"I'll get it off for you presently, if you are a good girl," said Nurse Annie. "Now get on with your dressing."
Henrietta flew into her hideous clothes. In less than a quarter of an hour there came a tap at theChamber of Penitence, and a grave, elderly woman, whom Nurse Annie addressed as Dinah, laid a tray full of all kinds of good things on the dressing-table.
Here was coffee worth drinking; here were rolls and new-laid eggs, butter, and cream and jam.
Henny fell upon the food like a little wolf. Nurse Annie tried to coax Daisy to eat, but she only shook her weak little head and rejected all offers of nourishment.
Henny felt wonderfully refreshed by the time Dr. Halsted arrived. He was a young-looking man of between thirty and forty years of age. He had keen, grey eyes, a clever, clean-shaven face, and dark hair cut very short and mixed with grey. He did not take the least notice of Henny, but devoted himself to Daisy. He examined the girl most carefully, took her temperature, felt her pulse, did all the usual things, then said she was suffering from shock and must be sent immediately into the school hospital or infirmary, which at that time happened to be empty. Nurse Annie must look after her day and night until he got a second nurse to relieve her. He would send one in as soon as possible.
Nurse Annie knew her post too well to trouble the doctor with questions, and his own directions were extremely simple. The girl was to be kept absolutely quiet. She was not to be allowed to talk to anyone. He would send in a temperature chart and her temperature was to be taken every four hours; then Dr.Halsted, without even glancing at Henny, who thought herself attractive with her freshly washed face, left the room and went down to speak to Mrs. Faithful.
"That little girl is very ill," he said. "I cannot imagine what is the matter with her. I don't apprehend anything infectious. It strikes me she is suffering pretty considerably from what is called 'shock.' When did she come to your admirable school, dear madam?"
"Nearly a week ago," replied Mrs. Faithful. "Her step-father brought both her and her sister. She certainly had been exceedingly naughty, and I felt obliged to put her under Miss Pinchin's care. Miss Pinchin, as a rule, managesextremelynaughty girls perfectly, but she has not contrived well either for this poor child or her sister."
"Oh, there are two of them."
"Yes; the other has red hair. I did not wish to take the girls at all. The one with red hair was in the room whilst you were examining your patient. But my cousin and friend, Mr. O'Brien, begged of me to do what I could for these girls, who are his step-daughters. I promisedon a condition, and am waiting anxiously to know if this condition will be fulfilled, otherwise, as soon as ever the girl is well, she will have to leave the school."
"If ever shegetswell," said Dr. Halsted.
"Oh, doctor, you don't think so badly of her as all that?"
"But I do. To start with, she has little or no constitution, and, whatever naughtiness she has committed, she has deliberately starved herself. I'm afraid your governess-assistant was too severe. Of course I'll do my best for the girl, and come again in the middle of the day. By the way, I must send in another nurse—two if you like—for she is likely to be highly delirious. Meanwhile Nurse Annie will look after her. She cannot be moved into the infirmary until a good fire is lighted and the room made fresh and snug. That was not a nice bedroom she and her sister were in. I propose to change everything. Your infirmary is always charming. Have a few flowers about, but not those that smell. Put the bed so that she can see out of the window if she feels inclined, and have soft green blinds, which I know you possess, put up to all the windows in the room. I by no means give uphope, Mrs. Faithful, but the case is very serious."
The doctor went on his way and in that house of absolute order, of absolute peace, there was, for the time at least, considerable excitement.
Poor Miss Pinchin cried her small beady eyes out of her head. Dawson felt thoroughly offended, but Mrs. Faithful was the sort of woman who, when she took the reins, took them with a will. How she did long for the little girl the Rector had spoken of! The week was very nearly up, and she had not had a line. Still she had great faith in the Rector, and was certain Maureen would come, or a message wouldarrive, before the week was quite up. Then she ordered her servants. She set her schoolgirls to their tasks, and with her own hands helped to get the Infirmary into absolute order.
She also had a fire lit in the Chamber of Peace, that room which she so hoped Maureen would occupy.
The Infirmary was soon quite ready. It was a spacious apartment, with no ornaments of any kind, and a highly polished floor. A little white bed was arranged near the window with the prettiest view, but all the windows now on this hot day were rendered cool and soothing by soft green blinds. Then Daisy was most carefully wrapped up and carried into the Infirmary. The poor child was absolutely unconscious. Henny followed her, sobbing loudly.
"Henrietta, dear," said Mrs. Faithful, "I cannot allow you to stay with your sister while you make this distressing noise; and whatever have they done to your head, my child?"
"It was thatbeastof a Pinchin," said Henrietta. "She ordered the barber woman to put a sort of glue on my head, so that I shouldn't have any curls."
"Poor little girl; but we can soon set that right. You see Nurse Annie has already got your sister's hair into a little order. How we will attend to yours. I think, dear, Miss Pinchin overstepped her duties; but I must not complain. She meant well. That special pomatum is hardlyeverused, although I wish some of my naughtiest girls to have their hair short."
"And am I one of your naughtiest?"
"Oh yes, Henrietta, quite."
"And Daisy?"
"Poor Daisy; we won't talk of her now. Come! you would like to get your curls back."
If Henrietta had a passion in this world, it was for her red curls, and even short curls were better than none at all. Mrs. Faithful put the girl into the care of the same kind-looking woman who had brought up her breakfast.
"Dinah," she said, "do what you can for Miss Henrietta. Get all that sticky stuff out of her hair, and keep her with you afterwards, Dinah. I shall have a little room prepared for her to-night to sleep in next my own."
"The Chamber of Love, madam?"
"Yes, Dinah, that is the room."
"Well, of all the wonderful things," muttered Dinah. "Come, Henrietta."
So Henrietta went obediently, and the sticky stuff was removed from her hair, which, released from its bondage, curled and fuzzed all over her head.
She looked at herself in the glass, and instantly skipped and danced for joy.
"Hurrah, hurrah," she said. "Dinah, old duck, Imusthug you."
Dinah was decidedly prim and a Quaker. She said, "Thee wilt keep thy praises and thy embraces for those who require them. For me, I like not to be embraced."
"Oh, what a horrid house," said Henrietta, "but anyhow I've got my curls back. Now, Dinah, I won't hug you if you don't like it; but can I see Pinchin? I'm just dying to smack her."
"My dear, control those evil feelings. Joan Pinchin has been sorely tried, and has gone away for a week's holiday. Now, thee wilt be a good maid and follow me to my room, where I employ my time in making the school uniforms. Thou and I will dine there together. I have ordered a refreshing and serviceable meal."
"Upon my word, Iampeckish," said Henny. "I'll gobble, I can tell you."
There are seasons that come into the lives of all people which are full of perplexity, of doubt, of difficulty. Such a time came now to that most admirable woman, Jane Faithful. She was dismayed. She wondered if she had been over-boastful about her little school; if she had acted rightly towards the children who were committed to her care. It is true she had from the very first strongly objected to the arrival of Henrietta and Daisy. They, she considered, had stepped a little beyond the bounds. Before now she had restored troublesome, obstinate, idle girls to their parents or guardians with completely changed characters. These girls were no longer troublesome and wilful; they were no longer idle and defiant. But the Mostyns had gone far beyond these ordinary kinds of naughtinesses, and Mrs. Faithful honestly didnotwish for them. She said so plainly to the Rector, but the Rector had looked so pale, so sad, so ill, so terribly troubled that, because she loved him, as all others loved that good man, she made an exception in his favour. She would keep these wild girlson a condition. Maureen was to cometo her. The Rector, looking sadder and more mournful than usual, consented to Mrs. Faithful's plan, for he did not know how to refuse. He simply did not know what to do with his step-daughters, and he felt that he must save them at any personal cost.
Then, most unluckily, Mrs. Faithful, knowing nothing of their queer characters, set to work the wrong way. There were certain rooms at the top of the spacious house, which were seldom, indeed hardly ever, used. They were rooms of extreme punishment and a special sort of dress was required to be worn by the girls who occupied these rooms.
Mrs. Faithful determined, very wrongly as it turned out, to put the obstreperous girls there until Maureen O'Brien arrived. They would be under the special care of Dawson, a most faithful Scotswoman and an old servant in the school, and of Miss Joan Pinchin.
Now Mrs. Faithful, knowing that Miss Pinchin had treated naughty and unmanageable girls before in a truly excellent manner and had soon in fact effectually brought them round to the laws of discipline and goodness, never imagined that Miss Pinchin, contrary to her wont, would treat this pair of rebels with extreme and unnecessary severity, and that Dawson, faithful Dawson, would take a violent dislike to them when she saw them. When the girls were put into Miss Pinchin's care, she made a request. It was this: would Mrs. Faithful allow her, Joan Pinchin, to have the entire care of the Irishgirls for the first week? She even ventured the request that Mrs. Faithful should not see them during this short time.
"I can manage them," she said. "I am certain I can manage them, but I can do it more easily if no one interferes with me. Believe me, dear Mrs. Faithful, that the Mostyns will be removed from the Hall of Discipline to the cheerful Hall of Contrition on the next floor before the week is up. Soon after that they will have opportunities of mingling with their fellow-students."
"Remember," said Mrs. Faithful, "I wish for no harshness. The girls are like wild, unbroken colts, and must be treated accordingly. Gentleness, dear Joan, and all kindness that is possible. Remember, I trust you."
"You may, you may," said Miss Pinchin.
And now all might have gone well, for Miss Pinchin had most assuredly managed very naughty girls before. Her scheme in the plan of the school was to manage naughty girls. But it so happened with regard to the Mostyns that this admirable woman lost her temper completely over Henrietta and Daisy. The moment this happened she also lost her power over them. They openly rebelled. They jeered at her to her face. Daisy mimicked her to the life. Henny screamed and choked with laughter. The poor governess was reduced to despair; but she would not, she could not, give in.
She tried measures more and more severe, andmore and more openly did the girls defy her, until at last there came that climax which has been described in the last chapter.
Daisy Mostyn might best be described as an imp or a minx. There was no doubt whatever that her character was most daring. She made up her mind to refuse her food; she also made up her mind, if Miss Pinchin had recourse to the cane again, to snatch it from the governess herself and try it on her very thin person. What a glorious uproar that would make.
She confided her plan to Henrietta, and Henrietta applauded.
"I'll help ye, acushla mavourneen," she cried. "Lawk a massy me, what a fuss there'll be when Pinchin is under the rod."
But alas for the wildest and naughtiest preparations, Daisy, although she had a queer strength of character, in a very naughty direction, it is true, was sadly weak in body. Her starvation did not suit her.
On retiring to rest the night before she intended to begin her persecution of Pinchin, she turned most deadly sick. Henrietta thought nothing of this, and pulled her out of bed in the morning. The sequel has been told.
Daisy was very ill indeed—quite delirious. She talked incessantly of Fly-away, of the medicine glass and the laudanum bottle. She also talked of the dark lantern. She chattered unceasingly. Herlittle white face looked whiter and more pinched each moment; her small eyes more dazzlingly bright, and as the day advanced to its close, her wild mutterings became incoherent. Dr. Halsted was seriously alarmed about her, and two nurses were appointed to take charge of the sick girl.
Towards evening there came a short and refreshing telegram from Maureen O'Brien to Mrs. Faithful: "Expect me the morning after next.—Maureen O'Brien."
"Little dear—oh, how welcome she will be," thought the harassed mistress.
She got everything in readiness for the girl. She sent for Henrietta and told her the good news.
"What!Thatbrat coming here," said Henrietta. "I'm sure I don't want her. It was because of herself, no less, that all this trouble came."
"Henrietta," said Mrs. Faithful, "do you mean deliberately to go on with your wicked ways?"
"Oh yes, I quite mean to," said Henrietta.
"Are you aware that your sister is dangerously ill?"
Henrietta stared for a minute.
"I like my hair fuzzy-wuzzy," she said, and she rumpled it up with both her hands, then stood with her arms akimbo, looking hard at Jane Faithful. "I have the promise of becoming a handsome woman, haven't I?" she continued.
"Oh, Henrietta," said poor Mrs. Faithful, "whenyou talk like this at such a moment, you break my heart."
Henrietta continued to stare very hard.
"I can't cry about 'Dysy—give me your answer, do,'" she remarked, "but somehow I don't mind old Dinah with her 'thees' and her 'thous.' Of course, I said from the first that Dysy would hop out. She was always a delicate little thing. We used to fuss about her a lot when we were in a proper school. Then poor mumsie broke her neck. We never saw mumsie after she married the Rector, so naturally we didn't much mind; but we did mind the loss of our fortune. It was an awful blow to us. It was beastly unfair; don't you think so, Mrs. Faithful?"
"I don't think about it, child. In the Country where poor Daisy is going money is of no account."
"Poor old Dysy! Well, to be sure, she had lots of fun in her! I declare, you look as though you were sorry for her."
"I am, my child—most bitterly sorry!"
"And are you, perhaps, a bit sorry for me?"
"Yes, Henrietta; oh, yes." And Jane Faithful, that sternest of women, gave way utterly and began to weep.
Henrietta continued to stare at her, then she said in a low voice: "Dear, goodness gracious!Whata fuss about nothing!Idon't mind staying with Dinah. Her 'thees' and 'thous' are so funny.I take them off like anything. I imitate her like fun, and she never answers back."
"Henrietta, have youanyheart?"
"Dunno. 'Spect I have a bit. Here's my hanky-panky. Let me wipe your tears. I don't like to see you crying forus."
"If you are not sorry for your sister and yourself, will you at least be sorry for me?" said Mrs. Faithful.
"What earthly good will that do you?"
"But can you try to be sorry for me?"
"Well, I never! Yes, I'll try. You don't look at all pretty when you sob, you know. There, now, I have wiped away your tears. I think you have a dear old face, after all. If only I could manage to smack Pinchin, I might learn to love you."
"Come, Henrietta, we have had enough of this. You look sadly tired, my little girl. Dinah will take you to your bedroom."
"Oh, I say, must I sleep alone in the Room of Penitence? I'll be dreaming of Dysy all night."
"No; there is another room got ready for you."
Henrietta remained quite silent while Mrs. Faithful got up and rang the bell in a peculiar way. She had a method of her own for calling the special people she required to come to her.
Dinah now entered the room. Dinah smiled quite benignly upon Henrietta.
"Thy hair is in a mop," she said. "Curly hair is what we in our Body call a Desecration."
"Oh Dinah, honey, how can I help it when God gave it to me!"
"Don't scold her now, Dinah," said Mrs. Faithful. "Be very gentle with her. I am relieved to tell you that Miss Maureen O'Brien is coming. She is the daughter of that dear Mr. Maurice O'Brien whom we all so loved."
"Ah, indeed, and we truly loved him!" said Dinah. "Thou art wearing thyself out, dear Jane Faithful."
"I am sad and anxious," said Jane Faithful.
"Might I take the liberty of returning to thee, Jane Faithful, when this little perverse one is safe in her bed?"
"Yes, Dinah, I shall welcome you."
"Come, Henrietta," said Dinah. She held out her hand.
Henrietta went away with her at once. She did not wait to say good-night to Mrs. Faithful. She forgot Mrs. Faithful in the presence of Dinah.
"Why dost thou call me Henrietta?" she inquired. "Dost thou not know that thou art taking agreatliberty? For I—I am a lady with a fortune, although it is but a small one, and thou art only a poor serving maid."
"In our community," replied Dinah, "we never call anyone except by the baptismal name. There is no Mrs., no Miss, no Mr. inourcommunity. Now come; I have something nice for thy supper."
"Feel my tummy-tum," said Henrietta. "Itis ever so empty. I hope thy supper will prove to be a true supper, large in quantity, rich in quality, and fit for a Christian maid."
"But, my dear, thou art not aChristianmaid. Nevertheless, thy supper is sufficient. Come now to my room and eat."
Henrietta went. The supper was of the very best: Green peas, roast duck, new potatoes, a glass of milk, and some stewed peaches.
"Upon my word," said Henrietta, "I like thy calm ways, Dinah. I, too, will become a Quaker and say 'thee' and 'thou,' not because of spiritual guidance, but because the Quakers nourish their little tum-tums so well."
"Henrietta, thou must not speak like that."
"Dinah, thou art not to scold me. The woman here, called Faithful, said I was to be dealt gently with. Dost thou know, dear Dinah, that a dreadful trouble is coming on me?"
"Indeed, I fear it," said Dinah.
"Oh, I don't mean about Dysy—poor little snippet! I mean something far worse."
"I fail to understand thee," replied Dinah.
"I will whisper it to thee, Dinah. Mydirest,darkest, mostfearfulenemy is coming on the scene—she whom I hate. Couldst thou not hide me from her?"
"What dost thou mean, Henrietta?"
"The one they call Maureen is coming. She iscoming very soon, the day after to-morrow—quite early."
Dinah was silent.
"Couldst thou not hide me from her, dear Dinah?"
"Dost thou mean the young daughter of Maurice O'Brien of blessed memory? Ah, but to look intohiseyes was to look into the Joy of Life, and the Peace of Heaven combined. It is impossible for thee, Henrietta, to hate that blessed child."
"And wilt thou also join the band of her worshippers?" asked Henrietta.
"I only worship the Lord my God, and Him only do I serve."
"Then thou wilt hate her?"
"Hate?" said Dinah. "I know not the word."
"Ah, but I can teach it to thee. It is so jolly nice to hate."
"Henrietta, it is far, far nicer tolove. Now thou hast consumed this large meal and much work awaits me. I will take thee to thy chamber and see thee into bed, poor little one!"
"Thou hast a sweet voice, Dinah. It is such a pity that thou canst not hate. Well, I will do it for us both, and then it will be jolly fearsome."
Dinah made no remark, but, taking Henrietta's hand, led her to the Chamber of Love.
"Is it here I am to sleep?" said the girl. "Why, how pretty! Wilt thou lie beside me on this bed,Dinah? Why, the walls are all pale blue like the sky; even the bed is blue. Why am I put here?"
"Because of Love," said Dinah. "See what is written on the door; and commune well with thine own heart, before the Angel of Sleep visits thee. Can one whohateshave sweet dreams in this Chamber where Love dwells?"
"Then I hate the room; I won't stay in it," said Henrietta.
"Dear little girl, wilt thou not for my sake?"
"I'd do a great deal for thee," said Henny, "only I wish those words weren't written over the door." For reply, to the unbounded amazement of Henrietta, Dinah fell on her knees; she folded her soft, white hands and raised her gentle, dovelike eyes so that they looked out, as from a summer sky. Henrietta longed to fly from the room, but the sight of the kneeling woman restrained her.
After an interval of profound silence, the woman began to speak: "Lord, Thou art here! Come close, Lord, close, and fold—yes, fold—this little tempestuous being in Thy embrace! Lord, have mercy, have pity——"
She suddenly stopped, for there came a resounding smack on her cheek.
"Stay here, Quaker woman!" said Henrietta. "This room is not fit for me. I am going out!"
Before poor Dinah could rise from her knees, Henrietta had dashed away, had flown down the quiet, orderly house and out into the soft, summer night.She ran fast, as though furies were pursuing her. She soon left the precincts of Felicity and still ran on and on, with panting breath, cheeks on fire, and a little rumpled head of fiery hair.
She saw a wood in the distance, and got into it. The dew lay heavy on the grass—oh, how cool, how delicious! She flung herself on the grass and fell sound asleep.
Poor distracted Dinah came down in a state of anything but peace to Mrs. Faithful.
"She's gone, m'm."
"Gone! Who? Which?"
"I don't know anything about Daisy, Jane Faithful. It's Henrietta. She's very queer, and when I tried to comfort her and offered up a few words of prayer, directed assuredly by the Blessed Spirit, she smacked me on the cheek. Not that I mind that—thou knowest it is but a trifle—but before I could stop her, she had flown, I know not where. She was quite tractable until I took her to her beautiful bedroom, and then the name sent her wild. I'm afraid we shall have trouble with her, dear Jane Faithful."
"Dinah," said Mrs. Faithful, "do you think she has gone out?"
"I apprehend that she has done so," said Dinah.
"In that case, Dinah, you and I will go and seek for her. We will go alone, for she cannot have gone very far."
Mrs. Faithful and Dinah found Henrietta sound asleep on the wet grass in the wood nearest toFelicity. She was dragged to her feet, and the two women brought her back.
The remainder of that night she slept warm and snug in the arms of Dinah.
"Thou art a good sort, Dinah," was her last remark, as she dropped off into the land of dreams.
Mrs. Faithful had never before, in the whole course of her long years as a school-mistress, pronounced herself a failure, but on this occasion she did. She was an essentially honest woman. She told her girls the truth, and what was far more to the point, she toldherselfthe truth. She took her character, so to speak, to pieces, and wondered, as she did on the present occasion, where she could possibly have gone wrong.
The two girls left in her charge were naughty girls—verynaughty girls—but then she had had naughty girls before. Of course, these were undoubtedly worse, more defiant in their characters, than any of the various maidens who had visited Felicity and had gone through its stern and yet withal its beneficial training; for the school was, as a matter of fact, divided into two parts. There were the girls who needed sharp correction, who required individual and most anxious care, and there were the girls who, having successfully and victoriously passed this ordeal, had entered the happy and bright portion of the school.
Here indeed, as far as the East is from the West, all things were different; here, in those lovely rooms called Faith, Hope, Charity, Joy, were laughter and mirth, were games and all pleasantness. There was an intermediate room called Patience. In this room the girls as a rule remained under a very diluted form of discipline for two or even perhaps three months. During this time their hair was allowed to grow, and their uniform was changed from dull grey and white to pale blue and white.
When they entered the happy rooms above mentioned, they were altogether different from those most unhappy girls who went through Penitence and Discipline. There was no enjoyment denied to them, as long as they were good and obedient. Obedience was required, discipline was maintained, but over all the Sun of Love and Kindness shone.
In the summer they romped in the gardens and the paddocks. They forgot the dismal, the awful period when Penitence and Discipline were their portion. All went well with them, and Mrs. Faithful loved these pupils dearly. She sent them back by-and-by to their homes completely changed characters, earnest in their efforts, willing and anxious to work, with a great deal of vanity and self-conceit, the ruin of so many girls, completely knocked out of them.
Poor Miss Pinchin, as she was called—except by Dinah, who called her Joan—had the painful charge of the first breaking in of these young, wild creatures.Mrs. Faithful considered her an admirable woman for the purpose. How was it that she so signally and completely failed with Henrietta and Daisy?
Daisy was lying most dangerously ill. Henrietta was unmanageable. Maureen was expected. She might arrive at any moment. She had said in her telegram that she would come early, and the day of her arrival had dawned.
Mrs. Faithful felt terribly unhappy; she knew that if Daisy got worse, it would be her duty to wire to the Reverend Patrick O'Brien to beg of him to come immediately to see his step-daughter. Her keen eyes had perceived at a glance how ill her kinsman looked. She knew also that he did not really love these girls, who were not his own. She bitterly regretted now having yielded to her softer nature, and taken the girls into the school at all.
Well, she had done iton a condition, and the condition was agreed to. Maureen O'Brien was coming. This fact alone would have given the poor lady untold delight, but for Henrietta's intemperate and extraordinary remarks about her. She feared that Henrietta would torment the child, so high-minded and noble in nature. She resolved, however, on an expedient which she trusted might save her.
Maureen, whatever happened, mustnotbe unhappy. She was not coming to the school as a pupil, but as a guest; Mrs. Faithful therefore resolved to have prayers half an hour earlier than usual that morning and then to give a short address to thegirls—those girls who had passed through the worst stage of discipline and were thoroughly enjoying themselves at the school.
Amongst these was one called Margaret Devereux. There was also another—Evelyn Ross. They were cousins, and had been at first most troublesome, most defiant, most disobedient. They had now been four years at Felicity, and no one would recognise them for the little uncared-for wild imps whom their unhappy fathers had brought to the school, begging Jane Faithful to do what she could for them.
Jane Faithful, aided by her staff of teachers, did her best, and sweeter, brighter girls than Margaret Devereux and Evelyn Ross it would be difficult to find. They were neither of them exactly beautiful, but there was a wonderful look of strength about them, like those who have met Apollyon in the Valley of the Shadow—and have come out on the other side. All the other girls were of varied intensity of character.
The remarkable thing about all these girls was that theyhadcharacters, that there was nothing small about them. It was impossible to reach the Halls of Faith, Hope, and Joy without having passed through Conflict. This expression is seldom seen on a young face, but when it is there, it has a specially ennobling effect.
Mrs. Faithful thought that a great deal might be done for Maureen by means of Margaret and Evelyn, but she wanted all her band of bright girls, all thosewho had passed through the Valley, to be kind and interested in the newcomer. She therefore spoke about her very simply.
"I have a few words to say to you, girls," began the headmistress. They were all in white on this summer morning, and as they were just preparing to go into the large schoolroom to begin their accustomed work, they paused and turned in some astonishment. Margaret, in especial, clasped the hand of Evelyn Ross and squeezed it.
Now Evelyn and Margaret four years ago used to be the direst foes. They were members of one household, but they could not live happily together or with anyone else; hence the chief reason for their arrival at Felicity.
"My dears," said Mrs. Faithful, who observed this affectionate clasp, "I have some pleasant news for you all. I am expecting almost immediately a young visitor. She is, I believe, fifteen years of age, but although tall looks much younger than her years. I have heard of her, but have not seen her. She will not be a pupil unless indeed she wishes to join any special class. She will sleep in the Chamber of Peace, and I want you, Margaret, and you, Evelyn, as my head girls, to take special care of her, and to do all in your power to make her happy. She has, I believe, a specially fine character which may be partly accounted for by her birth, for she belongs to mixed races, being French on her mother's side and Irish on her father's. Her name is Maureen, hersurname is O'Brien. Maureen, as perhaps you know, is the Irish for Mary. She is greatly beloved by her uncle, and as far as I can tell by most of those who know her. There is, however, an exception, and I want you, Margaret, and you, Evelyn, to guard Maureen O'Brien against that exception. You have not yet been introduced to Henrietta Mostyn. Alas, alas! poor girl! It will, I greatly fear, be some time before you make her acquaintance. She has lived in the same house with Maureen, and cordiallyhatesher—Ifearbecause she is good. How you know what an awful thing hatred is. We have banished it, I hope, from the greater part of Felicity."
"We have—we have," said Margaret and Evelyn.
"I therefore ask you, my dear children," continued the headmistress, "to be particularly good to Maureen O'Brien. She comes of a noble stock. I wish you could have seen her father, Major O'Brien. He belonged indeed to those gifted ones whom the Lord has blessed. He was a soldier in the truest sense of the word. He died from the effects of a wound in battle, when Maureen was a very little child. Her mother had died before him. Major O'Brien died in saving a fellow-soldier who was in desperate straits. He dragged him away from the range of the enemies' guns. For this splendid action he got his V. C., and, although he died of his wounds later on, he truly died covered with glory. Now, my children, will you help me with regard to Maureen if she requires your help?"
"We will—we will!" said one and all.
"We should love to!" cried Margaret.
"We just adore her already," remarked Evelyn.
At that moment the sound of wheels was heard approaching on the winding gravel sweep.
"She has come," said Mrs. Faithful. "Go to your lessons, girls; you will meet her at early dinner."
The girls went away, filled with the keenest excitement. Mrs. Faithful had struck the right note. Patriotism and the love of country were in their blood. Maureen, in their eyes, was a heroine before they saw her.
Mrs. Faithful had been quite sure she had done right as she went into the centre of the hall, where Dominic and Maureen were standing.
The boy held out his hand; the girl struggled to speak, but her face was very white.
"You are tired, darling," said Mrs. Faithful.
"She is—she's beat out," said Dominic.
"Dom—you know I'm not beat out." The clear, rather slowly pronounced words, which were some of Maureen's peculiarities, dropped from her pretty lips. "I've come here—indeed, I have—just to be useful and to makenotrouble."
"Ha! Ha! Naughty one—Iknow you!" suddenly shouted a voice, and a fiery head was poked over the staircase, and Henrietta clapped her hands. "You make yourself useful, indeed! I like that."
There was an evident tussle between Henriettaand a grave, sweet, elderly woman, who was dragging her back.
"Thou shalt not—thou shalt not!" cried the naughty girl. "She's my enemy—she has come! Let me alone, Dinah, with thy 'thees' and thy 'thous.'I'llget at her; nothing will keep me back."
"Thee wilt come with me immediately to thy excellent breakfast," was Dinah's response.
"Ah, my poor tummy, itisempty," exclaimed Henrietta. "Well, I'll feed up a good lot, and get all the stronger, because of that which lies before me. Canst thee tell me, Dinah, where old Pinchin kept her birch-rod?"
"I could tell thee, child, but I will not. Eat this delicious honey and this fresh bread and good butter, and drink this rich creamy milk, and forget that wicked thing called Hatred."
"I'll gobble hard, thou mayst be sure," remarked Henrietta, "but thou mayst also be sure, thatNOTHINGwill induce me to give up my darling hatey-hate! Fancy thee and me—two Quakers—and I doing the hatey-hate for both. It's pretty strong, Dinah duck. Oh, Dinah, Dinah, I wish thou wouldstsometimeslaugh."
"How can one laugh with a sore, sore heart," was Dinah's response. "Ah, Henrietta, poor babe, thou dost not guess the sorrows that await thee."
Meanwhile Mrs. Faithful took her young guests into her own sitting-room, where she gave them an excellent breakfast, and told Dominic that there wasa very nice hotel quite close, where he could stay for the day if he liked, and could come and see his cousin in the afternoon.
"Yes, do, Dom," said Maureen.
"I will, if you wish it, Maureen."
"It's all settled about Uncle Pat now, so you can stay," said Maureen.
"Then I will stay for one night," answered Dominic. "What is the name of the hotel, Mrs. Faithful?"
"I will send one of my men with your things there, my boy," said Jane Faithful. "You can come back here again to dinner. We dine at two."
"I think I will go with the man at once," said Dominic. "I am tired and dirty. We travelled right through, and the way was long."
"The hotel is called the Rose and Honeysuckle," said Mrs. Faithful. "Ring that bell three times, Dominic."
Dominic obeyed. One of the grooms appeared. He was given brief directions, and the man and the boy started off to the Rose and Honeysuckle, the man wheeling Dominic's little suitcase on his barrow.
He was much taken by the Irish lad.
"And now, please, tell me everything," said Maureen to the headmistress. "Where are they? how are they?"
"Oh, Maureen, my darling, you are barely in time. I have only bad news for you—bad news! Poorlittle Daisy is most dangerously ill. We went the wrong way to work with them both."
"You tried perhaps the way offear," said Maureen.
"Yes! I am afraid we did."
"Henrietta seems as determined as ever," said Maureen; "but what has made Daisy so ill?"
"It is a long story, Maureen, but I will tell it you in as few words as possible. I know the school—and when I say the school, I speak of the girls who have passed through their time of Penitence and Rebellion and through Discipline and Patience, and have learnt the joys which await those who followHisCommandments. These girls, and there are many of them in the school, will receive you, Maureen, with rejoicing. But you look very, very tired. Had you not better come to your chamber and sleep?"
"I—sleep?" said Maureen. "No; I want to work."
"But it would not be right for you to see those wild girls at present."
"Yes, it would be quite right," said Maureen. "Please pardon me, Mrs. Faithful, but I have come here principally to ask their forgiveness. I did them a very terrible wrong."
"Maureen, do I hear you aright? Your uncle said that the girl called Daisy tried to poison your horse."
"Yes—and I—oh I must not talk of it, except to them. Iwillfind them—Imustfind them. May Igo to my room just for a few minutes and wash and put on something white, and then I will go to them both."
"I am certain, my child, the doctor will not allow you to visit Daisy."
"Well, may I at least see the doctor when he comes?"
"You certainly may do that. As a matter of fact, I expect him at any moment."
"Then I will go to my room, if you will take me."
Mrs. Faithful conducted the girl to the Chamber of Peace. Maureen looked round her, and her lovely eyes grew bright.
"Oh, how exquisite," she said. "And a bath-room and all. Give me barely ten minutes. Please remember that I must see the doctor."
In almost less than the time mentioned a grave-looking girl in pure white, her thick brown hair neatly arranged, her soft brown eyes full of a sort of divine love, her lips slightly tremulous, but nevertheless firm and sweet, stood outside the Infirmary, where Daisy Mostyn tossed from side to side on her little bed, while the cruel fever, like a consuming fire, burnt her slender life away.
Dr. Halsted went in and saw the patient. He came out again shaking his head.
"We must have a consultant," he said to the nurse. "The symptoms are most alarming. Why,whois this young lady?"
"I am Maureen," was the girl's quiet reply. "Iwant to go to Daisy—I have known her for some time. She and I lived in the same dear home in Ireland. There is something I want to say to her and afterwards to her sister, Henrietta. I promise most faithfully not to make her worse. May I go to her?"
"Yes, child, go," said the doctor.
He looked at the nurse and said:
"Is that an angel or a human being? Alas, alas, I fear there is little hope. I shall get Dr. Duncan immediately, but let that little white angel do what she can."
Henrietta had been peeping about. Henrietta was speechless with rage. She set to work tearing her clothes and upsetting everything she could in Dinah's neat room.
Dinah, although the soul of gentleness, could be very firm when she liked. She deliberately got a strong cord and fastened Henrietta into a chair in such a position that, struggle as she might, she could not move.
She made the remark, after fastening her victim securely into the chair of punishment, "Thee art full of mischief, and thee wilt stay here until I choose to unfasten thee. Weep away, poor sinner; no one will hear thee inmyroom. Thou wouldst have killed thy sister had I not caught thee in time."
"But the enemy is with her—the enemy!" shrieked and sobbed Henrietta.
"Dost thou indeed call that most beautiful,spiritual young creature an enemy? Ah, well, the Lord God, He hears—the Lord God, He hearkens. I will pray for thee, Henrietta, while thou art in thy chair of punishment, and where thou art now, thou canst not smack me on the cheek. I promise faithfully, and where I promise I fulfil, that thou wilt stay in that chair until the Spirit tells me to untie thy cords."
"Hypocrite, horror," shrieked Henrietta; but Dinah was already on her knees, her dove-like eyes were closed, her lips were moving very slowly—not a sound could Henrietta catch.
She went on looking at Dinah and hurling every ugly word she could think of at that noble and patient head. The Quakeress went on praying. After a time there seemed to come over Henrietta a sort of awe. She even preferred Miss Pinchin and therodto this. The silence was so intense. The position of the praying woman, in spite of the girl's own recklessness, was awe-inspiring.
At last, after quite an hour, Dinah rose from her knees, her eyes wet with tears.
Henrietta said softly, "Take my hanky-panky—I can't get at it—and wipe away those drops. Thou art a very pretty Quakeress. I will certainly join thee, for thou hast a marvellous effect upon me."
Maureen had the calm of a really great nature. She went steadily now and took her place by the sick girl's bedside. Daisy glanced at her for a minute with dull and uncomprehending eyes, then she turned away with a sort of groan.
"She hates—hates—hatesme," muttered the sick child. "I did my best to kill her horse, only I didn't mean to kill it. Upon my word, I didn't. I meant to make it bad as I am now, but that horrid Garry came and frightened me, and my hand shook and I couldn't put in the right quantity of the stuff. It is awful to be hated by one like Maureen. She is so strong—sostrong. I'm a poor little nobody—but she—she crushes me down and down. It's awful, isn't it? Who areyou?"
A dim, very dim, glance of understanding crept into the dull eyes.
"I," said Maureen. She spoke in her richest voice. "I am one who indeed gave way to that awful, unholy sin of hate; but all that has passed—has vanished. Where I hated, now I love. According to the strength of my hatred, so is the greatness of my love."
"Pah," said Daisy, "I expect you are one of the angels. I don't want any of them about. I suppose that means I am going to die. But I won't die; I won't go pop like mumsie, only I'm horrid hot. Angel, are you cool?"
"Yes; shall I hold your—your hand?"
"But you are not going to take me away?"
"No, indeed, I am not."
"Then if you are cool, you may hold my hand. You remind me of someone—I don't know who. Agoodperson. I do so loathe good people; but then you are not a person at all. You are an angel. Angel, send those nurses away and hold my hand."
Maureen beckoned to the two women, who retired behind a screen in a corner of the room.
Maureen had extraordinary sympathy in her hand. Some people have that gift, and it is very remarkable. It quiets better than any drug; it soothes beyond any medicine which has ever yet been invented.
The girl, who had been tossing impatiently from side to side, began, slowly and impatiently at first, but after a time quite perceptibly, to feel the influence of the little hand. Then the two hands were placed over hers and she gave a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm better, I think," she said. "I'll soon be all right again, and ready to punch Pinchin and Maureen and all my enemies. I couldn't eat, you know; that's why I flopped down like this. Angel, will you stay with me?"
"Yes."
"And you don't hate me?"
"I—LOVE—you."
"You have a queer, deep voice—something like Maureen's. I say, shall we both fight her together?"
"We will," said Maureen.
"Ha! Ha! that's good. Ha! Ha! Ha! Have those horrible nurses gone?"
"They are not near you now. I command you to sleep. Close your eyes and sleep."
"Oh, but I do feel yawny. You wouldn't ask me to sleep if you knew what my dreams were."
"I can promise you will not have those dreams while I hold your hand."
"Then I think I will have a snooze. I am getting quite comfy. Mumsie, she broke her neck—doubled under her you know—and she left her money to Maureen—all of it to Maureen. Poor Henny and I were beggars. I'm gettingverysleepy. Maureen has all the money—she who said, 'I hate you!' But you are different, dear angel; you don't hate."
"No; as she hated, so do I in a much greater degree love."
"That's nice—I'll take a snooze. You won't mind if I keep my mouth open and snore?"
By the time the two doctors arrived, the girl in white with the wonderful eyes was seated by the bedside, and the sick girl who was so dangerously ill was in a light refreshing slumber. There were great drops of dew on her forehead. Maureen's littlehands held hers and the power of Maureen's love was surrounding her.
The nurses, who had listened to the conversation between the two, had told the doctors what had occurred. They listened in untold amazement.
Dr. Halsted said, "We will make a slight examination without waking her, and the girl in white must stay by her side."
It was some hours later, long past dinner-time, when Maureen slipped out of the Infirmary and went for a moment to the Chamber of Peace. She was, in truth, deadly tired. She felt like one who had been dragged through a rushing torrent; she felt like one who, hitherto strong, was now strangely weak.
This was not to be wondered at, for she had given of the very essence of her life to the sick girl, and before she left her she had turned the scales for Daisy Mostyn towards this present life.
The worst was over, the girl would live. Maureen rang her bell. Immediately Mrs. Faithful, who had been on the watch all these hours, came to the child.
"Oh, my dear, wonderful little girl," she began.
"Don't praise me, please," said Maureen. "I think she's better; I think she'll live."
"Yes; the doctors are quite sure she'll live, darling, andyouhave done it."
"It was the least I could do," said Maureen; "but please, I should like something to eat. I want torest for half an hour, and then I must see Henrietta."
"Oh, my child, you cannot go through fresh tortures with that terrible girl to-day."
"But indeed, please, I must. I have come here for the sake of those girls. May I have something—anything—sustaining. You see," continued Maureen, "I sort of—sort of put my life into Daisy. That's why I feel so tired. It can be done, and I did it."
At that moment the door was opened and one of the many nice servants appeared, carrying a tray of refreshing food for Maureen to eat. There was also a tiny glass of invalid wine.
"Lie on the bed, darling," said Mrs. Faithful, "and I will feed you."
"No," said Maureen. "Dear Mrs. Faithful, be as kind to me as you like to-night, when my task is over. But until it is over kindness might make me break down. By the way, is Dom here?"
"Of course he is. Would you like to see him?"
"Not yet."
"Then eat, dearest, eat. Don't take your glass of wine first. Eat."
Maureen smiled faintly, but obeyed.
The food was light and perfect. It was nourishing and easily digested. Mrs. Faithful saw that the girl was in a very high state of excitement, and took measures accordingly. She cut up the food into little morsels and made Maureen eat, and then shegave her sips of the rare wine and did all that she did do in a sort of matter of fact way, for she knew that she had in her charge a very precious little girl and that she must take great care of her.
"I'm better now—quite well in fact," said Maureen when the meal had come to an end.
She stood up and stretched herself a little.
"You are good to me," she said. "I can't thank you; there's no time at present. Ask Dominic to wait for me until I want him. I shall want him, I hope, very soon."
"He's going to spend the day here, my love. At present he, Margaret Devereux, and Evelyn Ross are walking in the paddock. I think they are enjoying themselves very much."
"You have a beautiful home," said Maureen.
"It is a home with two sides, darling. For those who have conquered in the fight it is a beautiful home."
"I understand," said Maureen. "Thank you. Please, where shall I find Henrietta?"
"Oh, my darling, you must not go to her now. She's most troublesome and rebellious. We are doing all we can, butnothingseems to move her. You are not in a fit state for an interview with that terrible girl."
"Mrs. Faithful," said Maureen, "why did you send for me?"
Mrs. Faithful was silent; she absolutely blushed under that steadfast gaze.
"I will tell you why," said Maureen. "Uncle Pat told you everything, and you, wise woman that you are, knew perfectly well that you would require my help; that it was just possible for me to accomplish what you with all your knowledge might fail to attain. Please, Imustgo to Henrietta, and please, I am quite well now, and not at all tired, and I must accomplish my work before I rest."
"Well, child, I cannot refuse. I will ring for Dinah."
"Dinah? What a pretty name!"
"Yes, and she is good and strong—as good as her name. At present she is the sole caretaker of Henrietta Mostyn. I will just prepare you for the fact that she is a Quakeress."
"Oh, but I love them," said Maureen, her eyes shining.
"Here she comes then. Once she had the great privilege of helping to nurse your father. He had a sharp attack of fever at Felicity after the death of your dear young mother. Here she comes. Dinah, this is our Miss Maureen."
"Maureen O'Brien, I greet thee," said Dinah.
Dinah was an elderly woman. She wore the old-fashioned dress of her Order. She had a tight-fitting cap over her head, made of the softest, finest muslin. It was tied under her chin. Her eyes were like dove's eyes. She gave the instant impression of great peace.
Maureen looked at her and shivered a little. Then she said:
"Oh, I am glad to see you!"
"And I to see thee, sweetest and best," said Dinah.
"Dinah, take me to Henrietta."
"But, hast thee the strength?" inquired Dinah.
"God will give it to me, Dinah."
"Then thou shalt assuredly come. Take my hand."
The house of Felicity was very large and rambling, and certain rooms were sound-proof. This was found to be necessary on account of the outrageous conduct of some of the naughty girls when they first arrived. Dinah, still holding Maureen's hand, stepped lightly on the highly polished floor. Then she opened a door. There was a little dark passage inside. She opened a second door, and Maureen suddenly heard the wild shrieking notes of a voice which she knew but too well.
"Dysy—Dysy—give us your answer, do!Dysy—Dysy—why, I say—get out of this, brat!"
"Thou wilt not speak words of this sort," said Dinah.
"But I will, pretty Quakeress," said Henny, who was still securely fastened in the punishment chair. "I say, where's the birch rod? Dinah, me honey, take care of thy money; it's all botheration from bottom to top."
"Maureen O'Brien has come to see thee," remarked Dinah. "Thou wilt treat her civilly."
"I'm peckish, peckish," said Henrietta. "I don't want to see the enemy, and I'm tied into this odious chair, so that I can't getather. I tell thee I'm just pining to scratch her face."
"Dinah, may I speak to Henrietta?" said Maureen.
"Thou hast full permission," said Dinah.
She sat down at once and went on with her eternal sewing. She had her back slightly turned to the two girls.
Henrietta burst into a scream of laughter.
"I say, Goody-two-shoes, doesn'tshelook nobby in that Quaker cap. I'm going to be a Quaker in future, and I'll 'thee' and 'thou' thee all out of the world. I expect I'll make a very striking Quaker. Isn't my hair jolly fuzzy?Shetook the glue out of it—you might rumple it up for me a bit if you like."
Maureen approached quite near. She laid her gentle hand on the little fiery head, and did what Henrietta required. Henrietta made some futile attempts to bite her, but Maureen was sharp enough to evade them.
"Henny," she said then in her gentle voice, "I must confess something to you."
"Lawk-a-massy me! That sounds a bit of Yorkshire relish. You—Goody-two-shoes—confessing forsooth! Well, go ahead. I'm in the mood to be pleased with any trifle; so would you, if you had been tied in this chair since early morning. Itdoesn't hurt a bit. It's even fairly comfy, but I can't move my hands or arms or legs or even my head much. Dinah, Dinah, isn't it time for thee to feed thy sister Quaker again?"
"Not yet, child," was Dinah's reply.
"There," said Henny. "You see for yourself the way I'm treated, and yet I'm fond of Dinah. I'm going to join her persuasion and will go to the Meeting-House with her and speak when the Spirit prompts me. I have been thinking out what my first discourse will be. It will all be about a horrid girl called Maureen, who secured for herself a great lump of mumsie's money. I'll show you up, Maureen. I rather guess it will be an exciting meeting."
"Thou must not speak of our holy Meeting-House in that fashion," said Dinah.
"Please, dear Dinah," suddenly interrupted Maureen, "let her say just what she likes for the present."
Dinah bent over her fine sewing and her lips moved in silent prayer.
"That's how she goes on all day," said Henrietta. "Lively for me, isn't it? Well, MissHate—Hate—Hate, and how doyoufind yourself?"
"Henrietta, I've come here to-day——"
"Oh, I don't want humbug," said Henrietta.
"I've come here to-day," continued Maureen, "to unsay those cruel words. I own that I was frightfully hurt, and I gave way to great sin."
"Ah—the little saint—she gave way togreat sin," repeated Henrietta.
"And God was very angry with me," continued Maureen.
"I should think so, indeed. You looked downrightshocking."
"I cannot tell you of those days of misery; but the God who forgives forgaveme, and great, great joy came back to me. And Love—oh, most wonderful—and Henny, of all the people whom I felt I ought to love and help, you and Daisy came first."
"Is Daisy going to die?"
"No; I think she will live. I have been with her for several hours."
"Lawk-a-massy me!"
"Now, Henrietta, I wish to tell you that having spent the entire morning with Daisy and being well assured that she will recover, I want to help you, for my hatred has been turned into love—very deep. Will you take it, dear Henny?"
"Itakeyourlove? Not I! I don't want it. I like your hatred best. I can speak better when the Spirit moves me, thinking of you as hating me."
"Poor Henrietta."
"Don't pity me. I won't be pitied."
"Very well, I won't. But I tell you what, I think you want a little change, and do you know that Dom is here?"
"Old Dom? I like old Dominic."
"Well, he's here. It was he who brought me over.What I thought was this, that you and Dominic and I could go and have tea at Dominic's hotel—the Rose and Honeysuckle—in the town quite close. We'll have a lovely tea and come back in the cool of the evening. Don't you think it would be a good plan?"
"Is it joking you're after?" said Henrietta.
"No; I'm in earnest. Ask Dinah."
"Oh, I'd give the world to go," said Henrietta. "Dinah, ducky of all ducky-ducks. Thouwiltsay yes—thouwiltunbind the bands of thy sister and set her free."
Dinah rose very slowly.
"On a condition, I will do this thing," she remarked.
"What is that?"
"That thou dost not once raise the hand of spite against this dear lady."
"But I may feel it, I suppose."
"God help thee, poor child. Wilt thou never see the beautiful light?"
"I'm sure I'm staring at it when I look at thee," said Henrietta.
"I fear to loosen thee," remarked Dinah.
She sat down again in her chair.
Maureen felt puzzled. She seemed to have said everything, and exhaustion was again stealing over her. Suddenly, however, she was startled by a great cry.
"Dinah, Dinah, I'll be good. I'll not raise thehand of spite. I must go out with Maureen and with Dominic; I mustgorgeat the Hotel."
"First thou wilt say these words after me: 'I love Maureen O'Brien.'"
"But I don't," said Henrietta.
Dinah resumed her sewing. Another half hour passed.
"Dinah, ducksie, I willnotsmack Maureen. Dinah, I—IloveMaureen."
"Is that true?" asked Dinah.
"Yes; I've been wrestling in the Spirit—it is true."
"Then I will unfasten thee. But Maureen O'Brien, I will come with thee on this walk, and enter that inn called the Rose and Honeysuckle, for I do not consider it safe to send thee alone with this maiden."
"I don't mind havingthee, Dinah," said Henrietta in a meek voice. "Come along, unfasten the cords; set me free—set me free. Oh, jolly! Oh, golloptious! Oh, my poor leg—it has got the cramp—and my arm! Let me walk up and down the room, Dinah, leaning on thee."
"Dinah," said Maureen, "is there not a prettier frock she could wear?"
"It is against the rules," said Dinah; "but everything appears to be against the rules to-day. I have just finished a little blue muslin robe with a pale blue ground covered with forget-me-nots, and thereis a hat with a wreath of forget-me-nots, which she can wear on this great occasion."
"Oh, golloptious!" cried Henny. "Let me get into the frock! Why, I am adarlingFuzzy-wuzzy. Look at my hair, Maureen. Don't you envy it like anything?"
"You must be quick," said Maureen. "The dress is very pretty."
She helped Dinah to get Henrietta into the blue dress. The little hat, on the top of the tangle of red hair, was really becoming. Then the Quaker woman put on her own long gray cloak and her Quaker bonnet, and promised to meet Maureen with Henrietta outside the grounds in ten minutes' time. There Dominic and Maureen did meet Henrietta and her companion.
Dominic gave Henrietta one of his straight glances.
"I'm good, Dommy," she said, "and I love Maureen likeanything; but oh, Iamso peckish. How soon can we get a good spanking feed?"
"I expect before long," said Dominic. "Don't lean on me, Henrietta. I have no doubt that good lady will offer you her arm if you require it, and I must help Maureen."
Thus they started off and reached the Rose and Honeysuckle. Henrietta mightily enjoyed the good things set before her, and fixed her bold, blue eyes on each individual who came into the coffee-room.
Having at last satisfied evenherappetite, shetried the dodge of whispering to Dominic, but Dominic said aloud, "Whispering is not good form," then turned and spoke to Maureen.
He spoke in a low, confidential voice to his dear little cousin, and Henrietta's fiery temper assumed the colour of her hair. The Quaker woman was, however, watching her. But she herself was unaware of this fact.
Suddenly she sprang from her seat, and pulling Maureen towards her gave her several violent kisses on her lips, forehead, and cheeks. At the same time she managed to tangle the table-cloth round Maureen's little feet, so that when the party rose to go Maureen was the last to leave the table. She did not know what Henny had so cleverly contrived to do, but the entire contents of the tea-service were scattered in hopeless confusion on the floor. Cups and saucers were smashed, so was the old-fashioned slop bowl, and so was the cream jug and cake plates.
But not only did all this mischief occur, but the tea from the large metal teapot was spread all over the damask table-cloth, and a part of the liquid mess lay also on the neat carpet. Even worse was to follow, for Henny pretended that she liked her tea weak, and a small brass urn full of boiling water shared in the general ruin; it had a spirit lamp beneath, and Maureen in trying to save it, and to put the lamp out, burnt and scalded her hand and arm rather badly. The pain made her turn faint and sick for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself.
Henrietta, who saw everything, was in wild spirits.
"For such averygood colleen, you were awkward, Maureen mavourneen," she cried. "Hurrah!Ican't help it. A pretty sum you will have to pay; but that seems fair enough, for it will be out of poor Mumsie's money."