,” and Wesley hurried away to the dining room.
“Apache stolen! Oh——” Sally gasped. She recalled the words which Beverly had spoken the very first hour of their acquaintance: “It would take very little to make me light out for Woodbine.”
Six months had passed since those words had been spoken, and during those months Beverly had known some lonely hours as well as happy ones; she had been made miserable more than once by Miss Bayliss, Miss Stetson and Miss Woodhull, who seemed to have conceived a most unmerited dislike for the girl. Sally knew nothing of Miss Woodhull’s dislike for Admiral Seldon because he had presumed to question her policy, nor could a girl of Sally’s sweet nature possibly understand the smallness of one which would take out upon a defenceless young girl the resentment which she harbored toward her older relative. Nevertheless, that was precisely the situation, and Miss Stetson and Miss Bayliss were Miss Woodhull’s mirrors.
Sally soon found Mrs. Bonnell and together they hurried up stairs. But Mrs. Bonnell was no more successful in getting a response to her calls than the girls had been.
“Sally, can you climb?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Bonnell,” answered Sally wholly bewildered.
“Then crawl through your window and along the roof to Beverly’s. I’m not going to stir upa fuss unless I am compelled to. Look in and tell me what you see. Be careful, dear,” she ended as Sally scuttled over the window sill. They leaned out to watch her. She gave a little cry when she discovered that the room was empty.
“What is it?” they asked in a breath.
“She—she isn’t there at all,” gasped Sally.
“Not there! Raise the window and go in and unfasten the door, Sally. Be quick for the breakfast bell will ring in a few minutes.”
Sally did as bidden. The room was as undisturbed as it had been twelve hours before.
Aileen ran to the closet. “Her riding things are gone!” she cried.
“And Wesley just told me that Apache had been stolen in the night,” wailed Sally.
“There is more to this than we thought,” said Mrs. Bonnell considerably perturbed. “Now Imustreport to Miss Woodhull.”
She turned and hurried from the room but had not gone ten steps down the corridor when she met that lady with wrath and fire in her eye.
“What is this fresh annoyance concerning Beverly Ashby? Jefferson has just told methat her horse was stolen in the night. A likely story! It is some new deception upon her part. Such duplicity it has never been my misfortune to encounter. I wish to speak to her at once,” stormed the principal, striding into the study.
Now to be responsible for a young girl not yet sixteen years of age, and one whose family is widely known throughout the entire state, and to discover that said young lady has been missing from beneath one’s roof all night, is, to say the least, disconcerting. For the first time in her domineering life the Empress was thoroughly alarmed. Alarmed for Beverly’s safety, the reputation of the school, and, last, but by no means least, for what such a denouement might bring to pass in the future financial outlook for her business. The school had paid well, but how long would its patronage continue if the facts of this case became widely known?
Miss Woodhull was an alien in the land of her adoption. She had never tried to be anything else. She had established herself at Leslie Manor because she wished to acquire health and wealth, and she had achieved her objects to a wonderful degree. But she had made no friends.She did not wish to make friends among the Southerners. She despised them and all their customs, and though in the beginning they had made many gracious overtures of friendship she had repulsed them at every turn. Consequently they soon began to regard her with indifference if not with contempt. There was absolutely nothing in common between them. She was merely a business proposition in their midst. Their children could acquire beneath her roof the education they desired for them, and there it ended. If, as rumor stated, she really came of gentle Northern blood it must have received a very peculiar infusion in her immediate forebears. They missed something of the noblesse oblige which was to them as a matter of course. So with each passing year the gulf had imperceptibly widened until Miss Woodhull was as much alone in hospitable Virginia as though she lived in Borneo.
Upon realizing that Beverly was really missing her first impulse was to phone to Kilton Hall, for, of course, she had risen early and rushed off to see Athol. Miss Woodhull’s blood boiled at the thought! Kilton Hall of all places the oneshe detested most. It had been a thorn in her flesh from the moment she knew of its existence for its policy was diametrically opposed to her own. Still, inquiries must be made without further delay, but she would be discreet. So she called the school up by phone:
“Had they seen anything of a stray horse? One of her pupil’s horses had escaped during the night and she was phoning in every direction in her endeavors to find it. It was Miss Ashby’s horse and he might have made his way as far as the hall.”
“No, there was no stray animal there, but Dr. Kilton would have a thorough search made in their neighborhood.”
But Dr. Kilton was a far cry from being a fool. Why should Miss Woodhull think a runaway horse had run all that distance? And if hehadDr. Kilton was fully convinced that he had not run riderless. He had not forgotten that October runaway. Moreover, he had detected a repressed excitement in the voice over that phone. He very quietly conferred with Mrs. Kilton and that lady was quite as quick-witted as her spouse. They decided to maintain a discreetsilence, but to make some quiet inquiries. A few hours later Smedes, the Doctor’s body servant, was sent upon an errand to the little village nearest Leslie Manor, and Smedes knew every servant at that school. When he returned Dr. and Mrs. Kilton became considerably wiser regarding the true facts of the case, but decided to say nothing to Beverly’s brother for the present. But they kept in constant communication with Leslie Manor, via Smedes and Jefferson.
Far and wide did Leslie Manor send messages and messengers. No horse was to be found. In the school chaos reigned, and the usual Sunday decorum and peace went by the board completely. Some of the girls were rebellious, some hysterical, some scolded and some wept silently, and to a unit they all blamed Miss Woodhull for the situation. Mrs. Bonnell and several of the teachers were wholly indignant that she had not instantly communicated with Beverly’s family, as was obviously her duty. Mrs. Bonnell openly urged it. Miss Woodhull pooh-poohed the idea. “Beverly would come back when she recovered from her fit of sulks, andwould be properly punished for her conduct by expulsion. She had already transgressed to a degree to warrant it, and had been warned the evening before to that effect. (“Ah,” breathed Mrs. Bonnell at this admission). Communicate with Beverly’s people? Absurd! Why magnify such a trivial matter? Girls had made believe to run away from the school before, and would doubtless do so again. They invariably ran back again and Beverly would do likewise when she got ready. She was probably with some friend in the neighborhood. She was in the habit of forming friendships with all sorts and conditions of people. That her horse was also gone might be a mere coincidence, or else she was trying to frighten them all, and would come riding back by sundown. She was capable of almost any insubordination, and rising at dawn and riding off somewhere was merely a fresh demonstration of it.”
That Miss Woodhull was merely “whistling to keep her courage up” all well knew.
But sunset failed to bring the runaway, and Kilton Hall knew of this fact right speedily. Then Athol was called to the Doctor’s study andthe facts told him. The boy was thunderstruck, and blurted out:
“It’s that old harridan!” then blushed crimson. Dr. and Mrs. Kilton did not reprove the outbreak, but pardoned it upon the ground of excitement.
“You would better call up your uncle at once, Athol. I do not wish to interfere, or criticise, but I know what I should wish if it were my daughter,” said Mrs. Kilton.
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Kilton, I’ll do it right off,” and he hurried into the little room at the end of the hall where the phone stood, Mrs. Kilton following, while the Doctor wondered what the next move must be. A moment later he joined them. Athol soon had Woodbine on the wire and then ensued a funny, one-sided conversation.
“Oh, Uncle Athol, is that you?”
“Say, have you,—that is,—has Bev sent any message to you today? What! She’s there, in bed? Great Scott! When did she come?”