TheEaster holidays were for three weeks, and to Aldred each day seemed more enjoyable than the one before. She was thoroughly at home at Grassingford, and felt as if she could have wished to remain there for ever. She had become a great favourite with both Mr. Farrington and Lady Muriel: her bright ways entertained them, and they were glad also for Mabel to have a companion of her own age.
"You seem more like a sister to me than Nora or Adelaide," said Mabel one day. "They were both married when I was quite tiny, so I haven't seen a very great deal of them—not having them living in the house, I mean. And Sibyl and Ida at the Rectory are older than I am, too. Francis is the nearest to me—he's seven months younger—but then he's a boy, and that isn't in the least the same as having a girl friend, is it? I couldn't talk secrets to him! Mother says she will invite you as often as your father will spare you, so we can look forward to plenty more delightful times together. We shall call the little blue bedroom your room now, and it will always be ready and waiting for you to come back to it."
This was a very desirable state of affairs to Aldred. She was quite content to be half-adopted by theFarringtons, and to know she was such an acceptable and welcome addition to their household. She had never felt herself of any great importance at her own home, but here she was constantly considered, her opinion being asked and her wishes consulted; and she was well aware that with Mabel, at any rate, her will was almost law. She knew how greatly the rest of the girls at school had envied her this visit, and how it would raise her yet higher in their estimation when she returned to Birkwood. She would certainly have a good excuse in future for taking the lead in her Form, and letting the others plainly realize that they had not had her advantages.
It is at moments like this, when we are complacent with fortune, and think our happiness will never be moved, that Fate sometimes steps in, and with stern hand topples over all our schemes of self-advancement, and threatens us with utter desolation.
In the very last week of Aldred's visit, when she was at the height of enjoyment and gratification, and was beginning to consider herself almost a permanent fixture at the Hall, something happened—something that she might have anticipated, indeed, yet a contingency that had never occurred to her, and therefore as unexpected as unwelcome.
One morning, after the arrival of the post-bag, Mabel came running up to her friend with a look of bright animation on her face.
"From Cousin Marion!" she exclaimed, waving a letter enthusiastically in her hand. "She writes that she's staying at Evington, and wants us to go over and see her. I'm so glad, for I always wanted to introduce you to her."
It was a very innocent remark of Mabel's, but itcame upon Aldred like a bolt from the blue. Cousin Marion—the very person of all others in the world whom she most dreaded to meet! The shock was so great that she was obliged to clutch with trembling fingers at the back of a chair, to support herself. On no account must she allow her emotion to be noticed, so she waited for a few seconds until her voice was steady enough to reply.
"Your Cousin Marion! Why, I thought she was in Germany!"
"So she was, and had intended to stay for a year; but the baths did her so much good that the doctor said she was practically cured, and might return to England for the summer, at any rate. I'll read you a piece out of her letter. She says: 'It is ages since I saw you, so ask your mother to bring you on Thursday, and include your heroic little friend in the invitation. I well remember seeing her on the pier at Seaforth, but had not the pleasure of making her acquaintance'—Why, what's the matter, Aldred? Are you ill?"
"I'm afraid I must be bilious this morning, I feel so shaky, and headachy, and queer!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Mabel was at once all sympathy and concern. "You must come and lie down on the sofa, and I'll fetch you my bottle of eau-de-Cologne. There! Now you'll feel more comfortable. Would you like some soda water, or lemon juice? I believe it's a very good thing. I never remember your having a bilious attack before."
"I don't often," said Aldred, who, indeed, was seldom troubled with illness of any kind.
"I'll ask Mother if she can give you some medicine. You must get well by to-morrow! We couldn'tpossibly go to Evington without you. Think how disappointed Cousin Marion would be—and so should I, for I'm looking forward so much to taking you!"
In spite of herself, Aldred could not stifle a groan of despair.
"Do you really feel so poorly? Are you in pain? Perhaps we ought to send for the doctor. I'll go and fetch Mother immediately; she's a splendid nurse."
"No, no! Please don't!" cried Aldred. "I dare say I shall be better soon. I don't want to make a fuss, and upset everybody."
"You never do that, you're too unselfish and considerate. I know how ill you must feel, to mention it at all. I hope it's nothing serious!" and Mabel rushed off in quite a fever of excitement and alarm, to fetch her mother.
Lady Muriel was kindness itself.
"I expect you are a little overdone, dear child," she said. "We have been working you rather hard at sight-seeing, and perhaps letting you stay up too late. After the regular hours at school, the holidays are sometimes apt to upset young people. If your head aches, wouldn't you like to go to your bedroom, and rest quite quietly?"
"Yes, please," said Aldred.
She was devoutly thankful for the suggestion. Her one longing was to be alone, so that she might realize the blow that threatened her, and plan some means of averting it. Mabel's well-meant sympathy was almost agony in the circumstances; all she wanted was time to collect her thoughts. It was with a sense of intense relief, therefore, that she allowed herself to be put to lie down in her room.Lady Muriel drew the dark curtains across the window, rang for a siphon of soda water, and, having done everything in her power for the comfort of her young guest, took her departure, bearing with her the reluctant Mabel.
"Couldn't I just stay in the room, in case Aldred wants anything?" the latter pleaded. "I wouldn't speak a word."
"No, no! Aldred must be left quiet. If she can go to sleep, she may possibly feel better in the afternoon."
For once Aldred was quite glad to be rid of her friend. She hoped no one would disturb her for a long while, for she wished thoroughly to review the situation. This was indeed a catastrophe! A visit to Cousin Marion!—Cousin Marion, who would be sure to remember the appearance of the girl she had seen on the pier at Seaforth, and would realize in a moment that the two were not the same. She would no doubt express surprise at the difference, then questions would be asked, and the whole of the wretched affair would have to come out. It meant a complete exposure, and what the sequel would be Aldred dreaded even to imagine.
"They would call me a hypocrite and a deceiver, and so I am!" she thought bitterly. "I couldn't stay any longer in the house. I should be obliged to go home immediately; and what excuse could I give to Aunt Bertha for cutting short my visit? She would insist upon worrying the truth from me, and I should get into equal trouble at home. Keith would hear, and he would never forgive me. I don't believe I could even return to Birkwood, if all the girls at school were to know about it too."
She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, and that at any moment the frail ground might give way under her feet, and plunge her into the depths of the abyss. "Cousin Marion" seemed her evil genius; from the very first Aldred had been haunted by the fear of this meeting. It was wrong to wish people ill, but she regretted with all her heart that the German spa had effected so speedy a cure, and that the doctor had given permission for the invalid to return to England.
"I've been practising a fraud for the last eight months," she groaned, burying her face in the pillow. "I'll allow that much to myself, though I'll try to hide it from everyone else."
The agony she was enduring made her really feverish, for distress of mind is often far harder to bear than pain of body. She had gained all she wanted—popularity at school, a complete hold upon Mabel's affection, and a permanent invitation to a house where it was an honour to be received as a guest. And now, must all this be lost? The friendship had grown so necessary to her that she felt she could not live without it, and the prospect of estrangement and cold looks was appalling. At any cost she must manage to avoid this fatal expedition to Evington. She would sham illness, and ask to remain in her bedroom, so that they could not possibly include her in the party. To be sure, she would miss everything that was going on; but that was nothing, in comparison with the horror of an introduction to "Cousin Marion".
"If she comes over here, and asks to see me, I must have something infectious!" thought Aldred. "I wonder if I could rub anything on me tobring out a rash? Nettles might do it, only I can't go out to pick them. Was any wretched girl ever in such a desperate strait?"
She had had so little experience of ill health that it was rather difficult for her to feign symptoms. She had mentioned biliousness to Mabel on the spur of the moment, as it was the first idea that came into her head; but she had rarely suffered from an attack. She remembered, however, that it included a bad headache, and a disinclination to consume anything except soda water and biscuits.
"I shan't dare to touch proper meals, no matter how hungry I am," she reflected. "I expect I shall be nearly starving before to-morrow is over. I wish now I had said I had a sore throat, and then perhaps they would have been afraid of influenza, and have isolated me at once. Oh, dear! Mabel's tennis party is to be this afternoon, and I shall have to stop here and lose all the fun. Francis Farrington asked me to be his partner, and he plays so well that I'm sure we should have beaten all the others!"
She was shedding hot, bitter tears, not so much of regret for the long months of deception as of chagrin for the pleasure she must needs forgo. She was sorry, indeed, for the course she had taken, but it was not real repentance, only a wish to escape disagreeable consequences. Aldred had much to learn yet before she could set the desire for right above the love of approbation, or practise truth for its own sake.
When Lady Muriel and Mabel came to see her, about one o'clock, they found her with red eyes, a flushed face, and a genuine headache.
"You must lie still," said Lady Muriel, after feeling her hot hands. "You seem quite feverish, andmustn't on any account try to get up and race about at tennis; it would be the worst thing possible for you. I'm so grieved about it, dear!"
"It's most disappointing!" echoed Mabel. "I should like to stay and spend the afternoon with you, only it would be so rude to the other visitors. Perhaps I can keep running in between the sets."
"No, don't!" protested Aldred. "You're indispensable, and will be needed out-of-doors all the time. You mustn't bother about me."
At present she much preferred her friend's absence. She was afraid she might not be able to play her part adequately, and that the loving, watchful eyes might discover how little she really ailed. Mabel also would be sure to talk of nothing but her Cousin Marion, in the circumstances the most unpalatable topic possible.
There was no lunch for Aldred that day; she ate three biscuits, the utmost limit she felt she dared allow herself, and drank some soda water. She longed for roast beef and potatoes, but knew that an invalid who could demand such solid fare would scarcely receive credence.
"I suppose I can hold out until to-morrow evening," she thought, "but after that I shall be obliged to confess to an appetite."
She spent an extremely dull afternoon, listening wistfully to the sound of voices wafted from the tennis lawn. There were no books in her room, and she had not liked to ask for one, lest the request should be taken as a sign of her recovery. She was virtually a prisoner, and though her solitary confinement was self-constituted, it was no less wearisome on that account. She was able to indulge in a cup of weaktea and a slice of thin, dry toast at four o'clock, but her supper was as unsatisfying as her lunch, and she felt nearly famished when her solicitous hostess, after performing every possible kind service, finally left her arranged for the night.
Oh, how she yearned to get up next morning, and present herself at the breakfast table! It seemed intolerable to be obliged to spend another day in bed on starvation diet, but she was forced to restrain herself, and to look subdued and suffering when her attentive friends paid their early visit.
"I hoped you would feel better to-day," said Lady Muriel, with real concern in her voice. "I shall telephone for Dr. Rawlins, and ask him to call and see you first thing, before he begins his rounds. I feel responsible to your father for you, and it is well to be wise in time."
In spite of Aldred's protestations, Lady Muriel insisted upon sending for the doctor, who came promptly in response to her message. He examined his patient carefully, took her temperature, felt her pulse, and made her put out her tongue. He looked at her so attentively, and with such keen eyes, that Aldred could not help turning rather red. Did he know, she wondered, that she was only shamming, and was he going to denounce her as a humbug? His expression, however, was inscrutable, and after asking her several questions, to which she gave reluctant replies, he turned to Lady Muriel.
"I think you have no cause for uneasiness," he said. "It is merely a slight, temporary indisposition, which will soon pass. I will make up a bottle of medicine that ought to do her good."
"Mr. Farrington feared it might be motor sickness,"observed Lady Muriel. "We have taken her about so much in the car, and the motion certainly affects some people."
Aldred caught at the suggestion as a drowning man clutches at a straw.
"Yes, it must be that. I'm sure it would make me sick to go in the motor again," she volunteered eagerly, raising herself on her elbow in her excitement, but sinking back languidly on to the pillow as she caught the doctor's contemplative eye.
"We wished very much to take her to Evington to-day, but I'm afraid she's not fit for it, poor dear child!" continued Lady Muriel.
"Let her stop at home, then," replied Dr. Rawlins, whose tone was hardly so sympathetic. "There is not the slightest need, however, for anyone else to stay on her account. She is much better left alone, and I forbid Mabel to come into her room until this evening."
"I should scarcely like to leave her," objected Lady Muriel anxiously. "It is such a responsibility to have the charge of someone else's daughter!"
"Install one of the housemaids as nurse, to see that she takes her medicine. No, Lady Muriel! As your physician, I insist that you go out for some fresh air. I have your health to consider as well as that of your young guest. She'll be in no danger while you are away."
The medicine arrived shortly after the doctor's departure—much too soon, in Aldred's opinion. It was a huge bottle, and was labelled: "Two tablespoonfuls to be taken every two hours". Anything more absolutely disgusting Aldred had never tasted; it seemed a combined mixture of everydisagreeable drug in the pharmacopœia. Burke, an elderly servant, had been placed on duty in the sick-room, and informed her patient that she had received express orders from Dr. Rawlins himself not to omit a single dose.
"He told me most particularly, miss, that you were to have it," she announced, in reply to Aldred's violent objections. "He said it was most important, and if I couldn't get you to take it I was to telephone for him, and he'd come himself and make you!"
Aldred swallowed her nauseous draught at a gulp. She was not anxious to receive another professional visit. She had gathered from the doctor's manner that he diagnosed the nature of the case, though he did not care to offend Lady Muriel by expounding his opinion. It was ill-natured of him, the girl thought, to give her so severe a punishment; he could not understand her motives, and he might have treated her with more consideration. The one redeeming point of the medicine was that it utterly spoilt her appetite, and took away all desire for food; and she was enabled to show a genuine lack of interest in the beef-tea and jelly that were sent up for her.
Another long, long day dragged itself out. Aldred was in the very lowest of low spirits. She had ventured to beg for a book, but Burke promptly replied that the doctor had forbidden either reading or conversation, and had recommended her to keep perfectly quiet. So there was nothing for it but to lie with half-closed eyes, listening to the everlasting click of Burke's knitting needles, an irritating sound in itself, and made worse by its monotony. Aldred counted the spots on the muslin blindsand the roses on the chintz bed curtains, and tried to imagine faces in the pattern of the wall paper; she recited in her mind every piece of poetry that she knew, and as much as she could remember of the play the girls had acted at Christmas. She was even reduced to repeating French verbs, to relieve her utter boredom; and hardly knew whether to be glad or apprehensive when Mabel paid her a visit at seven o'clock.
"We've had a glorious afternoon," said the latter. "The road was free, so we spun along, and got to Evington in an hour and a half. Cousin Marion was so delighted to see us! She'd have been very disappointed if we hadn't gone."
"I'm so glad you did!" put in Aldred.
"But she was fearfully disappointed not to see you, darling, and so sorry when we told her you were ill. We talked about you for quite a long time. Didn't your ears burn this afternoon?"
"I didn't notice."
"Well, I'm sure they ought to have done so. I won't tell you all we said, because you don't like to be praised, but you'd have been very flattered if you'd heard. Cousin Marion remembers you quite distinctly."
"I shouldn't know her."
"I dare say not; you wouldn't notice her particularly at Seaforth. By the by—isn't it absurd?—Cousin Marion actually thought you had sisters!"
"Why should she suppose so?" Aldred's voice was uneasy.
"She said they were with you, and so like you—one a little older, and the other younger."
"How ridiculous!"
"Yes, I told her you are the only girl. Perhaps you had some friends with you at the concert?"
"I expect I had. I really can't remember now."
"And another funny thing: she said she was sure your name was Mary."
"So it is, Aldred Mary, after my mother," replied Aldred, thankful to be able to say what was really the case, though she knew her truth was only further aiding her deception.
"That explains it, of course. I suppose the newspaper forgot the 'Aldred', and simply put 'Miss Mary Laurence'. Newspaper reporters often make mistakes."
"So do other people," thought Aldred, though she did not say it aloud.
"We were so anxious for Cousin Marion to come over to Grassingford," continued Mabel. "Mother wanted to bring her home with us this afternoon, to stay for a few days, but she wouldn't be persuaded. She says her doctor has forbidden her to motor."
"Then won't she be coming at all?" Aldred tried to speak unconcernedly, but she could not quite banish the anxiety from her tone.
"Ah, I knew you wanted to see her! No, dear, I'm sorry to say it's impossible. She's still too great an invalid to take more than a gentle little drive in a landau. She might have come by train, but she decided that it would be too much for her. I'm afraid you won't meet her now, as we go back to school on Wednesday."
So the danger was over! The relief was so intense that Aldred had to bury her face in the pillow to hide her feelings. Her ruse had been successful, and for the present, at any rate, she might consider herself safe.
"I've tired you out!" exclaimed Mabel self-reproachfully. "I might have remembered your poor head. How stupid and thoughtless I am! Good night, darling! I've missed you terribly all to-day. It will be absolute bliss when you're yourself again."
When Dr. Rawlins arrived next morning, he found that his bottle of medicine had been like the quack nostrums advertised in the newspapers, and had worked a lightning cure.
"I knew it would have a beneficial effect," he remarked, with a twinkle in his eye that only Aldred understood.
"Then you think she may really come downstairs, Doctor?" asked Lady Muriel, who was still a little worried.
"Most decidedly! There's nothing to prevent it. The sooner she's out in the fresh air the better. A game of tennis would be the best tonic I can prescribe. Her medicine? Oh, well, she's so wonderfully improved that I'll excuse her from finishing the bottle! She might keep it, in case she's ever troubled with the same symptoms again."
"Isn't he nice?" said Mabel enthusiastically afterwards. "I always like Dr. Rawlins so much. I think he's the kindest man I know. I often say it's almost worth while being ill, to have him come to see one. And he's simply enormously clever!"
"He certainly seems to cure his patients quickly," replied Aldred, with doubtful gratitude.
Aldredhad found the family at the Rectory a decided addition to the attractions of Grassingford. The girls, although they were "out" and "finished", were very companionable, and made much of both Mabel and her friend; as for the boys, when first their stiffness and shyness had worn off, they proved exceedingly jolly. Mabel was on excellent terms with her cousins, who were frequent visitors at the Hall, and might always be counted upon to take part in any fresh plans or projects.
On the Monday following Aldred's sudden illness and recovery, she and Mabel were invited to spend the afternoon at the Rectory. It was their last opportunity, as they were to start for the Grange first thing on Wednesday morning, and Tuesday must be reserved for packing and saying good-byes.
"We're all off this week," said Francis Farrington, as the visitors were welcomed and borne away into the garden. "We are due back on Thursday, worse luck! I could have done with another fortnight. I hate school!"
"You lazy boy!" said Mabel.
"All right! I'm lazy if you like. I wonder, though, how you'd care to change places with me, and be in old Barlow's Form. He's the most fearful Turk, andgets as savage as a bear if one doesn't construe properly—very different from your Miss Drummonds and Miss Bardsleys."
Mabel laughed.
"Shall I go to Stavebury with Piers and Godfrey, and you can take Aldred back to Birkwood?"
"Done! It would be jolly good fun—for me, at any rate. I should be living in clover."
"Except for the work—you mustn't forget that."
"Work! I don't call your lessons work! They seem mostly cookery and wood-carving, varied by hockey and tennis."
"Don't be nasty! We have to use our brains during school hours and prep., though we do have jolly times in between. You needn't laugh at cookery, for you were ready enough to eat the queen's cakes that Aldred and I made last week."
"I'm not laughing. They were delicious; I only wish you'd make some more! All the same, don't you suppose that the amount of grind you go through is anything like equal to ours; if you had old Barlow to set your exercises, you'd soon find out."
"Well, you don't want girls to swat as hard as boys," said Piers, who was rather fond of airing his opinions on various topics. "Spoils their complexions! They're put in the world to do the ornamental."
"Are we, indeed, sir? Thank you!" replied Mabel, with a mock curtsy. "I wonder what you know about complexions, by the by? As for exerting ourselves, we can do quite as much as you, in our own way."
"Granted, so long as you keep to your own way, and don't poach on ours!"
"Here, you two, stop bickering!" said Godfrey. "When Piers begins an argument he'll hold forth for hours together. We don't want to discuss 'Women's Sphere', or the 'Education Question'! Leave these to the Debating Society, and let's enjoy ourselves! How would Mabel and Aldred like to come with us to Holt's farm? The pater wants us to take a message there. It's only three miles away, and Aldred, at any rate, hasn't seen the river."
"I've never been to Holt's farm either," said Mabel "I haven't even crossed the ferry."
"It would be better fun than tennis," agreed Piers. "Our court seems a very poor affair after the one at the Hall; it's hardly worth playing on."
Both Mabel and Aldred felt disposed for a walk. It was a fresh and bright afternoon, and the prospect of seeing a new part of the neighbourhood was attractive. Mabel often went out riding on horseback, or in the motor with her parents, and thus knew the high roads for many miles around; but unless she accompanied her cousins, she seldom explored the lanes and by-paths.
"In one way it's much jollier to go on foot," she declared. "You can stop to pick flowers, or climb on to banks; and I do so enjoy getting over stiles!"
"You'll have enough of them this afternoon," laughed Francis. "There are at least twelve to cross, if we go through the fields by the river."
"Are Sibyl and Ida coming with us?" asked Mabel.
"No, they think the Grants may be calling, so they don't dare to be out. Would you each like a stick? We've an assortment here, in the umbrella stand; this is a nice little one with a crooked handlefor Aldred, and I can recommend this cherrywood for you, Mabel."
The country at Grassingford was exceedingly pretty. It was not grand, nor mountainous, but was well wooded and dotted with picturesque farmsteads. There were deep lanes, with high hedges, which at the present season of the year were a mass of flowering hawthorn; and every little copse and spinney showed blue with hyacinths. There was a delightful spring-like feeling in the air, that combination of sun and breeze, bursting buds, and opening leaves which promises returning summer, renews all the vitality of human beings, and sets us singing like the birds for the mere joy of being alive. Such days seem echoes of the Golden Age slipped out of Paradise, days when we want to forget houses and cities and civilization, and go into the fields to learn the lessons Mother Nature has to teach us—lessons as old as the hills, but fresh every year, when they are fraught with the mystery of new creation.
The path to the river lay across fields, and it would have been difficult to find it without a guide who knew the way. It zigzagged between patches of growing corn and hay, turned sharply round corners, and for a short distance even led down the half-dry bed of a stream.
"The fact is, it isn't a proper path at all," said Francis. "It's only a short cut that we found out for ourselves; it saves a mile."
"It's lovely! I should want to come by it, even if it were a mile longer instead of shorter," said Aldred, who always preferred the romantic to the practical. "How do you manage when the stream is full?"
"Oh! we can't get along unless we wade. We came once last winter and had to turn back; the water was up to this stone, a regular rushing torrent, very different from what it is now. Can you scramble over this wall? Take my hand. Now, you see, we are in the lane, and we shall get to the ferry in a minute."
The old-fashioned ferry was a most picturesque feature of the tidal river, a large, flat-bottomed boat being worked on chains, which stretched from one bank to the other. Sometimes a horse and cart, or a flock of sheep, would be taken over, as well as ordinary passengers, the whole cargo being slowly wound across the water by the ferryman, who turned a creaking windlass on board. The whole arrangement seemed a delightful survival of days when no one was ever in a hurry, and life revolved on leisurely wheels, as different from our modern rush and excitement as a bullock cart is from a motor car. Aldred was fascinated with the quaint contrivance, and anxious to cross on it; but Francis had other projects.
"I say! Wouldn't it be jolly if we could get Pritchard to lend us his small boat, and row ourselves up the river to Holt's farm?" he suggested.
"Ripping!" said Godfrey. "Why not?"
"It's not a bad idea," said Piers; "but have you fellows brought any money with you? for I haven't."
"I've left my worldly wealth in my other trousers' pocket," admitted Godfrey. "Francis, you'll have to pay the piper."
"All serene!"
"I wonder what he'd charge?"
"I don't know, but we can ask him. Here he is now. You'd like a row, girls, wouldn't you?"
"Immensely!" said Mabel.
"Oh, I do hope he'll let us! It would be such fun!" added Aldred.
"We want to know if you'll hire out your small boat," said Francis to the ferryman. "What would you charge to let us have it for an hour, or perhaps a little longer?"
Pritchard stroked the short, grey stubble on his chin reflectively.
"Are you sure you can manage a boat amongst you?" he queried.
"Of course!" answered Francis, rather loftily. "We all know how to row; we're as accustomed to the river as you are yourself."
"I don't know about that," said Pritchard, smiling. "You haven't got fifty years at the back of you yet. It'll take a fairly strong arm to pull the lot of you, especially against the tide. The boat's bespoke for half-past four too."
Francis complacently felt his muscles, as if to suggest that he was quite equal to the occasion.
"Say what you want for it," he replied.
"We'll undertake to bring it back in heaps of time," interposed Godfrey.
"How would half a crown be for the hour?"
"I'm afraid I've only got a two-shilling piece with me," said Francis, coming down a little from his high horse.
"And two shillings is the usual price without a boatman," added Piers.
"I'd a deal rather you had a boatman with you, only I can't spare the time. Well, I don't want to be hard on you; we won't quarrel over the sixpence. One of the oars is spliced, and you'llhave to be careful of it. Thomas, help to run down the boat, will you?"
With the help of two strong pairs of arms, theMaid of Llangollenwent grating along the shingle towards the river. She was short and broad, and evidently not intended for racing. The boys inspected her with a critical eye.
"She's a dreadfully heavy old tub," said Piers, "but she's seaworthy, and I dare say we shall have some fun out of her."
"Who's to row stroke?" said Francis.
"I am, of course," answered Piers, in a tone that admitted of no dispute. "Godfrey may have the other oar, and you can steer."
"And what may we do?" asked Mabel.
"The ornamental, of course! You and Aldred can just sit and enjoy yourselves."
"We'd much rather take our share of the work."
"Well, perhaps we'll let you have a turn by and by, if you're so particularly anxious."
Pritchard by this time had run the boat down the bank and rowed her round to a small jetty, from which it was easy to board her.
"There's a nice place for you misses here, in the stern," he said. "Be careful! It's wet in the bottom. There's a tin can under the seat, if you want to bale her out."
It was most delightful on the river. In spite of her clumsy build, theMaid of Llangollenseemed to glide along in the easiest manner. Mabel and Aldred leaned back luxuriously in the stern of the boat, trailing their hands in the water, and watching the regular dip of the oars. The party were all in the best of spirits, and began to exchange jokes and sing songs.
"Yo di diddle diddle dee,Five jolly sea-dogs are we.We've to heave the anchor, and our friends all hankerTo join our companee!"
"Yo di diddle diddle dee,Five jolly sea-dogs are we.We've to heave the anchor, and our friends all hankerTo join our companee!"
"Yo di diddle diddle dee,Five jolly sea-dogs are we.We've to heave the anchor, and our friends all hankerTo join our companee!"
chanted Francis.
"Is that original?" asked Mabel.
"Of course it is! Don't you know my remarkable style by this time? I'm the coming poet!"
"A modest one, at any rate!" laughed Aldred.
"Oh, it doesn't do to hide one's light under a bushel! Nobody believes in you nowadays unless you advertise yourself."
"I thought self-praise was no recommendation."
"Quite a mistaken idea! To alter Shakespeare a little, one can say: Sweet are the uses of advertisement!"
"You must give us a better specimen of your poetry before we'll believe in you," said Mabel. "I shall call you a doggerel rhymster at present."
"All right! How do you like this?—
'Tis unkind, most naughty Mabel,Your poor cousin's lines to labelAs but trashy, worthless rhymesOnly fit for strolling mimes.Don't you see the genius burningIn each verse that I am turning?Some fine day—I'll give a hint—You may see my name in print!"
'Tis unkind, most naughty Mabel,Your poor cousin's lines to labelAs but trashy, worthless rhymesOnly fit for strolling mimes.Don't you see the genius burningIn each verse that I am turning?Some fine day—I'll give a hint—You may see my name in print!"
'Tis unkind, most naughty Mabel,Your poor cousin's lines to labelAs but trashy, worthless rhymesOnly fit for strolling mimes.Don't you see the genius burningIn each verse that I am turning?Some fine day—I'll give a hint—You may see my name in print!"
"It will be among the advertisements, then," said Aldred. "I suppose you really made up that one?"
"Certainly; a poor thing, but mine own," said Francis, with an attempt at a bow. "You needn't clap, because, after all, I'm rather modest, and it might raise a blush on my cheek."
"We weren't going to—though we'd like to see the blush, I assure you!"
"Would you like another verse? I'm waxing poetical: I suppose it's a matter of practice."
"No, thanks, we've had enough!" exclaimed Piers. "You'd better drop poetry, and stick to steering; you've nearly bumped us into the bank more than once."
"Can't I have a turn at rowing now?" asked Mabel. "You promised I should."
"All serene!" said Piers. "You may take my oar. Steady! Don't go upsetting us!"
"Then let me have yours, Godfrey," said Aldred. "I do so want to try too!"
"It's the spliced one," said Godfrey, "but I don't suppose you're likely to smash it."
It was the first time Aldred had ever tried to row, and it was much harder work than she had supposed.
"Look here! you're not feathering your oar properly," commented Piers. "You oughtn't to put it in so deep, nor bring it out with a jerk. Watch how Mabel is doing it."
"Oh, I know!" replied Aldred rather impatiently. She did not like to receive any criticisms, and, setting her feet firmly, gave a mighty pull. The next instant over she went on her back, and away went the oar into the water. Luckily, Piers had plenty of presence of mind. He put out his hand and caught the oar just as it was floating past the stern.
"We very nearly lost it!" he remarked. "It was luckily near enough to reach."
Aldred retired into the stern again, feeling decidedly crestfallen, all the more so as Mabel was getting on nicely. Her friend's efforts did notlast long, however; she soon declared that her hands would be blistered, and relinquished her seat to Piers, who was longing to be in command again.
"It's far better for you to look on," he said. "Girls aren't much good at rowing."
"How about Grace Darling?"
"Oh, well, she was the exception that proves the rule!"
"Here we are, close to the farm!" exclaimed Godfrey. "We must try to find a good landing-place."
They decided that it was not worth while for all to leave the boat, so Francis volunteered to get out. He ran across a field to the farm, delivered his father's message, and was back almost before the others had time to grow impatient.
"We must turn her about now," said Piers. "Oh, thunder! It's later than I thought; we shall have to hurry up, if somebody wants the boat at half-past four. Francis, you had better take Godfrey's oar."
Once on the river again they found that their return was a very different matter from their former journey. The tide was running out in a fast and strong current against them, and though Piers and Francis tried their utmost, they could scarcely make any headway. It was a heavy boat for two boys to manage, and the possibility of their being back in time seemed doubtful.
They had gone perhaps two-thirds of a mile, when suddenly there was a harsh, grating sound under them.
"Hallo! We've run aground!" cried Francis.
This was bad news indeed, but it was only too true. They had not known that a sandbank wasthere; on their way up they had passed over it easily, but the tide was going out so rapidly now that already it was almost uncovered. The boat seemed stuck fast, and although the boys made every effort, they were not able to free her with their oars. They pulled off their boots and stockings, and, jumping overboard, tried to push or drag her from the shoal, but all to no purpose; she was sunk so deeply in the soft sand and gravel that they could not move her an inch.
"What are we to do?" asked Godfrey.
"Stay where we are, I suppose, till the tide floats her off again," replied Piers.
"It's a pleasant look-out, anyhow!" said Francis.
"And Aunt Winifred will be wondering where we are, too, if we don't turn up for tea," added Mabel.
"It's a pity we didn't bring some tea with us, and we could have had a picnic," said Aldred. "I'm so thirsty!"
"There's nothing to offer you but the river, I'm afraid."
"No, thanks, it's too muddy for my taste."
"'Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink!'" quoted Piers.
"And what our thirst will be ere long,One doesn't like to think!"
"And what our thirst will be ere long,One doesn't like to think!"
"And what our thirst will be ere long,One doesn't like to think!"
rapped out the irrepressible Francis, whose muse was not quenched even by this disaster.
"We're in a fix, and that's the solemn truth," said Godfrey.
They were, indeed, in a most awkward predicament. By the time the tide was high again it would be midnight, and they certainly could not see to row in thedark. There was every prospect that they would have to spend the night on the shoal, without tea or supper, or extra wraps.
They waited for perhaps an hour and a half, while the sandbank grew to quite a respectable island. There were woods on either hand, so it was most unlikely that their plight would be noticed from the shore; their only chance of relief was from a passing boat—a faint hope, for as a rule there were very few craft on the river.
"I begin to understand how a shipwrecked mariner feels when he's waiting for a sail!" said Aldred.
"I believe I'd trade my watch for a plateful of bread and butter," said Francis.
Godfrey suddenly stood up in the stern and waved his hat.
"A boat! A boat!" he cried eagerly. "Hallo, there! Hi!"
Francis and Piers immediately joined him in making such a noise that nobody but a deaf person could have ignored it. The fisherman who was rowing in their direction evidently realized the situation; he signed to his mate to stay in the channel, then, clambering overboard, came wading in his tall boots on to the island.
"Why, it's Sam Ball, who sings in the choir!" exclaimed Godfrey.
Their rescuer regarded them with a rueful grin.
"You've got yourselves into a precious mess here!" he said briefly.
"Can you help us to pull her off?" returned Piers anxiously.
"Pull her off! Couldn't do it with a team of horses! She'll have to stop where she is until thetide floats her. I'll take you off, and that's the best I can do for you. Hoist one of them young misses on my back; I'll carry them first."
He waded with Aldred to his own boat, returning to fetch Mabel, and the boys scrambled after him as best they could.
"It's Pritchard's boat, isn't it?" he said. "I'm passing the ferry, so if you like I'll tell him what's happened. If you cross through the wood there, and turn to the right of the iron gate, you'll find your way straight to the village."
The boys went home in rather subdued spirits.
"We shall have to go down to the ferry this evening and explain things to Pritchard," said Piers. "I hope he won't cut up rough about the boat."
"I'm afraid he'll want compensation," said Francis, "I split that spliced oar with trying to shove her off."
"What an abominable swindle! It'll take half our next term's cash. I don't believe the pater will stand it for us."
"I'm sure he won't, after that little affair of the rifle and old Carter's dog!" put in Godfrey.
"Well, never mind if we have to pay up. We shall survive it, I suppose," said Francis. "We're making Mabel and Aldred look quite uncomfortable. It seems a stingy trick to take them out rowing, land them on a sandbank, and then spend all the rest of the time growling over the damage. But I know one thing: if ever we have that boat again, I'm going to make a chart of the river first, and mark down all the shoals!"
Mabeland Aldred returned to Birkwood on terms of even closer intimacy than before. There is always a difference between a companion who is only an acquaintance at school and one who shares the many little home associations and interests that make a bond of union apart from the other girls, and give innumerable subjects for those confidential talks which are the chief joy of friendship. The bedroom that had once seemed entirely Mabel's was now taken up with joint possessions. Aldred had helped to buy the new gipsy table that stood in the window, and had embroidered half of the table-cloth that covered it. The cushion for the wicker chair was a present from Lady Muriel to both the girls; and the knick-knacks that they had brought back with them were so entirely mixed that it was difficult to tell which belonged to either. "All things in common" was Mabel's motto, and Aldred, who certainly got the better of the bargain, was only too ready to agree.
It was high summer now at the Grange—glorious, golden days, when the sea breeze, or the wind from the downs, tempered the warm sunshine, and established Birkwood's reputation for a bracing climate. As many lessons as possible were held in the garden. Each form had its own special open-air classroom,and the girls easily accommodated themselves to working out-of-doors.
"When you're accustomed to it, it's no harder than working in the house," said Ursula. "Of course, just the first day we can't help staring about a little, to look at birds and things, but we soon get over that. We're none of us babies, to need four walls round us to keep our attention, and it is so very much nicer."
The Fourth Form "room" was at the corner of the big lawn, under the shade of a large oak, almost exactly in the place where Aldred had made her statue of Venus in the snow. How different the garden looked now in its summer dress! It was difficult to believe that the asphalt court had ever been frozen and turned into a skating rink.
"I shall never forget our ice carnival," said Miss Bardsley. "My ankle is hardly strong yet, and I'm afraid it will always be thicker than the other."
"You had a long holiday, though," urged Phœbe: "six whole weeks!"
"An enforced holiday is no pleasure; I would far rather have been at my work. I don't feel that you've made up yet for all you lost while I was absent."
"Is that why we have a double allowance of Roman history now?" queried Ursula.
"Certainly it is. You must finish the book this term, if we have to take extra lessons on it. You naughty girls, don't pull such faces! You ought to be interested in the Emperors."
"Father says some day he'll take me to Rome, and I shall see all their marble statues," observed Mabel.
"Lucky girl!" said Miss Bardsley. "I was fortunateenough to spend one Easter holiday in Rome, and saw the busts of the Emperors at the Capitoline Museum. They're the most beautiful likenesses in the world. You'll appreciate Roman history when you've been to the Forum, and the Colosseum, and all the other famous places."
"Why can't we study history that way?" suggested Ursula. "Suppose you were to take us all to Rome for a month, and we learnt about Romulus and Remus when we were sitting on the Capitoline Hill, and about Trajan in Trajan's Forum, and Diocletian in Diocletian's Bath, and Nero at the Colosseum: it would be so interesting, and we should really remember it!"
"No doubt that is the ideal method; but think of the expense! I am afraid most parents would grumble at the school bills, if teaching history involved a visit to the scene of each occurrence. No! You're supposed to study all this beforehand, and then, when you have a clear idea of ancient and mediaeval times, you can go abroad with an understanding of what you'll see."
"But why shouldn't there be a mutual exchange of schools?" continued Ursula, who liked to discuss questions with Miss Bardsley. "Suppose a class from an Italian school were to come to the Grange for a month, and we were to go and take their place: they'd learn English games, and we should see the old temples and amphitheatres, so we should each have something we couldn't get in our own country."
"It would certainly be a splendid means of learning languages, especially if such an exchange could be effected with a French or a German school. But I fear we are not ripe for that yet; there are too many difficulties in the way of such international visiting.In years to come perhaps the State will organize it, and we shall see little bands of children starting with their teachers to study foreign life and get rid of insular prejudices. It would have to be a special department of the Board of Education."
"If Father gets into Parliament again I'll ask him to bring in a Bill for it," said Mabel. "He's very keen on Secondary Education."
There was so much to be done at Birkwood during the summer term that the days did not seem nearly long enough, though the school rose half an hour earlier than in winter. The girls played cricket as well as tennis, worked in their gardens, and were taken for walks on the downs or on the shore. These expeditions generally had a scientific object in view, wild flowers being brought home to be pressed and added to the school collection, or the pools left by the tide investigated for specimens to enlarge the already flourishing aquarium. There is an old saying: "If you are good, you are happy"; but Miss Drummond believed in the reversing of that moral process, on the theory that "if you are happy, you are good", considering that young girls, at any rate, would be more likely to grow up with nice minds and true instincts if all their environment was beautiful, and their days were filled with pleasures calculated to elevate and refine. There were few of her pupils on whom her system had not the desired effect, and the one or two failures had been gently eliminated, so as not to contaminate the rest.
With Aldred especially Miss Drummond's method had worked well. She was very different from the ill-disciplined girl who had arrived at the Grange last September. The pleasant but carefully orderedregime seemed quite to have counteracted her aunt's injudicious management, and she would have been utterly ashamed now of behaviour in which a year ago she had gloried. This improvement was largely due to Mabel's influence. The latter's implicit faith in her began to rouse a desire to become actually what her friend believed her to be. She conquered many little weaknesses, lest Mabel should notice them. She had soon found that a cross word or an unkind speech, the evasion of a rule, or the shirking of some small duty, would bring a look of puzzled surprise to the latter's face; and rather than that Mabel should be disappointed in her, she kept a tight hand on herself, and would repress anything of which her friend did not approve. It was not the loftiest of motives, but it was the first time in her life that Aldred had ever really tried to join the ranks of those who are striving upwards, and even a faint-hearted effort is better than none at all.
There are occasionally people in this world who seem to have the faculty of drawing the very best out of those with whom they come in contact. They create their own atmosphere, and by the strength of their winning personalities rouse all the sleeping good in others. Such a friend was Mabel, and Aldred, despite her false position, could not fail to be influenced by daily living with a character so much sweeter and more self-controlled than her own. Though she was still content to take credit that was not her due, she was gradually altering her standard, and beginning slowly but surely to realize that life consists of far more than the gratification of the moment, and that righteousness is a higher goal than pleasure.
One morning, when the girls were sitting chatting round the sundial at eleven o'clock recreation, they noticed the telegraph boy from Chetbourne ride up on his bicycle and deliver a message at the door.
"No alarm for any of us, I hope!" said Phœbe. "It's rather silly, but I always feel a little scared when I see one of those yellow envelopes, and wonder if anything has happened at home."
"And yet people send telegrams about everything," said Myfanwy. "Probably this is only to offer Miss Drummond seats at a concert, or to tell her somebody's coming to visit the school."
"Oh, I dare say! But I get nervous, all the same; telegrams so often mean bad news."
Phœbe's apprehensions were justified in this case, though not on her own account. When morning school was over, the prefects reported that Miss Drummond had been suddenly called away.
"She has a mother living somewhere in the North, who is most seriously ill, and is scarcely expected to recover," explained Freda Martin. "She sent for a carriage at once, and started off to catch the 1.13 train at Chetbourne. I hope she'll arrive in time. She was most fearfully upset and distressed, and couldn't make any arrangements; she only said Miss Forster was to take her classes, and she would come back as soon as she could."
This unexpected event naturally caused great commotion at the Grange. Miss Drummond had never before been absent during term time, and, though the other mistresses did their best in the circumstances, all seemed rather helpless without her. The principal taught the Sixth Form herself, and also took science classes throughout the school, so it wasdifficult to arrange to supply her place, it being impossible to engage another teacher, as had been done during Miss Bardsley's absence. By combining some of the classes, and omitting the science, Miss Forster managed to arrange fairly well; but as she had not been definitely placed in command over the entire establishment, she did not like to usurp too much authority on her own account. No one, therefore, seemed actually at the head of affairs, or really responsible; and there was a general feeling of disorganization and slackness.
"It's horrid without Miss Drummond!" said Mabel. "Nobody seems to know anything, or to be able to do anything while she's away. Even the medicine cupboard is locked up."
"That's no loss, I'm sure!" returned Aldred.
"Well, as it happens, it is. I've such a splitting headache, I was going to beg for sal volatile."
"Perhaps Miss Forster may have some."
"I asked her, but she hadn't; and then Mademoiselle came fussing along, wanting to know what was the matter. When I told her I had a headache, she declared it might be the beginning of something infectious, and said that I must sleep in the hospital to-night, and she would examine me to-morrow morning, to see whether a rash had come out. 'Ve cannot be too careful vile Mees Drummond is avay!' she said."
"But you're not really going?"
"I shall have to. I'd have asked Miss Forster to interfere, but she'd hurried away by that time. I've come to collect my night things now."
"What a ridiculous swindle! Can't I go too?"
"No; remember, it's a case of isolation!" said Mabel, smiling.
"But you'll be afraid to sleep there all alone."
"Oh, no, I shan't! Mademoiselle offered to send Hunter—she's generally told off for hospital duty—but I said I'd rather not have her. I'm not a scrap ill; it's only my head."
"And Mademoiselle's idiotic nonsense! I never heard of such a silly notion as to pack you off there! She's absolutely mad!"
"Well, it can't be helped. There's no one to appeal to. Mademoiselle is as much in authority, I suppose, as Miss Forster, or Miss Bardsley, or anybody else."
"The school seems lost without Miss Drummond."
Feeling decidedly a martyr, Mabel, taking the various possessions she needed for the night, marched upstairs to the hospital.
"If it's anything catchable I'll catch it too!" Aldred called after her. "You're not to be ill up there without me! You may choose measles, or scarlatina, or anything you like; I'm quite agreeable, so long as I can have a share in it!"
"It's for Mademoiselle to decide the complaint to-morrow!" laughed Mabel, already half-way down the passage. "I don't mind what it is, so long as she doesn't declare it's suppressed smallpox, and have me re-vaccinated as a precaution. Good night!"
Aldred felt injured and aggrieved at her room-mate's banishment. It was really very tiresome and unnecessary of Mademoiselle to have insisted upon it.
"She's a Jack-in-office!" thought Aldred. "If she were head of the school, I should ask to be taken away. How particularly slow and stupid it is without Mabel! She's forgotten her bedroom slippers, by the by. I wonder if I dare take them up to her?On the whole, I think I'd better not; I suppose she'll manage without them."
It was a warm evening, and light until very late. Aldred undressed leisurely, and took a last delicious sniff at the roses that framed her window before she jumped into bed. She was tired, and dropped asleep almost immediately, falling into a confused dream, in which Mabel and Mademoiselle and measles were hopelessly mixed. The doctor had come to see Mabel, and had prescribed a huge bottle of nasty medicine, labelled "Two quarts to be taken every two hours". He was coming again, and was ring-ring-ringing at the front-door bell. Why did not one of the servants go to the door? And why was Mademoiselle sounding the gong? It was not dinner-time yet. Would nobody stop her? It would make Mabel's headache worse. In her dream, Aldred rushed downstairs, and tried to hold Mademoiselle's arm; but the clanging grew louder and louder, and with a start she awoke and sat up in her bed, half-awake.
The noise was actual fact. Somebody downstairs was hammering the gong, with frantic, jarring strokes; while the big bell that rang for classes was clanging lustily. There was a curious smell in the air, very different from the scent of the roses outside; and there was also a ruddy light, surely neither that of the moon nor of the rising sun. Before Aldred had time to do more than rub her eyes, hurried footsteps resounded along the passage, her door was flung open, and a voice cried: "Fire! Come at once!"
The girls at Birkwood had been trained in fire drill, and Aldred knew immediately what she must do. Her heart was beating quickly, and her handswere trembling, but she flung on her dressing-gown, slipped her feet into her slippers, seized a pocket-handkerchief and dipped it in the bedroom jug (all the work of three seconds), and dashed without further delay down the stairs.
The landing and hall were filled with dense clouds of choking smoke. To get to the front door was like passing through the mouth of a cannon, and Aldred felt almost suffocated before she reached the fresh air. In the garden several agitated teachers were trying to review an even more panic-stricken crowd of girls and servants. Mademoiselle was sobbing hysterically, and though all the teachers were striving each to number her own flock, they kept getting in one another's way, and missing count and having to begin again. Nobody seemed responsible, or in command. The gardener rushed about distractedly with buckets of water, assuring everyone that he had sent for the fire brigade from Chetbourne. The servants shrieked and wailed, and neighbours who came running from various farms and cottages on the downs only added to the general noise and confusion.
From one of the windows of the upper story flames were bursting, throwing a red glare over the garden. By this livid light Aldred pushed her way among the excited, jostling girls, scanning each face, and asking one constantly reiterated question: "Where's Mabel?"
Nobody knew. Nobody seemed to have noticed, in the general confusion, that she was not with them.
"Where's Mabel?" Aldred's voice was frantic with alarm.
"Isn't she with you?" asked Miss Bardsley wildly."I opened your door and called you both. Oh, girls, if you would only keep together, I could tell if you were all here!"
"She was sleeping in the hospital!" cried Aldred, disregarding the teacher's request, and tearing away to interrogate Mademoiselle—a vain errand, for the unfortunate French governess had fallen in a dead faint upon the grass.
Aldred grasped the fact only too speedily that there was but one terrible answer to her question.Mabel was in the burning house, for nobody had gone to warn her!Without a moment's hesitation, she rushed back to the front door. There was no alternative; the emergency was all-compelling. Mabel was in imminent and pressing danger; no one realized it, or had even missed her, and there was no time to appeal to Miss Forster or Miss Bardsley. She, Aldred, alone and on her own responsibility, must save her friend. There was not a second to be lost; already it might be too late, for the blaze was fast making headway. From the open door clouds of smoke belched forth as if from a furnace, and Aldred was driven back with blinded eyes choking and gasping for breath. It was her own fault. How stupid she was to forget, in her excitement, what she had learnt at the fire-drill practice! Her dripping pocket-handkerchief was still clasped, almost unconsciously, in her hand; she tied it rapidly over her nose and mouth, then, dropping on to her hands and knees, she began to crawl along the hall in the direction of the staircase. The difference was marvellous. Down on the ground the air was comparatively fresh and clear—she could see the bottom of the umbrella stand and a pair of Miss Drummond'sgoloshes quite plainly; while only a foot higher the atmosphere was dense and impenetrable. The wet handkerchief also made breathing easier, and though her eyes were smarting and the heat was very great, she found it quite possible to get along. With half-closed eyelids, and her mouth well to the floor, she crept up the stairs; each one seemed a victory gained, and a step nearer to the accomplishment of her purpose. Oh, how many there were, and how interminable was the passage at the top! The heat grew more intense, and a roaring, crackling sound warned her that she was reaching the west wing, where the flames were raging worst and had burst through the windows.
The hospital was on the top story, so there was another staircase to be mounted. Dared she do it? Every fresh step cut off her retreat, and put another bar between herself and safety. Yet Mabel was there, solitary, unaided, in the midst of awful peril. No, she could not abandon her, come what might! She would face death with her friend, rather than leave her to perish alone.
She never remembered quite how she dragged herself along; her nerves were strung to the highest pitch, her brain felt bursting. The room she was in search of was over the kitchen, where the fire had originally broken out. Fortunately, it was a little clearer there, and Aldred was able to stand up; and by groping her way along the walls, she found the handle and flung open the door of the hospital.
"Mabel! Mabel!" she cried vehemently.
There was no reply. The room was filled with smoke, but the glare outside made just enough light to distinguish objects.
"Mabel! Are you there? Mabel!"
Aldred was in an agony of apprehension. There were several beds in the hospital, and she ran from one to the other, feeling in them with eager hands. They were empty. Had she, after all, come on a vain quest? Mabel must have heard the alarm bell, and have escaped and joined the others in the garden! Aldred's heart almost stopped beating, as for a moment the horror of the situation overcame her. Her search was quixotic, fruitless—she had risked her life for nothing! She moved instinctively to clutch a bedpost to steady herself, and as she did so her foot touched something soft. With a cry she dropped upon her knees. Mabel was lying on the floor just by the bedside, where she must have fallen, overpowered by the smoke, in an effort to make her way to the door.
With frantic hands Aldred dragged her friend across the room, and by sheer effort of will hoisted her up, so that her head might reach the open window. It was a task far beyond her ordinary powers, but in such moments a strength not our own is often given to us. The fresh air soon restored consciousness, and Mabel, to Aldred's intense relief, opened her eyes.
"What is it? Where am I?" she asked confusedly.
"The house is on fire, dear, and I don't know how we are to save ourselves. Stay where you are, and go on getting the air; I'm going to see if we can manage to get back down the passage."
Directly Aldred opened the door she realized that escape in that quarter was impossible. A roaring sound and a glare at the end of the landing told her only too plainly that the staircase had broken intoflames. She shut the door again hurriedly, and, returning to the window, shouted with all her might. Would anybody hear, and if so, could they help? The Fire Brigade had not yet arrived from Chetbourne, and it was unlikely that there would be any ladder about the place long enough to reach to the top story of the house.
"Help! Help! Hallo!" Her voice sounded so thin and weak, compared with the crackling of the flames, she feared it would not carry far enough. Mabel, still in a half-dazed state, clung to her wildly, trembling and shivering with terror.
Would no one ever come? They were all watching the front of the house, and had completely forgotten the back.
At last! There was a shout from below, and a sudden rushing and noise, as the ever-increasing crowd poured round the corner.
"Fetch a ladder!"
"It's too short!"
"Tie two together!"
"There aren't two!"
"Tell them to jump!"
"No! No! They'd break their necks!"
"Someone go in and fetch 'em!"
"Impossible! The stairs are ablaze!"
"Does anyone hear the engine coming?"
"Not a sign of it yet."
"Then God help them, for we can't!"
The room was getting hotter and hotter. Aldred could hear the roar of the flames in the passage now. How long would the door keep them out? It was plain that, unless both girls were to perish, something must be done, and that instantly. DisengagingMabel's clinging arms, Aldred propped her against the window-sill, then groped her way through the dense smoke across the room. The six beds in the hospital were always kept made up, perfectly ready for use. Aldred pulled off the twelve sheets one after the other, and carried them in a bundle back to the window, where, with trembling hands, she knotted them firmly together, just as Miss Drummond had shown in the fire-drill practice. She dragged forward the nearest bedstead till its foot almost touched the sill, and, fastening her improvised rope round a post, pulled it hard, to make sure that the knot was safe.
"Mabel," she said loudly, "we must try the sheet dodge. I'm going to lower you down. Let me tie this end round your waist, quick!"
"No! No!" cried Mabel, who had somewhat recovered her scattered senses. "I'll lower you! I'm the bigger, and stronger than you. Here, give me the end!"
"I shan't. You must go! Mabel, I insist! This is no time for arguing. My mind's made up, and I shall make you!"
Aldred was fastening the knot as she spoke, with quick fingers. She would take no denial. Had she not come to rescue her friend, and was she to be so easily gainsaid?