O
ON a post card came Jimmy's reply. It was decidedly enigmatical and short.
"Look out for eavesdroppers. Your affectionate brother."
The post card was lying on Cecil's plate when she came in to dinner on a certain Saturday afternoon. She hastily slipped it into her pocket. On Saturday afternoon there was, of course, a half holiday. Only those who were working very hard for a coming examination dreamt of turning to books on such a lovely day as this.
Kate, who seemed to have completely recovered her spirits, and who was more popular than ever at St. Dorothy's, was off on a long botanical expedition with several other girls. Molly had a headache, and preferred a quiet time in her own room. Cecil meanwhile felt Jimmy's card burning a hole in her pocket.
"Look out for eavesdroppers," she repeated to herself.
Until she received her brother's frank communication, it had never occurred to her to solve the mystery in this way.
"Eavesdropping is such a schoolboy trick!"she said to herself. "I doubt whether there is anything in Jimmy's solution, but such as it is, I am bound to act on it. I shall visit the summerhouse this afternoon."
Cecil went to her cubicle as this thought came to her, and hastily put on her hat, jacket, and gloves.
"Are you coming with us, Cecil?" called out Kate, who was just preparing for her own walk in the cubicle near by.
"Not to-day," replied Cecil.
"I wish you would; you have more taste for botany than all the other girls at St. Dorothy's put together. I know some rocks where we can get lovely specimens of rare ferns. Do come!"
"No; I can't," replied Cecil.
Her door was a little open; Kate came to it now, and pushed in her laughing face.
"It strikes me," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she spoke, "that you do not greatly care to be friends with me."
"Yes, I do, Kate," replied Cecil, "but you are unjust to Molly; you are making Molly suffer very much. There is no one near now, so I am able to speak what is in my mind. Molly is in trouble because you do not believe her. You accuse her in your own mind of a most base and dishonorable act."
"Oh, how you worry me!" said Kate. "Do you think that I would believe anything against Molly if I could help myself? Do you think Iwantto doubt?"
"You shall not long," said Cecil, with spirit. "I have made up my mind not to leave a stone unturned to set this matter straight. Go for your walk, Kate, enjoy your botany, but try and remember that, because you have so little faith, you are making a most loving and loyal heart suffer. Go! I think you are a noble girl in many ways, but I am surprised at your want of faith."
Kate looked as astonished as if someone had suddenly slapped her in the face. She stood silent for a moment, opened her lips once as if she meant to say something, changed her mind, and went softly away. A moment or two later Cecil left the house.
"I feel as if I were engaged on a very dirty, disagreeable bit of work," she said to herself. "Imustfind out if it would have been possible for anyone to have overheard Kate's and Molly's conversation. Let me see, an idea comes to me. Why should not Matilda Matthews herself help me to unravel this mystery? Matilda is always dying to be seen with the St. Dorothy girls. I must pander to her weakness a little now. After all, it is in a good cause."
Matilda lived at Dacre House. It was one of the most fashionable of the houses of residence; only really rich girls could afford to go there. Matilda's father and mother had more money than they knew what to do with. Matilda was their only child, and they did not care what expense they lavished on her. Cecil had neveryet been to Dacre House. It was at the other side of the great school quadrangle. She soon found herself walking up the wide flight of steps, and ringing the hall door bell. A neatly dressed servant quickly answered her summons.
"I have called to see Miss Matthews. Do you happen to know if she is in?" inquired Cecil.
"I don't know, miss; I'll inquire. Will you come upstairs to the drawing room, please?"
Cecil obeyed.
Dacre House was richly and expensively furnished; there were Turkey carpets on the stairs; the drawing room was a very large and luxurious apartment. Cecil looked round her with a sense of dissatisfaction. She missed the plain, but exquisite, neatness of St. Dorothy's.
"I am glad I am there," she said to herself.
At this moment Matilda entered the room. She quite blushed and giggled when she saw Cecil.
"How do you do?" she said, in a sentimental voice. "Is not the day lovely?"
"Yes," said Cecil. "I want to know if you will come for a walk with me, Matilda?"
"With you?" asked Matilda, her dull eyes lighting up. "Do you want us to be chums?"
Cecil hated herself—she found that to gain her object she must really act with guile. Never before had straightforward Cecil stooped to this sort of work.
"Never mind, it is in the cause of friendship,"she said to her aggrieved conscience. Aloud she replied:
"I have not thought whether we are to be chums or not. I simply want a companion to spend the afternoon with me."
"Don't you like the girls at St. Dorothy's?" asked Matilda, in a low voice.
"Of course I do! they are delightful. We can discuss them when we are out—that is, if you are coming."
Matilda had every intention of coming. It was all very well to be rich, and to be surrounded by luxuries, and to be fawned on by girls poorer than herself, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she lacked those things which girls like Cecil Ross and Molly Lavender, and even poor, low-born Kate O'Connor, possessed. She lacked sadly all that nobility of spirit which shone in Cecil's eyes, and was reflected in every tone of Molly's sweet voice. She hated the girls who possessed those gifts which had been denied to her. She underwent unceasing mortification from the fact that her own figure was squat, her own face plain and freckled, from the knowledge that no amount of fine dress could make her look the least like a lady.
"Yes, I'll go," she said, after a pause. "I did not mean to go out this afternoon, for I have just had a new novel sent to me by post, and I meant to sit by the fire and enjoy it, but as you have been good enough to call, Cecil, I won't refuse your request. I dare say you find it ratherlonely at present, but you will soon have plenty of friends. Perhaps you know that I am going to St. Dorothy's at the half term. When I go there, I'll promise to do my best for you."
"Well, run and put on your hat now," said Cecil, "and let us start."
"Where shall we go?" asked Matilda, when the girls had left Dacre House.
"Shall we go to the big playground first? I have not half seen it."
"We'll go there, if you like; but I don't care for hockey, lacrosse, nor any of those mannish games. My father is old-fashioned; he likes me to be thoroughly educated, but he always says, 'Be feminine before all things, Matilda.' I think hockey, and cricket, and cycling so very unfeminine, don't you?"
"Not at all," replied Cecil. "Of course, taken in excess, they may be bad; but, really," she added, "I have not studied the subject."
"Nor have I—not seriously. I hate discussing all those women's questions; we're always having them in our debating society. After all, what is the use? I, for one, mean to marry well. My idea is to marry a man twice my own age, because he will make a pet of me. I'd rather be an old man's darling, than a young man's slave; wouldn't you, Cecil?"
"I don't intend to be either," replied Cecil.
"Do you mind my leaning on you?" asked Matilda. "I'm quite certain we'll be chums. I like your face; you don't know how I admireindependent sort of girls like you. How fast you walk! It quite blows me to walk as fast as that. Ah, that's better, let me catch on to your arm; you don't mind, do you?"
If Cecil had spoken the truth, she would have said, "I mind intensely." As it was, she made no response. Matilda took silence for consent. One or two of the St. Dorothy girls passed them, and stared when they saw who Cecil Ross' companion was.
"What conceited creatures those schoolgirls are!" said Matilda. "And of all the girls in the place none give themselves such airs as those who live at St. Dorothy's. Well, here we are at the playground. What do you mean to do, now we have got here, Cecil? For my part, I am not a good walker; I require plenty of rest; I have none of the muscle which characterises the modern girl."
"I should think not," thought Cecil to herself. Aloud she said:
"If you are tired, we can sit in the summerhouse."
"A good idea," responded Matilda; "we can watch the girls at their cricket and lacrosse from there. Let us go straight to the summerhouse, and look on at the different games. I don't object to looking on, but I hate joining. When first I went to Dacre House, I was forced to join, but now, thank goodness! I am past that stage. Of course, when I go to St. Dorothy's, I shall be more or less my own mistress."
"What a big world this great school is!" said Cecil.
"Yes, isn't it?" replied Matilda. "But though it's big, it's narrow, too. Do you see that set of girls over there? They are most of them in dark blue, with white sailor hats; they live in Miss Ford's house. Miss Ford and Mrs. Churchill put on the most fearful airs, and so do their girls. The girls in those two houses are the aristocrats of the school; one or two of them have titles, and several are honorables. Father made a great effort to get me into Mrs. Churchill's house. Father is first cousin to Sir John Jones, and Sir John Jones was made a baronet ten years ago; but Mrs. Churchill is so exclusive, and when she heard that father had made his money by tallow, it was decided that I had better go to Dacre House. Don't you think all that sort of thing very ridiculous?"
"I am incapable of judging," replied Cecil. "I suppose as long as the world lasts there will be distinctions of class."
"Oh, good gracious! how frightfully conservative and old-fashioned you are!"
"Not at all; you mistake me. I am indifferent myself to all that sort of thing. I have come to school to study; I want to get the governors' scholarship, if I can."
"You belong to the distinction of talent. I have no doubt you are clever; you look it. For my part, I hate study, and, if it were not for mother, would not dream of going to Cambridge.But mother's heart is set on it; Sir John Jones' daughter is at Girton now, and she hopes I may make her acquaintance. I know that is the real reason she is sending me, but I hope you won't repeat it."
Cecil shut her lips; she was quite silent.
They soon reached the summerhouse, and seated themselves in such a position that they had a good view of the field. Several games were going on vigorously, and Cecil's thoughts reverted to her brothers. She wondered if they, too, were having a good time on that bright Saturday afternoon.
"By the way," said Matilda, in a low, wheedling sort of tone; "talking of rank and all that, don't you think it is odd of Miss Forester to allow a girl like Kate O'Connor to come to Redgarth?"
"Why?" asked Cecil calmly.
"Why? Need you ask? Her origin!"
"What about her origin?" asked Cecil.
"Well," Matilda giggled, "I think she has explained all that herself."
"She has told us of a very beautiful life which she led in Ireland," said Cecil. "I fail to see where her low origin comes in. Hers was the sort of life which Tennyson, if he were now alive, would write a lovely ballad about."
"Oh, if you take it in that spirit, I have not a word to say," replied Matilda. "I knew there were some silly, romantic, sentimental girls at St. Dorothy's, but I did not know that you wereone. I am glad it has not been my lot in life to milk cows, and clean dairies, and weed stupid little gardens."
"And read Shakspere, and the Bible, and the book of nature," continued Cecil, in fine scorn. "Such privileges are only accorded to the few."
"I suppose Kate is one of nature's ladies," said Matilda, in a reflective tone. "I suppose you are all going to take her up more heartily than ever, after her extraordinary exhibition the other night?"
"After the very beautiful poem which she recited in our presence," cried Cecil. "Yes; we will all take her up warmly."
"I could see that there was a good deal of hurt feeling behind all that fine oration," responded Matilda, after a pause; "I expect she was very angry with her dear friend Molly Lavender for betraying her."
"Molly never betrayed her," replied Cecil, with firmness.
"Oh, my dear Cecil! how can you believe that story? Why, Molly even hinted two or three things to me."
"Did she? I was going to ask you about those two or three things," said Cecil.
Matilda fidgeted uneasily.
"I don't mean that she saidmuch," she interrupted.
"Precisely; perhaps you will tell me what she did say."
"How can I recollect now?"
"You must recollect," said Cecil suddenly. "The fact is this: Molly declares that she never repeated a single word of Kate's confidence to you. You must tell what she really said, Matilda, and perhaps the best way—the very best way—is to tell me in Molly's own presence."
"You frighten me," said Matilda. "You know how I hate getting into rows. There is not a girl in the whole school who hates that sort of thing more than I do; I believe you brought me out here on purpose."
"I thought perhaps you would help me," said Cecil. "The fact is, I am very unhappy about this. Molly is supposed by Kate to have betrayed her secret. Kate and Molly were great friends; now their friendship has been completely broken. Molly's word is beyond suspicion. Do you know, Matilda,"—Cecil stood up as she spoke,—"do you know that it was in this summerhouse, just here, that Kate told Molly that beautiful story of her early home which she repeated again for our benefit a few nights ago?"
"Was it?" replied Matilda. Her mottled face grew red; her small eyes did not dare to meet Cecil's. "I am sure," she added sulkily, "I don't care where it was told; I knew nothing about it. Molly herself told me the very little I know; other girls seemed to have heard of it at the same time."
"Molly never told you," said Cecil; "that is a lie!"
"How dare you, Cecil Ross, accuse me of anything so unladylike? I shall not stay another moment in your presence."
"Yes, you shall," replied Cecil. "I don't mean to conceal my motives any longer from you. I suspect you of having got your information, not from Molly, who would rather cut out her tongue than betray her friend, but in some underhand way. Yes, I am very angry and very determined, and I am not the sister of four brothers, and I have not got to fight my own way in the world, for nothing. I know I am a new girl at St. Dorothy's, and a new member of this great school, but that will not deter me from trying to clear up this mischief as soon as possible."
"Oh, what a shabby, mean wretch you are!" cried Matilda. "I shall leave you at once."
"You need not stay long, but you shall until I do what I have come to do. This door is open, but I see that it can be shut, and that there is a key to it. I mean to lock the door while I explore this summerhouse."
Cecil walked quickly to the entrance as she spoke. She was a head and shoulders over Matilda, and had twice her physical strength. Matilda rushed to the door to escape, but Cecil was too quick for her. In a moment the door was locked; the key was in Cecil's pocket. She turned round and faced her angry companion. Matilda was now as frightened as she was angry. She had never met determinationlike Cecil's before. She sat down on the nearest chair and began to cry.
"Oh, how awfully shabby and unkind you are!" she cried. "What can you mean to do with me?"
"Nothing; you shall help me to search the summerhouse."
"What for?"
"Just to see if, by any possibility, Kate's and Molly's conversation could have been overheard."
"I won't do it, Cecil Ross; I won't!"
"All right; you can sit in that corner, and I'll search by myself."
Cecil felt herself at that moment endowed with all Jimmy's detective qualities; she moved the simple furniture, and poked about for a time without success, but suddenly observing a row of bats on the wooden wall, just on a level with the bench on which she and Matilda had been seated, she removed them one by one. Behind one of the bats was a notch of wood, out of which a hard wood kernel had been carefully removed. A round hole was therefore distinctly visible, against which a person from outside might put either an ear or an eye.
"This hole looks rather suspicious," said Cecil. "Matilda, will you kindly come forward, and let me see if you are the right height to use such a peep-hole with advantage?"
"I won't! I daren't!" said Matilda. "I hate you, Cecil."
"Well," said Cecil, "you have only one thing to do. I know by your face that you are guilty. I was not, of course, at all certain when we started out on our walk this afternoon, but now I know. If you refuse to confess, I will go to Miss Forester and tell her what I suspect."
"A nice life you will have at Redgarth, if you begin by telling tales!" said Matilda, in faltering tones.
"I don't care a bit about that. I'm not going to have that old bugbear cast up against me; it will not prevent me on this occasion from doing my duty. You have just confessed that Molly told you certain matters which gave you the clew to Kate's past. Had you not better tell me everything at once?"
"Oh, what a fearful, fearful girl you are!" sobbed Matilda. "Oh, I won't stay another day at Redgarth!"
"If you confess the simple truth," repeated Cecil, "I will do my utmost to shield you. I mean I will do all in my power to prevent the school generally, and the teachers, knowing of your baseness. Of course, Kate and Molly must know directly. Now, you can choose."
Matilda sat huddled up against the wall. It would have been difficult to see a more abject figure than hers.
"Molly told me," she began at last. "I asked her if Kate——"
"Wait a moment," said Cecil suddenly. "I have changed my mind about hearing you alone.Molly is at home; she is in her room. You shall come to her at once; you shall tell me in her presenceexactlywhat occurred."
"I won't! you can't force me!" cried Matilda.
At this moment the handle of the summerhouse door was forcibly turned from without.
"Who has locked the door?" cried Miss Leicester's voice.
"That is right," said Cecil, with a sigh of relief. "Miss Leicester will soon put things straight. Wait one moment, Miss Leicester, and I will let you in."
"Oh, don't, I beg of you, betray me to Miss Leicester!" cried Matilda.
"Will you come to Molly at once, then?"
"I will; anything rather than that Miss Leicester should know."
"All right; if you even attempt to escape, I will repeat to Miss Leicester all that I have said to you."
As Cecil said these last words, she turned the key in the door, opened it wide, and stood before her astonished principal.
"My dear," said that good lady, "why did you lock the door?"
"I was having a very important talk with Matilda," said Cecil.
"But to lock the door! It is not the custom, Cecil."
"I am sorry; I won't do it again," said Cecil.
"Can you not give me your reason?"
"I am dreadfully sorry, I cannot."
Miss Leicester looked from one girl to the other: there was a look in Cecil's eyes, an expression about Matilda's mouth, which made her feel that the solution of a very unpleasant mystery was about to be made.
"Don't lock the summerhouse again, dear," she said, in a kindly voice to her pupil. She then walked past the two girls to fetch her tennis bat, which was hanging on the wall.
"Come, Matilda," said Cecil. She held out her hand as she spoke; Matilda took it grudgingly.
On the way to the playground, she had been glad enough to show all the world that she was one of Cecil Ross' friends; on her return, she would have been only too thankful to be miles away from this very determined young person. But in vain did she look from right to left for a loophole to escape. After a few minutes' quick walking, the two girls found themselves at St. Dorothy's; a moment later they stood outside Molly Lavender's door. Cecil knocked softly.
"Come in," called Molly's voice.
Her headache had grown so bad that she had been forced to lie down, but she started upright when she saw who was following Cecil into the room.
"I am sorry to disturb you," said Cecil; "but I think it is worth while, for the matter I have come about is somewhat important. Matilda wants to say something to you, Molly."
"What?" asked Molly. "Won't you sit down, Matilda? How do you do?"
Matilda flopped down on the nearest chair. She took off her hat, and wiped the moisture from her hot forehead.
"This is a very disagreeable business," she said, "and I can't imagine what Cecil Ross is about."
"Yes, you know perfectly well," said Cecil. "The fact is this, Molly: I had a walk with Matilda this afternoon. We sat in the summerhouse; we spoke of you and Kate O'Connor. While we were there I told Matilda that some of the mischievous reports with regard to poor Kate had been traced to her. In reply, she said that she had only circulated what you yourself had told her."
"WhatItold her?" repeated Molly, her eyes and cheeks alike flaming.
"Yes; and I thought the matter so important that I insisted on her coming here to tell her story to you direct."
"But I never told you anything, Matilda," said Molly.
"Yes, you did," said Matilda, driven to bay; "but I won't repeat it. I won't say anything unless—unless you, Cecil, promise."
"Oh, I'll promise! and so will Molly," said Cecil, in a somewhat careless and very scornful tone.
"What are we to promise?" said Molly.
"Matilda does not want to get into trouble with the authorities," said Cecil. "We can shield her from that, I suppose—that is, if shetells us the whole truth without any reservation."
Molly put her hand to her brow.
"I am quite bewildered," she said. "I never told you anything, Matilda. Oh, I must leave the matter in your hands, Cecil! Promise her anything, only get her to tell me the truth now."
"Well," said Matilda, "don't you remember one day at lecture when I spoke to you? You hated my doing so, I know."
"Of course I did," said Molly.
"Well, I spoke to you about Kate."
"I begin to remember," said Molly. "I was glad, for you spoke kindly of her."
"I asked you," continued Matilda, "if you did not consider Kate out of the common. I said that very likely she was one of those brave girls who had known poverty and had risen above it. I asked you if you did not think her one of nature's ladies. You replied that every word I said was the perfect truth. I went on to ask you: 'Has she not known poverty and risen above it?' You replied: 'Yes, she has had a noble life.'"
"And is that all?" said Molly, springing from her sofa and beginning to pace the room. "Oh, how mean, how mean you are! You drew me out on purpose. I only spoke in a general way. Oh, Matilda, how could you be so frightfully underhand?"
"That was not the way you got your information,"said Cecil, in her calm, clear voice. "What about the little hole at the back of the summerhouse, which I proved by measurement to be exactly on a level with your ear?"
Matilda colored crimson.
"You must tell everything," continued Cecil, "or I shall take this story straight to Miss Forester."
"If I must, I must; after all, why should I care what girls like you think about me? I——" She paused.
"Go on," said Cecil; "we're both listening."
"There is not much in it, after all. What an awful fuss you do make! I was at the back of the summerhouse, tying up my shoe. I heard Kate and Molly talking; the hole in the wood was quite handy. I did listen for a bit, I heard something."
"And you questioned Molly on purpose," said Cecil; "in order to give color to the horrid story which you meant to tell."
"The fact is, I hated you, Molly Lavender, from the first," said Matilda. "You snubbed me and were disagreeable; I thought I'd have my revenge, that's all. I suppose I may go now?"
"Not a bit of it," said Cecil. "Before you leave this room, you have got to write down every word you have just told me. Here is paper; here are pens and ink; seat yourself; write away."
"Oh, but I really don't want to put the thing on paper!"
girl sitting on chair while another girl leavesMATILDA WAS NOW AS FRIGHTENED AS SHE WAS ANGRY.
MATILDA WAS NOW AS FRIGHTENED AS SHE WAS ANGRY.
"All right; then Miss Forester shall hear this little story."
"Before I write anything," said Matilda, "I must know to whom my confession is to be repeated?"
Cecil spoke without hesitation.
"Kate O'Connor must know first of all," she said; "also Hester Temple. I have given you my word that what we say shall not reach any of the authorities, but Molly and Hester and Kate and I must have a consultation with regard to whether the other girls in the school are to know the truth or not. Now, sit down; write, and be quick about it."
The miserable Matilda saw no help for it. Cecil was a great deal too strong for her in every sense of the word.
A
AT last the unpleasant task was over, and Matilda, vowing vengeance against everyone, returned to Dacre House. When they were alone, Cecil and Molly looked at each other.
"How splendid you are, Cecil!" said Molly. "How can I ever thank you? I can scarcely tell you what a load you have lifted from my mind."
"You must thank Jimmy, then," said Cecil. "I should never have discovered the truth but for him."
"Your brother Jimmy?"
"Yes."
Molly raised her eyebrows.
"Really, you are quite enigmatical," she said. "How can Jimmy, who is far away, have anything to do with the matter?"
"He is our detective," said Cecil, who was feeling so happy that she felt inclined to skip. "I put the case before him, mentioning no names. The wicked boy had the audacity to reply on a post card. The words of the oracle were as follows: 'Look out for eavesdroppers.' That little sentence gave me the clew; I tookMatilda to the summerhouse, began to talk over the occurrence, told her with all the emphasis I could that you and Kate had sat together on the very bench where she and I were then resting, when Kate made her confidence to you. Matilda, fortunately for the non-success of her wicked plans, has a tell-tale face. I soon got her into the center of a circle, and hedged her in. Oh, it was a horrid business! How thankful I am that it is over!"
"I feel my heart as light as a feather once again," said Molly. "Let us go at once to find Kate; she is sure to be returning from her botany expedition by now. Cecil, you don't know what Kate was before this cloud came over her; she was the life of the whole house. Oh, you will love her as much as I do!"
"I'm quite sure I shall," answered Cecil. "I like her immensely already. When I have forgiven her for doubting you, I dare say I shall see that she is just as charming as you have described her."
"You have cured my headache," said Molly. "I can't stay indoors any longer; let us go and meet Kate and the others."
The girls were soon out of doors. The day was a crisp one in late October. There was a feeling of coming winter in the air, but all nature was still peaceful and smiling. The trees still wore their autumn dress; grand crimson and yellow robes decked the landscape.
Molly and Cecil walked some little distance.They soon found themselves in the country. Suddenly Molly uttered an exclamation. Kate and her companions were coming slowly to meet them.
"How tired Kitty looks!" said Molly. "Why, she quite lags behind the others. I wonder what is the matter."
"Run up to her with that paper in your hand and tell her everything," said Cecil. "Get her to walk behind with you; your news will soon revive her. Run at once, Molly; I will undertake to manage the other girls."
Molly set wings to her feet. She soon joined the botanists, who stopped and began to talk eagerly.
"I hope you've had success," said Molly. "Why, what's the matter, Kate?"
"Nothing," said Kate abruptly.
Her face was very pale; there were great black shadows under her eyes.
"We can't think what's the matter with her," said Lucy Rae, one of the botanists. "She was as lively as the best of us until we were coming home."
"I have a headache; it will soon pass off," said Kate. "Don't take any notice of me; I shall soon be quite my ordinary self."
"I want to say something to you, Kate," said Molly suddenly.
Kate looked at her with irritation.
"I am not in the mood to discuss things," she said; "it is quite true that I have a bad headache."
"I won't worry you, dear," said Molly, in her gentlest tones. "Let us walk slowly behind the others."
Kate opened her lips to protest.
Then she changed her mind. She raised her hand to her head, brushing it across her forehead in a bewildered manner. Cecil drew the other girls on, and Molly and Kate were alone.
"Kate," said Molly, the instant this was the case, "I am so happy I can scarcely speak rationally. The load is lifted from my mind. I have found out everything. You would not believe me yesterday when I told you that I never betrayed our confidence."
"I don't remember about yesterday," said Kate.
She turned round and gazed full at Molly. Molly stepped back and stared at her in astonishment.
"You don't remember what you said to me?" she exclaimed.
"No; I can't remember anything. Oh, how my head aches! I feel sick and giddy."
"Lean on me, Kate. What is the matter with you? You look dreadfully ill. Has anything happened? Oh, I thought you'd be so happy when I told you!"
"Don't tell me anything just now, Molly. The fact is, I can't listen. Oh, my head, my head!"
"But just let me say this much. I'm dreadfully sorry you've a headache, but just listen tothis much. Cecil has discovered everything. Matilda was at the bottom of the whole matter."
"Matilda!" repeated Kate. She looked quite dazed. "What about her?"
"Kate, she listened behind the summerhouse; she overheard all our conversation. There was a hole in the wood; she listened through that hole. She heard all your story, all about your grandfather and—— Kitty, darling, whatisthe matter? How ghastly you look! Let me help you across the road to this bench. Sit down; lean against me."
There was a stone bench at the opposite side of the road. Molly led Kate to it. She sank down, sick and trembling.
"I'm dreadfully sorry you've such a frightful headache," continued Molly; "but are you not glad?"
"To tell you the truth, Molly," replied Kate, "I don't know what you are talking about. You want to tell me something, but I want to tell you something else, far, far more badly. Something has happened, Molly, and I will tell you while I remember it. The feeling in my head is so dreadful that I don't believe I shall be able to remember anything long. Do you see these ferns in my hand—this sort; it is very rare. I wanted to get it, I was determined to get it. It grows high on the rocks by the shepherd's meadow. I would climb up. The other girls had left me, they were botanizing on their own account a little way off. I gathered some specimens;then I stretched out my hand for a very fine frond, I—I lost my balance—I fell on my head. I didn't remember anything for a bit. I suppose I was stunned. After a time I got better. I thought the dreadful pain and giddiness would pass off. I managed to walk toward the other girls. I determined to tell them nothing. But, oh, Molly, I feel so sick now, so dreadfully ill! Don't talk to me just now, for I really can't listen. It worries me even to see you so earnest and excited. May I lean on you? Can you help me to get home?"
"Yes," said Molly, "I'll do all in the world I can for you, but you must not try to walk with only my help. Just rest where you are, Kitty; lean back, close your eyes. I'll run after Cecil and call her."
"No, don't! I can't bear the others to know. I did wrong when I climbed those high rocks; I broke one of Miss Forester's rules. She makes it a condition that we shall do nothing dangerous. The others mustn't know. If only I can manage to get home and go to bed, I shall be all right to-morrow. Don't speak to me at all for a minute."
As Kate said these last words, she leaned up against the stone wall by which the bench stood, and closed her eyes. After a time she grew better: the terrible giddiness and acute pain passed; she was able to take Molly's arm and go slowly in the direction of Redgarth.
T
THERE was consternation at St. Dorothy's: Kate O'Connor was ill; on her arrival home, she was almost unconscious. The doctor was hastily summoned; she was ordered to bed. Miss Leicester had a room made up in the quietest part of the house; she was moved there, and Molly begged hard to be allowed to nurse her. At first everyone hoped that a night's rest would put her right, but the next day the doctor said something about concussion of the brain. He said absolute quiet was necessary; he would not even allow her to be moved to the sanatorium. A trained nurse was sent for, and the girls began to walk about the house with hushed steps and pale, anxious faces.
"The worst of it all is," said Molly to Hester, "that if she thinks at all, poor Kate still believes that I have been unfaithful to her."
"Oh, she does not think of anything specially now," said Hester. "When she is well enough, you must tell her; you must not fret, Molly."
"I can't help it," answered Molly. "I loved Kate very, very dearly, and now she is ill, veryill; and her last thought of all must have been that I was unworthy of her friendship."
"Well, it is a good thing that Cecil and I know the truth now," said Hester, in a cheerful tone. "What Kate wants is rest; she will be herself in a few days, I make not the slightest doubt; then we'll manage to tell what a stanch, little thing you are, Molly. By the way, I do think Cecil a splendid girl. How cleverly she got that horrid Matilda to own up to her sneaking, detestable, sly ways! Certainly Cecil has done Matilda a lot of good; she has taken all the conceit out of her. I only do wish something would induce her to leave the school. Fancy a girl like that coming to St. Dorothy's! If Miss Leicester really knew what sort of girl she is, I think she would ask Miss Forester not to admit her."
At that moment Miss Leicester came into the room where the two girls were talking.
"How is Kate now?" said Hester, going up at once to the principal.
Miss Leicester's face was pale and grave.
"She is very ill," she answered.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Molly, who felt her heart beating with a quick, nameless sort of dread. "Do you mean that—that Kate is in danger?"
"She is very ill," repeated Miss Leicester. "Yes, I suppose there is danger; I fear there is no doubt about it. The doctor has just left; she is unconscious. She must have had a very badfall. Molly, my dear, she spoke to you about it: did she give you any idea of the height from which she fell? None of the other girls are able to give us any information."
"She only said that she had fallen," answered Molly, "and that the fall stunned her. She hoped that she would be all right after a little, and did not wish the others to know."
"I am not surprised at that," replied Miss Leicester; "she disobeyed a very strict rule. That is the last sort of thing I should have expected from Kate."
"Oh, don't be angry with her now!" said Molly, tears filling her brown eyes.
"No, poor dear child!" said Miss Leicester. "The whole thing is very miserable, and to complicate matters, Nurse Wilkins has been taken ill herself, and has been obliged to leave suddenly. We hope to get another nurse by this evening, for the doctor has telegraphed to London, but in the meantime——"
"Oh, let me go to her!" cried Molly.
"Perhaps you may help a little presently, Molly," said Miss Leicester, looking at her earnestly. "I have noticed that you have a very gentle way, dear; but at present Cecil is with her."
"Cecil!" exclaimed both girls.
"Yes; it seems that Cecil knows a good deal about illness; she nursed her mother through a very long illness. She came to the door to inquire for Kate just when poor Nurse Wilkinshad to leave. She came in as if there were nothing unusual the matter, and took her place by Kate's side. Kate was moving her hands restlessly and plucking at the bed-clothes, which is such a bad sign in illness, and Cecil took both her hands and held them, and then she grew quiet. Perhaps you may help after a little, Molly; but I should be sorry to disturb such an excellent nurse as Cecil at present."
Miss Leicester left the room, and Molly, sinking down on the nearest chair, burst into tears.
"If Kate dies I shall never feel happy again," she said, with a sob.
"But she won't die," said Hester; "she's a great deal too strong and young. Why,"—Hester wore a troubled look,—"she's only just seventeen. Girls of seventeen don't die merely from a fall. She's bad, but she'll soon be better. Don't cry, Molly!"
"Girls often die," cried Molly. "Oh, Hester! can nothing be done to save her? I wonder if Miss Forester knows how bad she really is."
Hester went up to one of the windows and began to drum her fingers on the glass.
"It's all wretched," continued Molly. "I can't tell you what I feel, Hetty. If only Miss Leicester would let me help in any way, I should not feel so dreadful. I feel, somehow or other, as ifIwere responsible for Kate's illness."
"Oh, now you are getting horridly morbid!" said Hester. "What had you to do with it?"
"Nothing in one way, of course; but if allthis had not happened, Kate would have gone out with me, and not with the other girls, and I would not have let her climb up that awful rock just to get those miserable ferns. Oh, dear! I thought I should be so happy at St. Dorothy's, and now this seems to cast a blank over everything."
"The worst of it is," said Hester, after a pause, "that even if Kate does get well—I don't doubt that for a minute—even if she does get well, she won't be allowed to study for a good while, and then she'll lose her scholarship. I know she has not a great deal of money. She was quite certain of getting the scholarship, and after that, of course, she could, by and by, take a good position as a teacher. After a brain attack of this sort, she won't be allowed to study for some time. Of course one ought not to think of that just now, but in Kate's position, where there is not much money, it is, of course, important."
"Yes," said Molly. "I wish I were with her," she added. "One can scarcely think of examinations at the present moment, can one, Hester? Oh dear; oh, dear! I think I'll just creep upstairs and see if I can help Cecil in any way."
Hester said nothing, and Molly left the room.
She went upstairs, turned down a long passage, and at last paused before a door, over which a heavy curtain had been hung. She turned the handle very softly, and entered the room. All the blinds were down; the light was shaded. At first, Molly could hardly see; then she noticedCecil's familiar figure seated by the head of the bed. The figure on the bed was lying straight and still; there was no movement or sound of any sort. Kate looked at that moment as if she were dead.
Molly crept up close to the bed; she did not speak at all, nor did Cecil. Presently Cecil stretched out her hand and touched Molly softly on the arm. Molly knelt down close to Cecil. Cecil began to stroke her hair, and, in some inexplicable way, the younger girl felt soothed and comforted by the gentle, firm touch. Kate lay without movement; she scarcely seemed to breathe.
"Is she dead?" asked Molly, in a tremulous whisper.
"No," answered Cecil; "no—not yet."
"Cecil, she can't recover! no one could look as dreadful as that—as still—as—as like marble and recover."
"Don't talk," answered Cecil; "she may hear us."
At that moment the room door was opened, and Dr. Groves, the clever doctor who had undertaken the case, came in; he was accompanied not only by Miss Leicester, but Miss Forester. Miss Forester gave a glance of surprise at Molly and Cecil, and then turned to Miss Leicester.
"I thought you had got a trained nurse," she said.
"Yes," replied Miss Leicester, "but Nurse Wilkins was suddenly taken ill. Cecil offered tohelp me until I could get someone from town. I did not know that you were here, Molly Lavender."
Molly looked up with eyes of entreaty.
"Let me stay," she said. "I promise to be perfectly quiet, and to do exactly what I am told."
"Yes, let her stay," said the doctor. "There is scarcely any nursing required at present; the patient only requires watching. You may make a little noise, if you like, girls. I don't like this long-continued insensibility. I shall be glad of anything to arouse my patient."
As he spoke he went to one of the windows and drew up the blind. It was evening, and the western sun streamed into the room. Some of its rays fell across the foot of the bed where Kate lay. Her long, black eyelashes lay heavy on her cheeks, her rich profusion of brown hair was flung back over the pillows, her face had a deathly pale, almost waxen, hue; she breathed so faintly that she scarcely seemed to breathe at all. The doctor bent over her and, lifting the eyelids, looked steadily into the eyes. "Bring me a candle," he said suddenly.
Molly started up to fetch one. She returned in a moment or two with a lighted candle in a candlestick, and gave it to Dr. Groves. He passed the light backward and forward before Kate's eyes, she never seemed to flinch. He dropped the lids again, and looked anxiously at Miss Forester.
"I should like to speak to you alone," he said.
Miss Forester took him immediately into the next room. The two girls sat where they were left, with beating hearts. What was the verdict? The doctor's face was very grave.
Miss Leicester, after a moment's hesitation, followed Miss Forester and the doctor into the next room. The girls, who were left behind, heard earnest conversation, an ejaculation or two from Miss Leicester; then footsteps going downstairs; then a great silence—the motionless, indifferent figure on the bed—the awful calm which might mean the end of all things.
Miss Leicester came back presently into the room, her eyes were red as if she had been crying. She stood close to Kate, and looked down at her; her eyes filled up with tears. Molly and Cecil felt their hearts in their mouths.
"What is it?" said Molly at last; "don't—oh, don't keep us in suspense any longer!"
"Come into the next room, Molly, and I will tell you," said Miss Leicester. "Cecil, dear, you shall hear afterward; but if you will stay now quite quiet with dear Kate, you will be helping us best."
Cecil nodded, her eyes were bright, she gave Molly's hand a little squeeze, and Molly rose and followed her mistress into the other room.
The moment she got there, she began to speak with excitement.
"I know what you are going to tell me, andI can't bear it," she said. "Don't tell me, don't! Tell the others, but not me. I—Ican'tbear it! There is the cathedral near—let me go there. I—I know what you are going to say, but I can bear it best if I am just alone in the cathedral."
"You are excited, Molly, and carried out of yourself," said Miss Leicester. "That is not the best way to meet trouble."
"No, no!" answered poor Molly, "I know that. I am ashamed of myself. If things were different, I should not mind quite so much, but as they are—as they are—if Kate dies, I shall never be happy again."
"You and Kate have not been as perfect friends as you used to be," said Miss Leicester suddenly.
"No," answered Molly, "that is true, that is the bitter part of it all. Kate was angry with me; believing what she did, she had reason to be. I can't tell you, because it is a secret."
"Had it anything to do with Kate's speech on her birthday?"
"Yes; but oh, please don't ask me any more! for I've promised not to tell. If Kate were well now, all would be explained, and all would be happy. I had just got at the truth on Saturday I had gone out to tell Kate, but Kate was suffering then from the effects of her fall, and she could not listen. She believes me to be guilty now of what I never did. Oh, I shall never be happy again if she dies!"