THE CHILDREN ARE MISSING
BERYL little thought how near her father was to her when she held her class on that eventful Sunday afternoon. Mr. Hollys had never been known to come home without giving due warning to his household; but for once, circumstances had led him to depart from his usual practice in this respect.
Business of an unexpected nature had suddenly called him to Bristol at the end of the week, and his business being accomplished by an early hour on Saturday, it struck him as a happy thought, that since he was half-way between London and Egloshayle, he might as well go on to the latter place, and spend the Sunday there with Beryl.
How surprised the child would be at his unexpected arrival! That it would be a glad surprise, he felt no doubt. His heart grew warm within him at the thought of seeing his darling again that evening, and hearing her joyous welcome.
But the plan which Mr. Hollys without further debate determined to carry out did not prove so happy a one as he deemed it.
The express for Plymouth had started an hour earlier, and the train by which he was obliged to travel was a slow one, stopping at every station. Mr. Hollys thought he had never made so tedious a journey, and his patience was severely tried, for, as it was market-day at almost every town on the line, the train was continually delayed, and when it reached Plymouth, half an hour after the appointed time, he found to his vexation that the last train by which he could proceed to Egloshayle had already gone.
Mr. Hollys thought that his plan had been a foolish one, when he learned that there was not another train that would answer his purpose till noon on the following day. He went to the nearest hotel, and finding comfortable quarters there, tried to solace himself with the anticipation of how amusing it would be to see Beryl's astonishment when he suddenly and unexpectedly presented himself at home in the middle of Sunday afternoon.
Mr. Hollys had ceased to feel any annoyance at the tiresome delay by the time he reached Egloshayle the next day.
He was in excellent spirits as he alighted from the train at the little country station. There was no conveyance to take him home, but he did not wish for one. He felt that he should enjoy the long walk on this bright summer day. He chose the longest path, which skirted the cliffs, that he might enjoy the strong sea air to be breathed on those heights. He thought, too, that by going this way he might perhaps surprise the children in some nook on the beach. But as he climbed the steep hill from the station he saw that the tide was high, and the waves breaking turbulently at the foot of the cliff. Not a strip of beach was visible.
"Ah, well, I shall find them in the garden," he said to himself, as he hurried on, eager to embrace his little Beryl.
Mr. Hollys had some news for Beryl, and he felt rather doubtful how she would receive it. He had found a governess for her at last, a highly-educated and accomplished young lady, whom his friend Mrs. Everard could highly recommend. He believed he was doing the right thing for his child in engaging this governess for her, yet in his foolish fondness, he felt sorry to think how Beryl's freedom would be curtailed and her actions restrained.
"Naughty little puss, she will not like it, I fear," he said to himself with a smile. "After running wild like a young gipsy for so long, it will be hard to settle down to regular lessons, and submit to rules and regulations. But it is high time some one took her in hand. I ought to have seen to it before; that letter was disgraceful."
Soon Mr. Hollys was within sight of his home. He looked about for the children, but they were not visible. The house appeared quiet and sleepy, as it stood with every blind closely drawn, in the glare of the afternoon sun.
He walked round the garden, hoping to find Beryl there; but the place seemed deserted. Then he entered the house by the glass-door leading into the garden. The Sunday peace of the house was perfect. Not a sound broke the stillness as he stood in the empty hall, and listened for the children's voices.
The quietness made him uneasy. He hastily opened the drawing-room door. The children were not there, and he quietly closed the door again, without rousing his sister, who was taking her afternoon nap.
Mr. Hollys now ran upstairs to the nursery. Lucy, who sat there reading, was startled at his unexpected appearance.
"Where is Miss Beryl, Lucy?" he demanded.
"Miss Beryl, sir?" said Lucy, looking scared. "In the garden, I believe, sir."
"No; she is not, for I have just come through the garden," said Mr. Hollys.
"Perhaps they are down on the beach, sir; they often like to sit there on a Sunday afternoon."
"That is impossible, for it is high tide. Do you mean to say that you do not know where they are?" demanded Mr. Hollys, with anger in his tone.
"I cannot say exactly where they are, sir," said Lucy, growing more frightened. "Miss Beryl likes to go away by herself, but I will find them."
Lucy left the room, followed by Mr. Hollys, in whose heart, anger was fast giving place to fear.
"You do not think they can have lingered in some corner of the beach till they were overtaken by the tide?" he asked in a low tone.
"Oh no," answered Lucy, white and trembling; "Miss Beryl would know better than that. She is very careful is Miss Beryl."
"You have no right to trust to her carefulness," returned Mr. Hollys indignantly. "It is your place to look after them, and you should not have trusted them out of your sight."
They went out of the house. Lucy turned to make further search in the garden, and Mr. Hollys hastened along the road leading to the village. Presently he met a child, and stopped to ask her if she had seen Miss Beryl lately.
Yes, the child had seen Miss Beryl; she had something to tell him, but Mr. Hollys, in his impatience, found it difficult to understand her broad, Cornish speech.
He made her repeat her words again and again, till their meaning grew intelligible. She had seen Miss Beryl on the beach that afternoon; she had been in the cave with Miss Beryl and another young lady and several children, and they had all been looking at a lovely picture.
As he thus made out the sense of her words, Mr. Hollys knew in a moment what had happened. He turned from her, and ran at full speed towards the group of fishermen who stood lounging against the low wall below which the waves were beating. Joe Pollard saw him coming, and stepped forward to meet him.
"Joe," said Mr. Hollys, as he came up white and breathless, "my little daughter is missing. I fear she has been overtaken by the tide in the long cave. Have you a boat at hand?"
A look of fear and pain crossed Joe's honest face as he heard these words. Mr. Hollys could understand that look only too well. He knew that Joe thought the children's fate already sealed, if indeed it was as he feared, and the tide had surprised them in the cave.
"Ay, sir," he replied. "My boat is moored just below, and we can be off in two minutes. But God grant you be mistaken, and the young ladies safe ashore! I saw the other children come up from the beach an hour ago, and I made sure the little missies had gone home too."
Joe led the way down the steps as he spoke, and in another minute they were in the boat. Mr. Hollys seized an oar, and began to pull with an energy stimulated by heart-sickening dread. Not a word was spoken as they rounded the rocks, and made for the mouth of the cave. Already the tide was on the turn, and so strong was the opposing current, that they had great difficulty in effecting an entrance. When at last the boat shot into the cave, they saw no sign of life there. The walls, lined with wet and slimy seaweed, showed the height to which the water had risen. It seemed clear that if the children had been there when the waves burst in, they must have perished.
"Beryl, Beryl!" cried Mr. Hollys in despair; and the hollow roof mocked him with a dull echo of his words.
Meanwhile Joe's quick eye had caught sight of a sheet of paper floating on the surface of the water. He leant forward, and with his oar drew it towards him.
"What is that?" asked Mr. Hollys, as he saw Joe take something from the water.
Joe unrolled the paper, and handed it to him. Wet and stained though it was, Mr. Hollys recognised it at once as one of the coloured pictures he had purchased at Beryl's request. The sight of it seemed to confirm his worst fear, and he dropped it with a groan.
"Joe," he said presently, as if clinging to hope in the very face of despair, "Beryl could swim; is it quite impossible for her to have escaped?"
Joe shook his head. He shrank from the thought of the pain he must give, yet he spoke what he believed to be the truth. "I canna think her swimming would help her much, sir. The rocks are sharp and steep here, and she would need to swim a long way to find a dry footing. Besides, there is a strongish undercurrent just here."
"God help me!" cried her father, shuddering at the thought of his darling Beryl lying cold and dead in the depths of the sea.
For some minutes neither of them spoke, then Joe said gently, "We can do no good by staying longer in the cave. Don't you think, sir, I had better row you back to the shore? If it is as we fear, it is not here that we shall find the young ladies."
And Mr. Hollys knew that Joe meant him to understand that if the children were drowned, the swiftly-ebbing tide must have carried their bodies far out to sea.
He could not speak; but the boatman took his silence for consent, and without another word, rowed the still, sorrow-stricken man to the landing-place.
DELIVERANCE
AND what of the children, of whom no trace save the floating picture could be found? Had the cruel sea indeed borne them away in its winding-sheet to sleep beneath its waves, leaving a darkened house and a desolate heart to mourn their loss?
It seemed to the terrified children that such must be their fate, as they watched the hungry waves coming each minute closer to the corner where they crouched.
Beryl had ceased to cry, and was trying to bring all the force of her mind to bear upon the contrivance of some plan of escape. The only idea which occurred to her was that she should have recourse to swimming, and try to get to land in time to secure succour for Coral ere it was too late.
But when she looked at the rough waves, battling together as they forced their way into the cave, and remembered at what a distant part of the beach the cave was situated, and how far she would have to swim before she could find a landing-place, Beryl's heart failed her. She felt that her childish strength would be no match for the pitiless might of the sea's opposing current. Yet she would have made the attempt, hazardous though it seemed, had Coral wished it; but her little adopted sister cried out in terror at the mere suggestion of Beryl's leaving her.
"Oh, Beryl, do not leave me; please do not leave me!" she cried; "I dare not stay alone in this dreadful place. Let us keep together, whatever happens. If we must be drowned, let us hold each other tightly, and then, perhaps, it will not seem quite so bad."
The children clung to each other as the waves washed over their feet. How awful seemed the death which threatened them in that gloomy place! How many persons at Egloshayle would have hurried to their rescue, had they known of their peril! But here, beneath the rock, shut in by the relentless waves, they were out of sight and sound of every human being, and Beryl felt sure that no one would know of their danger till it was too late to help them.
Her heart sank within her as she thought of her father. Ah, if he, far away in London, could have known what was his child's position at that hour! But he would know nothing till they told him she was dead.
Beryl leaned against the rock and sobbed alone, as she thought of what her father's anguish would be, when he heard that his little daughter was drowned.
Then she remembered that though no human friend knew of their danger, a Father's eye was upon them, a Father's ear could hear their cry for help. She recalled the words Mr. Gilbank had spoken concerning the "Father-King, all-mighty and all-loving."
"Coral!" she exclaimed, hope ringing in her voice. "Let us pray to God. We ought to have thought of that before. He can help us, if no one else can."
"Do you think He really can?" asked Coral sceptically, as with frightened eyes she watched the progress of the waves.
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"IF WE MUST BE DROWNED,LET US HOLD EACH OTHER TIGHTLY."
"Why, Coral, of course He can," returned Beryl. "Don't you remember how He saved Daniel in the lions' den, and Moses when he was left by the side of the river in the ark of bulrushes? And oh! Don't you know the story Mr. Gilbank told us of how God made a path right through the Red Sea for the Israelites to walk over? I'm sure if He did that, He can save you and me from being drowned."
"But what will He do?" asked Coral anxiously. "Will He make the waves go back?"
"I can't tell what He will do," said Beryl; "but I know He can save us if He will. And if He means us to die," she added, her voice suddenly faltering, "let us ask Him to make us good, and take us to heaven, for Jesus Christ's sake."
And so Beryl prayed in simple, childish words, coming from a heart strong in faith; and Coral tried to follow, but could not attend for her terror of the quickly advancing waves.
The water was already high about the children, a little longer, and it would sweep them away to death. As Beryl ended her prayer, her eyes fell upon the ledge of rock above her head, and the dark hole which she had fancied would make a convenient cupboard. The thought struck her that if they could climb to that, they would be for a time above the reach of the waves.
"Coral," she said, pointing out the place to her, "try if you can climb up there. Put your foot on my knee, and then catch hold of the seaweed, and draw yourself up. There, that's right; now are you safe?"
Yes, Coral was securely placed on the shelf of rock, and with some difficulty, Beryl managed to scramble up beside her.
Their courage rose on finding themselves a foot or two above the water, though Beryl felt pretty sure that it was only a temporary respite, and that ere the tide turned the waves would sweep over them where they sat. It was dull and melancholy work, sitting still to watch the rising of the water, and Beryl presently crawled along the ledge till she reached the hole which had before attracted her attention. It was a much larger opening than it had appeared from below.
The hollow seemed to extend a long way back, for stooping down and peering into it, Beryl could see light coming through, as if from an opening at a considerable distance.
Crouching down close to the rock, Beryl found that the aperture was just wide enough to admit of her crawling through, and having passed the entrance, she found herself in a larger place, a kind of natural tunnel, leading she knew not whither.
Feeling that she had made a great discovery, Beryl crawled back the way she had come, and called to Coral to follow her. Coral, being smaller, made her entrance even more easily than Beryl had done, but she was awestruck at the gloom of the place into which Beryl introduced her. The rocky passage would have been in utter darkness but for the faint, weird gleams of light which stole in at either entrance. The walls were so low that the children were obliged to bend their heads, as they groped their way along; a grown-up person would have been obliged to creep on all fours. The tunnel seemed to run through the rock for a great distance, and as they stumbled along, for the path was rough and uneven, Coral grew frightened and footsore, and began to cry and beg that they might go back.
But Beryl, who thought that this passage promised them deliverance from the threatening waves, was resolute in urging her forward, and soon, as they pressed on, the light before grew larger and clearer, and Coral no longer wished to return to the sea-washed cave. On they went, till daylight shone bright and beautiful before them, and they saw green leaves waving against the opening, and caught the gleam of a gull's wing as with a shrill cry of dismay the bird fled from the strange intruders who had invaded its sanctuary.
Beryl stepped very cautiously through the narrow doorway, half-hidden by low shrubs and coarse grass, and it was well that she was thus careful, for the tunnel ended on a tiny path in the face of the cliff, scarce a foot in width, below which the rock shelved off precipitately. Beryl had not been conscious of ascending as she made her way through the rough rocky passage, but now she saw to her satisfaction that the sea was far below them. To her surprise, also, she perceived that they had come through the heart of the rock to the other side of the cliff, into which the cave penetrated, and were looking down on the little cove where David Gilbank had been accustomed to meet his band of learners on Sunday afternoons. The narrow path on which she stood led by sharp zigzags to the beach, and it would be a comparatively easy matter to descend, when the waves had receded from the cove.
"Oh, Coral!" cried Beryl, as she clasped her hands in joy and thankfulness. "We are safe! The waves cannot reach us here; we have only to wait till the tide turns, and then we shall be able to go home."
How intense was the feeling of relief felt by these children, as they realised their deliverance from the peril which had seemed so near and awful. Tears came more readily than words at such a moment, and clinging together they kissed each other fondly, and cried as only children can cry.
But this violent emotion was soon exhausted, and as they sat in the shelter of the rock they began to talk over what had happened, and tried to imagine how Lucy would regard their long absence from home.
"I expect she will be very angry," said Coral; "and oh, Beryl, I am afraid she will never let us keep Sunday school on the beach again."
"We must try to find a safer place," said Beryl thoughtfully. "That old cave was not very nice, and now I feel as if I never wanted to see it again. Coral, have you thought how God has heard our prayer? He has saved us, although He did not make the waves go back. Was it not strange that I never noticed that hole at the back of the cave until to-day?"
"Yes," said Coral; "but what a nasty, dark place it was. I was so frightened till I saw the light at the other end. And oh, Beryl, look at my boots!"
"Never mind about boots," said Beryl, surveying her own cut and soaked shoes with the utmost indifference. "I shall be glad enough to take mine off, though, for my stockings feel as if they had stuck to my feet. I wish the tide would make haste and go down."
"Will it be very long now, do you think?" asked Coral.
"Another hour, I dare say," said Beryl, as she peered down at the water below. "I say, Coral, what a good thing it is that papa is not at home! He would have been so frightened about us."
It seemed a long time to the children ere the tide receded. They watched the sun sink to rest, curtained by crimson and purple clouds, and not till the glow was beginning to fade from the summer sky were they able to descend from their lofty crag, and make their way across the wet, slippery stones to the stile, which commanded the nearest route home.
Beryl started in sudden fear, as she saw a dark figure leaning against the stile. What was her amazement when the figure turned towards her, and she saw that it was her father!
He had wandered there to look for her, though in his anguish, he believed all search would be vain, unless, indeed, it should reveal the dead body of his child. One moment he had been in utter despair, the next he heard a light step on the stones, and turning, saw Beryl by his side.
A cry of almost incredulous joy broke from his lips,—
"Oh, Beryl, my darling! Is it you?" he exclaimed. "Where have you been all this long time? Ah, if you knew what your absence has caused me to suffer! Thank God, I see you safe and sound, my precious one!"
ANTICIPATED GLOOM
THE children's escape appeared well-nigh miraculous, and when the news of it spread through Egloshayle, numbers of the villagers flocked down to the beach to inspect the subterranean passage, of which scarce any one had been aware. Some of the oldest inhabitants, however, could tell, now that their memories were thus jogged, how in bygone days they had heard it said that there were two entrances to the long cave. They remembered that the place had for a long time borne the name of the Smugglers' Cave, because it was the lurking-place of a desperate band of men, who cunningly enriched themselves by a contraband trade.
An old man could tell how on one occasion, when the coastguardsmen had surrounded the cave, convinced that they had the smugglers in their power, they had, after long waiting, discovered that the culprits had given them the slip, and escaped from the cave, in spite of their constant watch at its entrance. Their mysterious flight had been a subject of marvel at the time; now it seemed plain that the hidden passage, discovered by the children, furnished the key to the mystery. It was strange that the existence of the tunnel in the rock should have been so long unknown, but doubtless the smugglers had done their best to keep it secret.
None save a few children could remember having noticed the hole at the back of the cave, and with them, it was evidently a recent discovery, so that it seemed probable that the place had only been disclosed of late. Mr. Hollys judged it likely that the rough seas and gales of March had swept away some barrier of rock or seaweed which had guarded the opening.
It was some days ere the children recovered from the effects of their strange adventure. Beryl was the first to shake off its ill consequences, but little Coral was poorly for more than a week. In her rough climbing, she had bruised her ankle, and the injury, which had seemed nothing at the time, now proved so troublesome as to oblige her to lie with bandaged limb on a couch in the nursery; whilst Lucy, full of remorse for the neglect from which had ensued such disastrous consequences, waited upon her and petted her with astonishing devotion.
Whilst Coral was thus laid aside, Beryl was her father's constant companion. Mr. Hollys prolonged his stay at home, for how could he bear to leave at once the child who had been given back to him from the arms of Death! Though it was the height of the London season, and he had many engagements in town, he sent excuses to his friends, and lingered at Egloshayle till he saw Beryl looking strong and bright again, and knew that the horror of her narrow escape from drowning had faded from her childish mind.
Those were joyous days for Beryl. Her father could not make enough of her, in his thankfulness for her restoration, and from morning till night his one aim seemed to be to give her pleasure. So anxious was he to spare Beryl any annoyance, that he made no mention of the governess who would shortly arrive at Egloshayle. It would be time enough to name that with other inevitable, though perhaps vexatious, truths, when he was about to leave home again. If Beryl fretted over them then, as was not improbable, he would at least be spared the pain of seeing his darling's tears.
One of these sweet June days was Beryl's birthday, and it was the first birthday, as far as she could remember, on which she had had her father's company. The anniversary of Beryl's birth had never been celebrated with the joyous festivities that form a bright spot in most of our memories of childhood. The day was one of gloom for her father, recalling as it did the darkest shadow that had fallen on his life. He had never cared to spend it at Egloshayle, and, now that it found him there so unexpectedly, he felt little disposed to plan a picnic or any such treat as Beryl hinted would be an agreeable way of marking the occasion.
So he promised the child that they would "keep" her birthday when he came home again in the autumn, and told her meanwhile to take counsel with Coral, and try to decide what would be the most delightful way of spending the day.
Beryl was perfectly satisfied with this promise. Her real birthday passed very quietly. The June roses were blooming in the garden, as on that day long ago when Guy Hollys had gathered them to place in the cold hands of his young wife. The sunshine was glorious, as it had been on that morn when its brilliance had struck so cruelly on the heart whose very light of life seemed gone. But now the healing hand of Time had done its work. That sorrow was but a memory. The wailing babe, whose presence had been held unwelcome on that day, had grown into the fine, fair girl whose beauty and grace gladdened her father's eyes. As Mr. Hollys' gaze rested on his child, he felt how great was his consolation, and his heart was not untouched by thankfulness to the Giver of all good, who had mercifully spared to him this precious gift.
Beryl made a wreath of the white roses, and went with her father to place it upon her mother's grave. She laid some flowers, too, upon the mound beneath which Coral's parents slept. The churchyard was no gloomy place to Beryl, but a familiar and loved spot, which she often visited.
"Papa," she surprised him by saying, when they had stood for some minutes beside her mother's grave, and her eyes were thoughtfully bent on the turf on which the roses made a spot of whiteness, "Papa, if we had been drowned the other day, Coral and I, where would you have buried us, do you think?"
"Oh, my dear! How can I tell?" he answered hastily. "What a question to ask!"
"Would you have put me here by mamma's side, and Coral over there with her mother?" asked Beryl, indicating with her foot the place where she supposed her body would have lain.
"Perhaps; but do not let us speak of it, darling."
But the subject was of interest to Beryl.
"If it had been so, papa," she asked curiously, "would you have come sometimes to put flowers on my grave?"
"Oh, my darling! What can I say? You pierce my heart with your questions," he replied in a tone of pain. "Thank God, I have you with me still, my little jewel. You must never run into such danger again, Beryl. Promise me that you will take all care in future."
"Yes, I will be very careful," said Beryl, who had already given the promise several times. "And oh, papa, I am very glad I was saved! I should be sorry to go away, and leave you all alone. You would miss your Beryl, wouldn't you?"
"Ah, indeed! More than you know," said Mr. Hollys fervently.
The memory of that talk in the churchyard haunted his mind for some time after his return to London, making him look anxiously for the letters which came to tell him of his child's welfare.
Two days later, he left home. An hour before he went away, he had a serious conversation with Beryl, in which he told her of the governess who was coming almost immediately, and urged her to be a good and industrious girl, and try, by the utmost diligence, to gain knowledge and make amends for the precious time which had been wasted.
Beryl listened to his words with a long face. The prospect before her seemed a disagreeable conclusion to the holiday-making of the last few weeks. She had some difficulty in keeping back her tears; but she managed to do so, for she felt it would be babyish to cry over such an absolute necessity as education. Mr. Hollys thought she took the news well, and he told her she was a good child, and would be sure to get on nicely with her governess.
When she had seen her father drive away from the house, Beryl went upstairs, looking very grave, to impart to Coral the startling intelligence of the change which was about to take place in their lives.
"Oh, Coral, I have something so dreadful to tell you!" she cried, bursting into the nursery, where Coral, still treated as an invalid, was resting in Lucy's rocking-chair.
Coral looked up in alarm, for Beryl's face was so serious, and her tone so tragic, that the child knew not what to expect.
"Oh, Beryl! What is it? Please tell me quickly!" she exclaimed, as Beryl tried to heighten the effect of her words by an impressive pause.
"All our nice times are over," said Beryl solemnly; "We shall never be able to play alone again, or to go on the beach or anywhere without some one to look after us, or to do anything that we like. The governess is really coming at last, Coral!"
"Is that all?" replied Coral, in a tone of relief; for her imagination had been conjuring up all kinds of dire possibilities, so that the governess's coming seemed, in comparison, a slight evil.
"All! I should think it was enough!" said Beryl sharply. "Why, Coral, you don't think how horrid it will be! I am sure she will be a nasty, cross thing, and I shall hate her;—or, at least, dislike her very much," she added, feeling that hate was too strong a word to use.
"Did your papa say she was cross?" asked Coral simply.
"Oh no, of course not; he said she was a nice young lady, the daughter of a clergyman; but I know she will be cross—all governesses are," pronounced Beryl, who had an opinion of her own upon most subjects, and never allowed the narrow range of her experience to limit her conclusions. "I expect she will be just such another as Aunt Cecilia; only I dare say she will know more, for between you and me, Coral, I don't think that aunt knows very much. You see, it is so long since she was a little girl and went to school, that she must have forgotten all she learned there."
"When will the governess come?" asked Coral, who was now looking as troubled as Beryl.
"The day after to-morrow," replied Beryl; "is it not dreadfully soon? I wish I had known before. Fancy, we have only one more day to ourselves."
"We must make the most of it," said Coral, with a sigh.
"There is another thing I must tell you," said Beryl, echoing the sigh. "Papa has made me promise to have no more Sunday schools on the beach. He laughed when I told him about it, Coral, as if it were something quite ridiculous. He said it was like the blind leading the blind, and I had better learn more myself before I tried to teach others."
"Oh, Beryl! What a pity to have to give it up!" exclaimed Coral. "And just as we are getting on so nicely, and they are beginning to understand about the pictures, and to sing 'When mothers of Salem' so well."
"Yes; and now they will forget everything we have taught them," said Beryl despondingly, "and no one will tell them about Jesus. It seems as if everything were against our doing anything for the kingdom."
"We can ask God to send some one else to teach them," suggested Coral.
"Yes; we can do that," said Beryl reluctantly.
This suggestion was not quite to her mind. It was hard to think of the work which was so dear to her being given to the hand of another. The rest of the day did not pass very happily for the children. The coming of the governess hung like a dark cloud on their horizon, and the forebodings which it awakened, made it impossible for them to enjoy the freedom of the present.
THE GOVERNESS
THE hour of the governess's arrival came all too soon for Coral and Beryl. The children wore very grave faces, as, fresh from the hands of Lucy, with clean white frocks and smoothly brushed hair, they went down to the drawing-room to await the coming of the stranger, whom they were inclined to regard as their natural enemy.
Tea-things stood ready on the drawing-room table, and Miss Hollys, very handsomely dressed, sat on a low chair languidly working at some embroidery. In her way, she was as anxious as the children with respect to the newcomer. The arrangement was one she had long desired, and from which she hoped to reap advantage. If Miss Burton proved an agreeable companion, it would be very pleasant to have some one besides the children to speak to; some one, too, who would be better able to appreciate her pretty dresses and the costly ornaments on which she prided herself.
Moreover, the presence of the governess in the house would set Miss Hollys free to leave home as frequently as she wished, and she had already planned a visit she would make as soon as she had seen Miss Burton comfortably settled with the children. Pleasant and self-congratulatory as Miss Hollys' reflections were, she was not so absorbed in them as to be unconscious of the severe shock to her nervous system, conveyed by Beryl's violently banging the door behind her as she entered the room.
"Oh, Beryl," exclaimed her aunt crossly; "when will you learn to close a door quietly? Thank goodness, there is a governess coming to teach you manners! If ever a girl needed to be well taken in hand, you do. I hope Miss Burton is a thorough disciplinarian, and will keep you in strict order."
Beryl could only guess at the meaning of the word disciplinarian; but she gave it credit for the most unpleasant significance. She pouted and scowled as she crossed the room to the side window, which commanded a view of the entrance-gate.
"I have no doubt she will be everything that is horrid," she muttered to herself.
"I hope she will teach you to be better-tempered, and to speak politely to your aunt," said Miss Hollys, unable to hear her niece's words, but guessing from Beryl's angry face that they were not of a correct nature.
The speech which trembled on Beryl's lips then was anything but a polite one, and would certainly have demonstrated her need of instruction in courtesy; but happily, she remembered how often she had had to repent of her hasty utterances, and checked this retort in time. As Beryl was quiet, and provoked no further reproof, Miss Hollys turned her attention to Coral.
"Leave that dog alone, Coral!" she exclaimed, speaking in the severe tone in which she generally addressed the child whom she regarded as an unwelcome addition to the household. "I hope Miss Burton will teach you how wicked it is to be cruel to poor dumb animals. How would you like anybody to treat you in that way?"
Coral thus detected in stealthily pulling the poodle's tail, with a view to rousing him from his lethargic state, coloured deeply; and finding herself quite unable to imagine what her feelings would be if she were in the dog's place, tried to escape from the uncomfortable speculation by running to join Beryl at the window.
But Beryl came to her defence. She could not resist this opportunity of giving her aunt an indirect hit in exchange for her annoying rebukes.
"It does not hurt that creature to have his tail pulled," she declared, eyeing the poodle contemptuously. "He is too fat to have any feeling. All he can do is to eat and sleep. I would not have such a stupid dog for the world."
"That is because you are a very silly girl," said Miss Hollys, colouring with anger at hearing her pet thus disparaged. "I am sure Coral did hurt him, poor fellow. Hear how he is moaning."
Beryl laughed, and gave Coral a glance, which plainly spoke her amusement at the idea of the poodle's sleepy grunts being interpreted as expressions of pain.
But Coral missed the glance, for she was looking intently for the phaeton, and at that moment she exclaimed hurriedly, "Oh, Beryl, here comes the carriage! I can see Andrew's head above the wall; but I can't see the governess. Do you think she has really come?"
"Yes, I can see somebody else," said Beryl, as the horse stood still at the entrance, and Andrew alighted to open the gate. "Let us go to the front door. Come along."
The children darted out of the room with such speed as awakened fresh reprimands from Miss Hollys. Standing at the open door, they directed curious glances at the phaeton as it rolled lightly along the gravelled path.
The little form seated beside Andrew did not at all resemble their preconceived notions of the governess's appearance. This was no grim, gaunt, sour-looking individual. The spectacles which Beryl had deemed indispensable to the work of an instructress were wanting, and the bright brown eyes, which looked down on the children as the carriage drove up, seemed to know no need of them.
"Can she be the governess, do you think?" whispered Coral, looking wonderingly at the bright face smiling on her from beneath the little round hat which suited it so admirably.
As soon as the phaeton drew up, the young lady sprang down from her seat as lightly as a child, without waiting for Andrew to help her. She looked scarcely more than a child, indeed, as she stood beside her new pupils, for she was only a few inches taller than Beryl, and her trim little figure and round rosy face had the most simple, girlish look.
"How do you do, young people?" she said, in a clear ringing voice, as she kissed first Beryl, and then Coral. "What are your names, if you please?"
"I am Beryl, and that is Coral. But are you really the governess who is going to teach us?"
"Yes, indeed; who else should I be? Did you not expect to see me?"
"Oh yes; only I did not think you would be so young," said Beryl frankly.
Miss Burton laughed merrily. "What! You do not think I look old enough to teach you," she said; "but I am older perhaps than you think, and you will soon find out how cross and strict I can be when I begin to give you lessons."
Beryl did not look dismayed as she echoed Miss Burton's laugh. She began to think that her conclusions respecting governesses were not well-founded. Miss Burton was certainly by no means disagreeable-looking, nor did she in the least resemble Aunt Cecilia. Both the children were delighted to find the governess so utterly different from what they had expected.
Miss Hollys now came forward to receive the stranger. She was as surprised as Beryl at the pretty, girlish appearance of the governess. She had some misgivings as she looked at Miss Burton.
"I fear you are rather young for the work before you," she said to her, as she took the young lady upstairs, having ordered the children to stay below; "for you will not find your pupils easy to manage. Beryl is dreadfully ignorant, and a most unruly, self-willed girl. And I am afraid Coral is little better. You will have to be very firm with them, and punish them as often as they require it."
"I am nearly twenty-five; that is not so very young," said Miss Burton, with a smile. "I think I shall be able to get on with the children. I have managed worse girls than they are, if one may judge by their looks."
"Well, you have your work before you," returned Miss Hollys, with an ominous nod.
"How lovely it is here!" said Miss Burton, half an hour later, as she stood at the drawing-room window, and looked on the broad stretch of beach and the blue, heaving waves. "It is a delightful change from London."
"You will find it very dull when you have been here a little time," said Miss Hollys; "you will long to get back to town."
"I think not, for I am fond of a country life," said Miss Burton. "I was brought up in the country. It is only for the last few years that we have lived in London. Oh, how beautiful the sea looks! It makes me long to swim in it."
"Can you swim?" asked Beryl, in a tone of supreme astonishment.
"Yes, of course, why should I not? I am rather proud of my swimming," said Miss Burton.
"I did not think governesses ever did such things as that," said Beryl wonderingly.
The tone in which Beryl said this struck Miss Burton as so droll that she burst into a merry laugh, which lasted some seconds.
"Why, what a funny notion you have of governesses," she said, as soon as she could speak. "Who has been talking to you about them?"
"No one," replied Beryl, as she turned away with hot cheeks, her pride uneasy under the fear that she had made herself ridiculous.
But she soon forgot her annoyance, and returned to Miss Burton's side to listen with intense enjoyment to her cheery talk. Beryl was getting quite fascinated with her pretty young governess.
"Do you know my papa?" she asked presently. "That is his portrait, taken many years ago, before I was born," and she pointed to a head in oils which hung against the wall.
"No, I have not seen your papa," said Miss Burton, rising to look at the portrait. "Mrs. Everard made every arrangement for my coming here, and I had no interview with Mr. Hollys. I can see that you are like your father, Beryl."
"Have you a father, Miss Burton?" asked little Coral, looking earnestly at the young lady.
"No, dear, not on earth," replied Miss Burton, dropping her voice, whilst a momentary shadow passed over her face; "my father died five years ago."
"My father is dead too," said little Coral, making the statement in the simple, matter-of-fact tone of childhood, "and mamma as well."
"Are they, dear?" said Miss Burton, instinctively drawing the child closer to her. "You must tell me about them some day."
But Coral felt no need of further knowledge of her new friend before giving her entire confidence, nor did Beryl. With eager utterance they began to tell Miss Burton the history of the shipwreck and all that dated from it. What one did not think of the other supplied, and their tongues went so fast that Miss Hollys had several times to reprove them for making too much noise. But Miss Burton listened with interest, and felt almost as sorry as the children when Miss Hollys decided that it was time for them to go upstairs.
"How nice she is!" said Beryl to Coral, as they went away. "I had no idea a governess could be so pleasant."
"No, she really does not look at all cross, does she?" said Coral.
"No, indeed," said Beryl heartily.
"I think it will be quite nice to do lessons with her. I shan't mind it a bit."
"What do you think of Miss Burton, Lucy?" said Beryl later on, when the nurse had for some time been listening with quiet amusement to the children's comments on their governess, and contrasting them with the remarks she haft heard earlier in the day.
"Oh, I think she is as nice-looking a young lady as ever I saw, and very pleasant-spoken too," said Lucy.
"Oh, I like her so much," said Beryl again; "I am quite glad that papa thought of getting me a governess. I like Miss Burton a great deal better than Aunt Cecilia; don't you, Coral? I am sure it will be delightful to learn of her."
"Well, Miss Beryl, I only hope you will always be so fond of your governess," remarked Lucy.
"What do you mean?" asked Beryl quickly, for her nurse's words seemed to be charged with special significance. "Do you think I shall change?"
"People often do change, especially when they are so hot at first," said Lucy.
"But I shall not change," returned Beryl indignantly; "and you need not speak as if you thought I should, Lucy."
FALLING INTO TEMPTATION
THE children settled very happily to their daily tasks with Miss Burton. At first, the long hours of confinement were felt to be irksome. Beryl's pen was apt to drop from her fingers, and her mind to wander from her work, as the sound of the sea came to her through the open window, and the warm sunshine and fragrant breeze made her long to fling books aside, and roam abroad at will again. But a word or touch from Miss Burton would recall her attention, for Beryl was really anxious to do well and please her governess. She felt ashamed of knowing so little, and was anxious by great endeavours to make up for lost time. Miss Burton made their steps to knowledge as smooth and pleasant as possible for her young pupils.
On sounding the depths of their ignorance, she was appalled to discover how profound it was; but happily, the children, though backward, were neither slow nor dull. No one could call Beryl a stupid child. If she knew little of books, she had picked up a good deal of information about the common things of life in the course of her free-and-easy childhood.
Miss Burton was surprised to find how quickly Beryl learned when once she began to apply herself. The soil of her mind promised to yield all the richer harvest for having lain fallow so long.
The children were fortunate in the governess chosen for them. Hettie Burton was too young and too childlike to have acquired any formal, pedantic mode of imparting instruction, whilst, at the same time, her intellectual powers were such as would have qualified her to teach far older pupils. She had a natural aptitude for teaching, and did not find her work a drudgery. She varied the children's tasks so skilfully, that neither mind nor body could grow weary before lessons were over. She laid no unnecessary restrictions on their freedom.
Coral and Beryl still took their morning dip in the sea, and had a run on the beach afterwards before they went to lessons, and, weather permitting, there was always a long, pleasant ramble in the evening. The children enjoyed their walks all the more when Miss Burton accompanied them.
She was not of Miss Holly's opinion, that it was unladylike to run, and vulgar to jump or climb. She let her pupils make free use of their limbs, when school hours were over. Hettie was not too old to enjoy a run herself, and the nimble way in which she scaled the rocks excited Beryl's strong admiration.
One day, shortly after her arrival, the children took their governess to explore the depths of the long cave, and then poured into her astonished ears the story of their marvellous escape from drowning. Beryl was disposed to suppress the fact of their having tried to keep a Sunday school in the cave. She was afraid lest Miss Burton, like Mr. Hollys, should see something ridiculous in the idea. But Coral soon let out the fact; and though Miss Burton seemed very surprised to hear of it, she did not appear inclined to laugh.
"What made you think of keeping a Sunday school here?" she asked.
"Beryl thought of it," said Coral. "She wanted to do something for the kingdom."
"For the kingdom?" repeated Miss Burton, looking puzzled.
"It was Mr. Gilbank made me think of it," said Beryl, colouring as she spoke; "he said it was such a pity there was no Sunday school for the children at Egloshayle."
"Who is Mr. Gilbank? Your clergyman, I suppose?" said Miss Burton.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Beryl. "Mr. Trevor is our clergyman, and he is not in the least like Mr. Gilbank. You could never guess what Mr. Gilbank is like. He is the nicest, kindest man in the world, I think; except papa, of course, I mean."
Then, as Miss Burton began to ask further questions, Coral and Beryl told her all about the artist's visit to Egloshayle, and how he had taught them the meaning of the Lord's Prayer, and made them long to become children of the kingdom.
Miss Burton listened with surprised interest. Here was a subject on which the children were not ignorant. Young as they were, they had taken their place at the Master's feet, and had begun to learn of Him.
Hettie Burton stood silent and thoughtful for a few minutes, scarce heeding what the children said.
She, too, aspired to be a worker in the kingdom. She was thinking that perhaps the care and training of these two children did not represent all the work she was called to do at Egloshayle. It might be that she could work with Coral and Beryl as well as for them.
"Is there really no Sunday school here?" she asked presently.
"No, none at all," said Beryl.
"It is a pity," said Miss Burton. "I wish we could manage to have one."
"Oh, would you help us? Do you really mean it?" cried Beryl, in joyful surprise.
"Yes, certainly. I should be only too happy to help," said Miss Burton. "I have been used to teaching in Sunday schools all my life; at least, I mean, ever since I arrived at years of discretion."
"Then we can begin at once!" cried Beryl eagerly. "Oh, but I forgot," she added, with a sudden change of tone; "I promised papa that I would not keep Sunday school again."
"Then we must do nothing in the matter till we have obtained his permission," said the governess decidedly.
"But he will not be home till September; it is such a long time to wait," returned Beryl disconsolately.
"Only a few weeks," said Miss Burton, "and we shall have time to think of some plan to which Mr. Hollys may not object. It is never well to begin things in too great a hurry."
"I think papa will be sure to agree, if you ask him," said Beryl.
"Oh, I do not promise to take that upon me," said Miss Burton, with a little laugh.
After this, the arrangement of a Sunday school was eagerly discussed by the children, and many a grand idea conceived, which proved upon examination to be impracticable.
Meanwhile, the Sunday afternoons, which the children passed with their governess, were very pleasant. Miss Burton gave them little formal religious instruction. She did not believe in teaching children catechisms, or in giving them doses of theology, however infinitesimal. She had no desire to make Coral and Beryl precociously self-conscious. But she did try to keep them healthy, happy children, whose child-life was all the more beautiful and joyous because they loved and trusted the children's Friend. She taught them to sing glad hymns, such as in all ages children have loved to sing. She tried to make the "old, old story" real and clear to their childish minds.
She had brought many books with her to Egloshayle, such as all children love, and she used to read them to her young charges on Sunday afternoons, as they sat in the garden or in some safe and shady nook on the beach. In this way, Coral and Beryl became acquainted with "Ministering Children," "The Wide, Wide World," and the charming stories which make up "The Golden Ladder."
Beryl enjoyed these readings intensely. She was so interested in the lives of the various heroines that she scarcely knew how to wait from week to week for the unfolding of their experiences, and at last her impatience in this respect proved a means of temptation to her.
For the first few weeks things had gone very pleasantly in the schoolroom. Beryl, influenced by the charm of her governess's winning manner, and her own eager desire to improve, had been so industrious and obedient, that Miss Burton began to wonder what could have made her aunt describe her as an unruly, self-willed child.
But a change became apparent. In the hot days of August, Beryl grew listless and careless, and seemed to lose interest in her lessons. Up to this time, a word from her governess had been sufficient to control her; but now Beryl's old habits were regaining power, and she showed plainly that she had not yet learned to appreciate the virtue of obedience. Miss Burton often had to speak twice and even three times before she could command her pupil's attention. Beryl fancied she could treat her governess's commands with the indifference she had always shown to her aunt's.
But it was not Miss Burton's intention to allow such conduct to continue. She was, as Miss Hollys had hoped, a thorough disciplinarian, though her mode of maintaining discipline was not, perhaps, such as that lady would have advised.
Miss Burton made every allowance for Beryl's naughtiness. She did not resort to punishment till she had tried ineffectually the influence of firm words and kind persuasions. But when these failed, and she saw that Beryl was not ailing in health, and had really no excuse for her perverseness, Miss Burton thought it was time to try the effect of sterner measures.
One Monday morning, Coral and Beryl were together in the nursery, now dignified by the name of schoolroom. Books, slates, and pens lay ready on the table; but it wanted ten minutes to the hour at which they began lessons.
Coral was busy putting her doll into the little wicker cot in which she was to repose during schooltime. Beryl stood before the bookshelves, looking with eager, longing gaze at a brightly-bound volume standing high on the top shelf. The books on that shelf belonged to Miss Burton, and the children were not allowed to take them without leave. Beryl's eyes were upon the book, which had been begun on the previous day. She was longing to know how the story went on.
She must just take a peep, to see what the next chapter was about. So, regardless of the fact that this was a forbidden pleasure, Beryl bounded on to a chair and had the book in her hand in a moment. Then, standing there, she was soon deep in the second chapter.
Thus Miss Burton found her, when she entered the room a little later.
"Beryl!" she exclaimed, astonished at the audacity of her pupil. "What are you doing on that chair? And what book is that in your hand? I thought I had forbidden you to take those books without asking my leave."
"Oh yes," said Beryl, looking a little startled, but not much abashed; "but I did so want to know what the next chapter was about."
"That is no excuse for disobedience," said Miss Burton gravely; "you must learn to control your wishes when it is wrong to indulge them. This is not the first time that I have found you disobedient of late, and I cannot let it pass unpunished. You will stay in this room for half an hour after school, and learn a lesson that I shall give you."
Beryl looked both surprised and angry, as she jumped down from the chair and went to take her place at the table. It was soon clear that she did not mean to submit meekly to her punishment.
SELF-WILL AND SORROW
BERYL sat down to her lessons with a frown upon her brow. If she was at all ashamed of having provoked such a reproof from her governess, pride kept her from manifesting the least contrition.
Miss Burton soon knew that Beryl could be as naughty and refractory as any child she had ever had to control. Everything went wrong that morning. Either Beryl had prepared her lessons very carelessly, or her recent annoyance had driven out of her mind what she had learned. She stammered and hesitated, made the most stupid blunders, and called forth frequent expressions of astonishment from her governess.
Beryl's temper did not improve under these humiliations. Since she found it impossible to display striking intelligence in the course of this morning's study, she resolved to aim at the other extreme and show striking stupidity. If Miss Burton were inclined to find fault, occasion should not be lacking. So Beryl hardened herself into a state of sulky obstinacy, purposely misunderstood what was said to her, found difficulties in the easiest of sums, and made blots and smudges in her writing at the rate of one a minute.
Miss Burton tried to be patient with the child, hoping that she would soon recover her temper and see the absurdity of her conduct. But as Beryl's blunders showed more and more plainly that they were made by design, the governess felt her own anger being kindled. Fearing that an outburst of indignation might make matters worse, she suddenly surprised Beryl by refusing to teach her any more that morning.
For the rest of schooltime, Beryl sat idle in a corner of the room, looking strangely unlike herself, with the sulky, stubborn look which had settled on her face.
"Beryl," said Miss Burton, when Coral was putting away her books, "I was sorry to find fault with you when I came into the schoolroom this morning, but if you had been a wise girl, you would have resolved that it should not happen again, and have tried, by being good and industrious, to make me forget my annoyance with you. But as you have chosen to waste the whole morning by giving way to ill-temper and naughtiness, I feel that I must increase your punishment. I shall double the lesson I intended giving you, and you must stay in this room by yourself for a whole hour. It grieves me to treat you thus, for I had hoped we might have got on together without punishments and penalties."
Miss Burton looked in vain for any sign of softening on Beryl's part. Yet, in truth, it was all the child could do to keep her composure. No sooner did she hear Miss Burton close the door, and know that she was alone, than she burst into passionate tears. But they were not tears of penitence. Pride still ruled her spirit, and she angrily resented her governess's treatment of her. Beryl had never before experienced punishment, and, like a colt first made to feel the bit, she chafed and fretted, giving herself far more pain than she would have felt had she quietly submitted to control.
In her indignant, defiant mood, Beryl was of two minds about learning the lesson Miss Burton had set her. It was by no means a difficult task, and she might soon have mastered it, had she chosen to do so. But she felt strongly disinclined to the effort, as she sat with the book closed over her fingers, swinging her feet to and fro, an action soothing to her in her present state of mind. She was gradually growing calmer and more rational, when the door opened and Lucy appeared. She came, duster in hand, to set the room tidy, as her custom was when lessons were over.
"Why, Miss Beryl! You here still?" she exclaimed in surprise. "How is that?"
"Yes, I'm here,"' replied Beryl, not very amiably, giving her feet a determined swing, meant to express supreme indifference. "I have a lesson to learn."
"Then you've been a naughty girl, I suppose," said Lucy, taking in the situation at once, and showing little regard for Beryl's feelings.
"I only took a book off Miss Burton's shelf," said Beryl, in an injured tone. "It was very horrid of her to make such a fuss about it. She's as cross as she can be."
"Oh, I dare say you think you did nothing wrong," remarked Lucy; "you always say that. But you won't be any the worse for a little punishment; I'm glad Miss Burton knows how to manage you."
"She doesn't then; she is a horrid, cross thing; I can't bear her!" exclaimed Beryl, uttering the first words which came to her lips, in the irritation excited by these words, which stung her pride sorely.
"There now, Miss Beryl; what did I tell you?" exclaimed Lucy triumphantly. "I said you would not be fond of your governess long. I knew your love was too hot to last."
With these words Lucy went away, leaving poor Beryl more completely under the dominion of the evil spirit of pride and self-will which had taken possession of her. But for her nurse's ill-chosen words, Beryl might soon have been humble and contrite, and the rest of the day might have passed more happily for her than it did. Now, however, all her worst feelings were stirred up anew. She did not care. She would do as she liked. She would not learn the lesson. She would show Miss Burton, and Lucy too, that she was not going to be "managed"; and, reckless of consequences, Beryl dashed her lesson book on the floor, and looked round for some pleasanter mode of passing the time.
Something drew her eyes to the bookshelf. They rested on the brightly-bound book which had led her into this trouble. Here was a grand opportunity of at once daring Miss Burton's anger and gratifying her own wishes.
Beryl gave herself no time for reflection. She flew across the room, climbed on a chair, reached the book, and sat down to read it. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart was beating fast as she opened it. She was feeling half proud of her spirited defiance, and half frightened at it. The story thus read had little charm. It was difficult, indeed, to keep her attention fixed upon it in her excited state of mind. Her own situation just now was more interesting to her than that of the heroine of the story.
Moreover, in her reading, she came to passages which she was glad to skip, for she knew their teaching would awaken conscience, and she did not want to listen to the reproaches of conscience. Beryl was not so absorbed in her reading that she did not catch the first sound of Miss Burton's approach. She trembled and grew pale as her governess opened the door. She suddenly became fully conscious how bad her conduct was.
"Well, Beryl," said Miss Burton, coming towards her, and speaking with her usual gentleness, "do you know your lesson?"
"No," said Beryl, rather unsteadily; "I have not learned it."
"Not learned it!" repeated Miss Burton, in a tone of the greatest surprise. "Why, what is this?" she added, as her eyes fell on the story book, which Beryl had hastily pushed from her as her governess entered. "Have you been reading this, Beryl, instead of learning your lesson?"
"Yes," said Beryl, colouring hotly, and looking on the floor.
Miss Burton was silent for a few moments from sheer astonishment. She was quite unprepared for such an outbreak of wilfulness on the part of her pupil. She could not understand how it was that Beryl thus persisted in defying her authority.
Beryl, glancing timidly at her governess, saw an expression of pain and perplexity on her face, the sight of which did more to soften the child's mood than any words which had yet been spoken.
"I could not have believed it of you, Beryl," said Miss Burton at last, without raising her voice or showing any sign of anger. "What can have come over you to make you behave thus? Do you find pleasure in giving me trouble?"
Beryl did not answer. She hung her head now in genuine shame. Oh, how she wished she had acted differently! If only what had happened could be blotted out, and she could begin the day afresh!
"Go to your bedroom, Beryl, and remain there for the rest of the day," said Miss Burton, in her quiet tone of decision; "I will send your dinner to you there. We must go to the woods without you this afternoon. I hope when I see you in the evening, you will have thought over what has passed, and feel sorry for having behaved so badly. You do not need me to tell you how wrong you have been."
Beryl said not a word, but left the room at once in obedience to her governess's command. She went away, feeling as hopelessly miserable as a child could feel. There was no anger in Miss Burton's mind towards her as she noted her unhappy look. She could have forgiven her there and then, but she judged it best to leave Beryl to herself for a time.
What a long, sad afternoon that was for Beryl! The expedition to the woods in search of the blackberries, which were just beginning to ripen, had been talked of for days, and now, instead of the anticipated pleasure, Beryl found herself a prisoner in her room, in sore trouble and disgrace.
From her window she watched the others set off, Coral seated on the pony, which Andrew led, Miss Burton walking beside her, and Lucy bringing up the rear with baskets and shawls, for they were to have tea in the wood.
Coral's face looked grave and troubled. Beryl felt sure she would not enjoy the blackberry-picking half so much without her. Miss Burton, too, looked less bright than usual; but Beryl fancied she read a look of triumph on Lucy's face, as she glanced up and saw the young prisoner peeping from the window. No doubt Lucy was pleased to think she was being thus "managed."
But the indignation stirred by Lucy's appearance quickly died out. Beryl's conscience was awake now, and made itself forcibly heard. She no longer said that her governess was unkind, and held herself aggrieved by her treatment. She saw now how very bad her conduct had been. She wondered, with a desponding sense of her own weakness, how she could have behaved so badly to one whom she loved as she loved Miss Burton; for Beryl's words to Lucy had been uttered in passion and bravado, and it was not true that she could not bear her governess.
As she remembered Miss Burton's great kindness, and the many happy hours they had passed together since she came to Egloshayle, Beryl felt more and more ashamed of herself. She longed for the party to return, that she might ask her governess to forgive her.
As if to intensify her contrition, there suddenly fluttered on to the floor from a cupboard in the room, so crammed with toys and books by the untidy owners that it would not be made to shut, a large sheet of paper. Startled by the sound it made in falling, Beryl looked to see what it was. She took up the sheet and unrolled it. It was a picture of the Good Shepherd, one of the coloured prints she had used with such success in her Sunday school. Beryl dropped it suddenly, and her face reddened with fresh shame. The memory of the day when she had tried to teach her little scholars about the Good Shepherd pierced her to the heart. She did not need to be told that example is better than precept.
How often had she made use of her quick observation to weigh the comparative merits of the words and deeds of others. The thought of her little scholars brought the keenest stab of remorse she had yet felt. A nice one she was to try and teach others! If those children could have seen her to-day, what would they have thought? And she had called herself a child of the kingdom! Beryl broke down utterly at the thought. Kneeling beside her little bed, she hid her face in her hands, and sobbed till she could sob no more. She was young, poor child, to know the keen pain and shame which comes with a sense of failure in realising our own cherished ideal of worthy living.
When Miss Burton entered the room some hours later, she had no need to utter words to draw forth Beryl's avowal of repentance. Beryl ran towards her with pale, tear-stained face and look of utter misery, crying, "Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry; I hate myself; I am a bad, horrid thing!"
Hettie Burton clasped her in her arms, and Beryl's words were lost in sobs, as she leaned her head on her governess's shoulder. Not a word of reproach or blame was spoken. Miss Burton did not try to improve the occasion. She saw that Beryl was truly sorry for her naughtiness, and she tried to make her feel that she was fully forgiven. So she soothed the child with tender words and caresses; and when she had helped her to bathe her face and set her hair in order, she led her to the schoolroom. Here stood ready the children's supper of bread and butter, milk, and blackberries, and Coral was waiting, eager to see and comfort Beryl.
Her little sister's joyous welcome and loving kiss made Beryl cry again. She felt more humble and sorry than ever, now every one was so kind to her, for even Lucy seemed to feel a little sympathy for her. Coral had picked out the finest and ripest blackberries for her enjoyment; but, fond as she generally was of this fruit, Beryl was indifferent to blackberries now. Her chief thought was that she loved her governess better than before, and she would never, never be naughty to her again.