"Were you wretched? I didn't know it."
"Oh, Susan! I could not sleep; I could not rest. I felt—oh, I can't tell you how I felt! But it was—it was almost like hell, Susan. And do you know what made me most unhappy of all? It was the feeling that if she died, you, Susan Marsh, would be in a way responsible for her death."
"Oh, how dare you say so?"
"Yes, Susan, you would. I am not angry now; I am just awfully miserable when I think about you.Can't you repent? Can't you be sorry? Can't you thank God for being so good to you? Oh, if—ifshe had died!"
Star's melodious voice, and Star's lovely eyes, and the pathos on the sweet little face were not altogether lost upon Susan Marsh at that moment. Without daring to tell herself so, she too had been in terror the night before; but the difference between her state and Star's was this—that Star was sorry because she had done wrong, while Susan was sorry because she feared punishment.
"Read your note," said Star, suddenly altering her tone and speaking with asperity; and Susan, contrary to her own inclination, took the note out of her pocket and read Emma Manners' words. When she had read the letter she handed it to Star.
"It seems to concern you too, Star," she said. "I suppose it is the best way out. I have to explain to the girls. They have been looking forward to something very special on Wednesday. I must tell them that on account of Christian's illness our special feast has been deferred. You will come, of course."
"I! What do you take me for?"
"But you will, Star; you will have to. There's no other way to keep the thing dark."
"Do you suppose I mean to keep it dark?"
"Star! Star!"
"Do you suppose it for a single moment, Susan?"
Miss Forest's voice was calling to the girls: "Come, girls; no more loitering. We must get back into our wagonettes and drive home or we shall be overtaken by the dusk."
Star and Susan were obliged to postpone any further conversation, but as Susan was getting into the wagonette she turned to her companion.
"We must fight this thing out," Susan said. "Where, and when?"
"In my room to-night," said Star without a moment's hesitation.
Susan nodded and got into the wagonette. Star was relieved to find that she could get into another of the carriages on her way home. She sat near her special friend Angela Goring.
"Why, Star, you don't look a bit well," said Angela.
"Angel," replied Star, "if you were going through exactly what I am at this present moment you would not look well either."
"You are bothered by that horrid girl."
"I am very nearly as bad myself," said Star.
"You?"
"Yes; I behaved abominably to that poor child. Yesterday I did wrong too."
"Oh! don't talk quite so loud; the others will hear."
"Then let us whisper together, Angel, for I must relieve my mind."
"Well, what is it?"
"In order to discover something about Susan, I disobeyed Miss Peacock. She said none of us were to leave the grounds. She sent a message. I heard the message delivered, and I went right away—right through the garden, and down by the left walk, and out onto the high-road. I was away for some hours, and I even had tea with one of the town girls. Think of that! I got home rather late. Of course no one noticed."
"We were all so anxious last night. But why did you do it? I must say you puzzle me a good deal."
"I did it; and what is more, I am not sorry. What I am sorry about is that I ever took that cruel attitude towards dear Christian."
Angela did not say anything more for a few minutes,but from time to time, as they were driving back through the sweet spring air, she glanced at Star. Star's piquant face was pale; her lashes were lowered; she looked intensely sad. Suddenly Angela bent towards her.
"Can I help you?" she asked. "Is there anything I can do? You know how much I love you."
"And I love you, Angel." She thought for a minute. "I may want a witness to-night," she said suddenly. "I know Jessie won't be too particular. This is a sort of half-holiday, and we may do things we are not allowed to do on ordinary occasions. I have asked Susan Marsh to meet me in my room to-night. Will you be present also?"
"Certainly, if it will help you."
"It may help me. It may be wiser. I'll let Susan know, and she can bring a friend of hers. Of course, she ought to bring Maud Thompson. I'll take care that she does. Now, let's talk of other matters, Angel. At ten o'clock to-night in my bedroom."
Angela squeezed Star's hand. Another girl joined in the conversation, and to hear Star's merry laugh during the remainder of that drive, one could scarcely guess what a weight rested on her heart.
At an early hour on the following day there was an arrival at Penwerne Manor. An old woman got out of a cab and entered the house. She was accompanied by a pretty-looking little girl. This old woman was met in the hall by Jessie.
"That's right," said Jessie. "I'm so glad you have come. Christian is much better, and I am sure your face and the face of this dear little girl will be the best possible restorative."
The woman gave a very respectful courtesy.
"Mind your manners, Rosy," she said to the small girl, who dropped a courtesy in exact imitation of her relative; and then they went upstairs.
Girls peeped out at them from behind doors not quite tightly shut, and soon it was repeated all over the school that Christian Mitford's old nurse had come to look after her, and that a wonderfully pretty little girl of the name of Rosy had come to help nurse and to cheer Christian up.
Nurse and Rosy had a room all to themselves in the White Corridor, and Christian smiled when she saw old nurse, and allowed Rosy to kiss her once or twice. But she was still too weak to speak much; or indeed, for that matter, to think much.
Rosy was very much admired by all the different girls in the school, and when a day or two had passed, and Christian still made rapid progress towards recovery, Rose was invited downstairs.
"May we have that dear little girl to play with us?" asked Star, going into Miss Peacock's room.
"Yes, dear; certainly. Rose is an old friend of Christian's, and seems quite a nice child. I believe her great-aunt wants to have her trained as a lady's-maid. Of course, I know nothing about her, except that she belongs to that particularly nice, intelligent old woman."
"Well, a little talk with her will do us no harm," said Star; "and perhaps," she added, "it will do Rose no harm either. She is quite as good as some of the girls in this school, and very much prettier."
"By the way, Star," continued the head-mistress, "in the great relief that Christian's recovery has caused, I have not forgotten certain things that have taken place in this school. There are one or two matters which need inquiry into. Your cheeks, my dear, are a great deal paler than they ought to be; and your eyes, which used to be so happy that it was a perfect pleasure to look at them, are now more sad than I like to see them. In short, there are matters which need to be inquired into and cleared up."
"Oh, there are—indeed there are!" interrupted Star, and she burst into tears.
"My dear Stella, have you made up your mind to confide in me or not?"
"I don't want to be hard on the others; and then I've not been a bit good myself," said Star. "If I could tell you everything without making the others dreadfully wretched, I would; but please don't question me."
"The time for questions is past, Star. I just gave you that one last chance. I mean now to act on my own initiative."
Star left the room. She stood for a minute outside in the great hall. This was a half-holiday, and it happened to be a pouring wet day. The rain seemedabsolutely to stream from the skies; you could scarcely see out of the window-panes. The booming of the billows outside made a melancholy sound. The girls stood about in groups, as was their custom during a wet half-holiday. They grumbled at the weather. Who does not?
Suddenly, however, the appearance of little Rose Latimer coming rather timidly downstairs, wearing a dark-blue frock and a white pinafore, caused a diversion.
"Who is that pretty little girl?" said Angela Goring.
Star, who had been standing looking as dismal as a girl could, now brightened up.
"Oh, that is little Rosy Latimer, a great friend of Christian's. Do let us ask her to come and sit with us for a bit. She seems so nice, and is so pretty."
"I don't know her," said Angela. "You go and speak to her, Star."
A lot of girls were standing about in the hall. Amongst them were Susan Marsh and her satellite, Maud Thompson. Maud now hardly ever left Susan's side. Susan's face was gloomy, and at the same time obstinate. She looked resolved to go on at any cost, following her own sweet will. Maud was thoroughly subdued and wretched. The advent of Rose—a person with fresh interests—on the scene therefore caused an agreeable diversion.
Rose was quite ignorant of the manners of schools and the ways of schoolgirls—at least those of the upper classes were unknown to her—but she was being rigidly brought up by a most aristocratic old woman, for no one could have more aristocratic ideas than nurse. She dropped her courtesy, therefore, as she had been told to do, and smiled with great pleasure when Star invited her to come into their midst.
"I am very much obliged, miss," said Rose, and then she dropped another courtesy.
"You needn't courtesy, Rose," said Star. "It's a wet day, and we are all glad to have some sort of diversion. Please, sit there, won't you?—there, in that easy-chair near the ingle-nook—and tell us all you can about Christian."
"What is your name, child?" interrupted Susan Marsh.
Rose looked full at Susan, and then knit her pretty brows.
"I am Rosy Latimer," she said. "And my great-aunt is Mrs. Peach; and Mrs. Peach is, or was nurse to Miss Christian."
"How is Christian, Rose? Is she really getting much better?" asked Star.
"Yes, miss; I think so. She takes her meals, and she sleeps regular; and my aunt says a sick person can't be expected to do more."
"You must have been very glad indeed when you were asked to come here in such a hurry—weren't you?" asked Maud Thompson. "We were surprised when we heard that Christian's old nurse and a little girl were coming to look after her. We thought Christian must be very ill indeed. You were glad, weren't you?"
"Well, miss," said Rose, who, notwithstanding her good manners, was by no means troubled with shyness, "my aunt and me, we were more frightened than glad. We didn't know whatever could be up. And aunt, she cried most of the way down. She cried very near as much as she did that time when me and Miss Christian ran away together."
"Oh, you ran away together!" said Angela.
Star suddenly laid her hand on Angela's knee as though to repress her. Susan's face turned crimson and then deadly white. Rose, however, did not notice the effect of her words.
"Ah, we had a time!" she said, and her eyes grew full of the recollection. Suddenly she burst into a laugh.
"What is the matter?" said Star. "How strange you look! Why do you laugh?"
"I am only thinking of Miss Christian and me, and the face of the woman who looked in at the window. Oh, weren't Miss Christian brave!"
One or two of the other girls had come up, and they were now looking intently at Rose. Star, whose first impulse it was to prevent Rose from saying anything, to keep her silent at any cost, changed her mind.
"One moment," she said.
She sprang to her feet. Rose immediately sprang to hers and dropped a courtesy.
"Thank you, young ladies," said Rose, "but maybe I ought to be going up to my great-aunt, Mrs. Peach. She says I'm never to forget my manners. I'm never to forget that I'm only a poor little girl, and that you are grand young ladies."
"I am sure you are a very nice little girl," said Angela; "and a very interesting little girl, too. Star, is she to go? What do you think?"
"I want to see Miss Peacock," said Star. "Stay here, Rose, till I come back. And, Rose, don't tell any of that interesting, lovely story until I return."
Star ran along the corridor. She stood for a moment as she approached Miss Peacock's door.
"They wouldn't tell what they knew, and they wouldn't let Christian tell, and perhaps Rose is going to put everything right," she thought. "And she could give us a really unvarnished statement. She could tell us the very, very truth."
She burst open the door of Miss Peacock's room. She did not even wait to knock. Miss Peacock was sitting at her desk. She turned in some amazement whenStar, her eyes shining with excitement, came towards her.
"Miss Peacock," said the little girl, "you know, don't you, why Christian didn't come to school with the rest of us? I mean, why she came a whole fortnight later."
"I don't understand you, Star."
"Oh, please don't be angry! You know the whole truth, don't you?"
"Certainly."
"And you resolved that it should not be told to the school?"
"I thought it best. I do not understand you."
"It wasn't best," said Star. "It is wrong of me to say so to you, but I must say it. It was not best. Do you know the little girl who has come with Christian's nurse to stay here?"
"A child of the name of Rose Latimer. She is a great friend of Christian's; I sent for her on purpose. Why?"
"Miss Peacock, you gave us leave to have little Rose to play with us. She is in the midst of a group of girls now in the great hall, and she began of her own accord to tell that story that you didn't wish Christian to tell. May she go on with it, and will you come and listen?"
Miss Peacock jumped up suddenly. She looked hard at Star just for a minute; then she took her hand.
"Come," she said.
They entered the hall. At the sight of the head-mistress the girls arose and dropped a courtesy, and looked more or less unlike themselves, and more or less on their good behavior. Even Angela, one of the best of girls, remained standing in a respectful attitude, and had she been asked to speak, her words would not have come with perfect ease.
But to Rose Miss Peacock was only just a beautifullady without any other significance whatever. Rose dropped a courtesy, in the correct manner taught her by Mrs. Peach, and looked quite easy in her mind. Miss Peacock said:
"Will someone place me a chair?"
One of the girls rushed to get one. Then Miss Peacock sat in the midst of the group, with Star at her left hand and Angela at her right, and she managed so to sit that she should be opposite Susan Marsh. Then she turned to Rose.
"We are in the mood for a story," she said. "We have all told each other our stories, and our stories are somewhat stale. They relate to school life and school adventures. Now we want a story outside of school life. Who will tell us one?"
"I could if you wished it," said Rose.
"We do wish it, Rose. Will you?"
"It is Miss Christian's story," continued Rose.
"Go upstairs, Rose—very, very quietly—and ask Christian—very, very quietly—if you may tell her story to us. If she says no, you will not tell it us; but if she says yes, then you will tell us the wonderful tale."
"Oh! it is wonderful and beautiful and everything else," said Rose. "Yes, I will go upstairs."
She ran quickly up the broad stairs, went down the White Corridor, and softly opened the door of the room where nurse sat by her darling's bedside. Christian, well enough now to be wide awake and smiling, was listening to words from the old woman's lips.
"Now, what is it, Rosy?" said Mrs. Peach. "What's the matter with you? You do seemed pleased about something."
"It's a message I have to give to Miss Christian," said Rose; "and it's from the lady they call Miss Peacock."
"My word!" cried nurse. "Why, she's the lady of the school; she's the head-mistress. She's a sort of queen here."
"What is the message?" asked Christian.
"It's nothing as is to bother Miss Christian," said nurse. "There! you have made her cheeks quite pink. What is it, Rose? Out with it."
"They want a story," said Rose. "There are a lot of 'em downstairs. Some of 'em are beautiful-looking young ladies, and others dull and stupid enough. There's one I didn't like a bit. I wouldn't know her if I had to live in the slums all my life. They all want a story just like any other girls. They know their own stories, they say, and they want a new one from me; and I thought I'd tell 'em the story of me and you, Miss Christian. And Miss Peacock, the grand head-mistress, the queen of the place, said:
"'Yes, you can tell that story if Christian wishes it. If Christian says yes, you may tell it; but if Christian says no, you must not tell it. You go up,' says Miss Peacock, 'and ask her now, and do it very quietly.'
"So do you wish it, Miss Christian? Shall I tell the story? It'll hearten 'em up a good bit; it's real prime, that tale is."
"Yes," answered Christian. She turned away as she said the words, but there was a smile in her eyes. "Yes, it will be the way out, and a great, great relief. Tell them, Rose, and God bless you!"
Rose rushed from the room, and the next minute appeared again in the hall.
"Miss Christian looked sadly weak, but she'd like me to tell the tale. She thinks it a very, very good plan," said Rose.
"Then sit here, Rose," said Miss Peacock. "Sit just here, facing me, and tell your story exactly in your ownway, just in the words you like best to use. I am sure we shall all listen with great attention."
"If you please, Miss Peacock," said Susan Marsh, "need I stay? I have a letter to write to my father; and my exercise for Miss Forest is not half finished."
"Yes, you must stay, Susan," replied Miss Peacock.
"But my exercise——"
"Never mind that now. Stay. Begin, please, Rose."
"That's the girl I wouldn't know if I had to live in the slums," thought Rose to herself.
She turned her right shoulder towards Susan, and spoke with her face direct towards Miss Peacock.
"It's a wonderful, wonderful story," she began; "and maybe there's a spice of naughtiness in it—I don't say there aint. But there's something else in it too, and that's a deal of courage. And when it come home to the heart of Miss Christian to know that it was wrong, no one repented more sincere than she did. And here's the tale; and she wishes me to tell it her own dear self."
So Rosy began, and not knowing all the events that had taken place in the school, nor the circumstances that made that story so great a tragedy, she told it with a certain directness that made it extremely effective. She told it very simply, too, so that the youngest and smallest girl present could understand every word. As for the story itself, it was very thrilling, beginning with Christian's experience and the old attic in the Russell Square house, going on to the confab that the two girls had when they lay side by side in Christian's snug bed, and proceeding right up to the time when the two terrified children pushed the old bedstead against the door that could not be locked. That crucial and awful moment when Mrs. Carter tried to get in at the window, and Christian boldly kept her back, was described with such vivid realism by Rosy that one or two of the young listenersscreamed. Rosy also gave with much effect a description of the scene when the children found themselves in the carpenter's yard. Their terror, their despair when Christian discovered that her little bag of money was gone, brought down the house, so to speak. Rosy herself did ample justice to the theme. She was quite dramatic in her actions. At times she could not keep still, but jumped to her feet and pointed out imaginary people with her fingers. Sometimes tears rolled down her own cheeks, and sighs and almost sobs broke the narrative. But when she spoke of the carpenter and his mother, the tea the old woman gave the tired and sad young girls, and the kindness of the carpenter when he walked with them all the way to Russell Square, Miss Peacock and her pupils were so much affected that they longed to start a subscription on the spot for the worthy pair.
At last the whole story was told, even to that part when Miss Thompson and nurse rejoiced and Christian was safe back again in the old home.
As Miss Peacock listened, she wondered much why she had never before thought of bringing Rose on the scene and making her tell the story.
"Thank you, Rose Latimer," she said when a dead silence followed all the excitement. "You have told your tale beautifully; and although it is a tale of wrong-doing, there are fine points in it, and those who truly repent will always be forgiven by God. Now, will you kindly go upstairs to Mrs. Peach? Don't disturb Christian if she is asleep; but if she is awake, say to her that we all send to her our dear love. Am I right in giving that message, girls? We all, knowing the worst, send our dear love to Christian Mitford."
"Certainly—we send our dearest love," answered two or three.
Even Maud Thompson had given a message. Susan alone was silent.
"She aint worthy to be even a slum girl," thought Rosy to herself.
"Yes, ma'am," she continued—and she dropped a most beautiful courtesy, one that even Mrs. Peach would have approved of—"I will take your message, ma'am. And I'm much obliged to all you young ladies. It has given me a great deal of pleasure to tell the story of my darling Miss Christian and myself." Then Rose trotted upstairs.
She entered Christian's room. Christian had little spots of color on each cheek, and her eyes were perhaps a trifle too bright.
"They all took to it most kindly, Miss Christian," said innocent Rose. "I told them everything from beginning to end, and I think I done it well; and Miss Peacock said I was to tell you that theyallsent you their dearest love. But there's one girl down there that I can't abide anyhow. I don't think she sent any message, for I don't believe for a single moment she knows even the meaning of love. But the others did. They're precious fond of you, Miss Christian. I doubt if it was worth running away from a school of this sort."
"Oh, it was not, Rosy! Oh, Rosy, I amsorelieved! They know it all—everything?"
"Every single crumb of it, Miss Christian, darling; and I did enjoy myself in the telling it."
When the story was over and the narrator had gone away, Miss Peacock also rose. She stood and faced the girls.
"There are here," she said, "about twenty in all. The school contains forty girls, reckoning Christian herself. Christian cannot appear, but I should like the remaining nineteen to come to me. Star Lestrange, my dear, will you fetch the entire school into the hall?"
Star rushed off. Once again Susan looked as though she wished to escape, but to do so she would have had to pass Miss Peacock, and she knew, therefore, that her effort would be useless.
Star was not long in collecting the school, and when they trooped in Miss Peacock remarked:
"Stand round me, my dears; I have something to say."
They collected in a group. Miss Peacock stood at one side of a wide circle.
"My dear girls, you all know how ill Christian Mitford has been. You know that from the brink of the grave she has been restored to us. Had she died, I can scarcely tell you what a fearful blow would have fallen upon us all. Not only should we have lost a dear pupil and a brave, delightful schoolfellow, but there are circumstances attending her illness which would have made her death a very terrible matter to us all; for I wish to tell you now, girls, that there are some in this school whohave not acted kindly to Christian Mitford. Her illness has been largely caused by trouble of mind. She came here expecting sisterly affection, but from the very first she was treated with suspicion. There are some—I mention no names as yet—who behaved with cruelty to Christian. Had she died, those girls could scarcely know a happy moment again. My dear pupils, it has doubtless been whispered amongst you that Christian Mitford came to this school surrounded by a little mystery. That is perfectly true. Something happened just before she came to school which delayed her coming for a fortnight. Full particulars of the occurrence were sent to me, and I thought—unwisely, as it turns out—that it would be best not to acquaint the school with what, it appeared to me, did not concern it. As things happened, I was wrong. There are girls now standing before me who discovered this mystery—I do not know how—and who made a handle of it; who blackmailed Christian, a girl who had never before been at school, and made her thoroughly wretched. What they did I am not prepared to say, for a great deal has been concealed from me. But I wish to declare to you all who are now present that the mystery is cleared up. Twenty of you have heard Christian's story, and each of you twenty girls is permitted to tell that story to the girls who were not present to hear Rose Latimer's narrative. I shall have more to say by and by. For the present my wish is that every girl in Penwerne Manor should know the true reason why Christian Mitford was a fortnight late in coming to school."
Miss Peacock hastily made her way through the group of girls. As she passed Susan Marsh she stopped and looked at her.
"You can now prepare your exercise," she said, "anddo as you think fit. I think your wings are clipped," she added. "I shall have more to say by and by."
Never before had Miss Peacock looked so dignified, and never before had she said such bitter words as those now addressed to Susan Marsh. She left the room and went straight to her private sitting room. There she rang her bell, and told the servant to ask Miss Jessie Jones to come to her at once.
Jessie appeared within a few minutes. Jessie had not been present in the hall when Rose Latimer told Christian's story. The minute she entered the room, however, she saw by Lavinia Peacock's face that something had happened.
"Now, Jessie," she said, "you and I have got to clear the horizon. Next we have got to rid the school of a most pernicious influence. We have got to get to the very bottom of a base conspiracy. My dear friend, this is not the hour for soft measures or kindness; this is the hour when true kindness must be severe. My school would cease to be the Penwerne Manor I like to think of if certain girls who have acted in a most disgraceful manner are not suitably punished."
"Oh, Lavinia! I see you are very angry, and I don't really understand," said Jessie. "Of course, it is fearfully hard about our poor dear Christian; but she is better now. God has saved her life."
"But if she had died, should you or I ever have held up our heads again? No, my dear. I will tell you what has happened. You know little Rose Latimer?"
"Yes; Mrs. Peach's little grand-niece—a bright, nice little girl."
"Little Rose, quite innocently, began to tell the story of Christian's adventure before she came to us to several of the girls assembled in the hall."
"But oh! you didn't let her——"
"Let me speak. Star Lestrange—I am really fond of dear Star—came to me at once and asked if I would be present. I went into the hall. To little Rose I am just an ordinary lady; she was not shy of me. I sent her up to ask Christian's permission. The story was told. It has now been spread throughout the entire school. Some of the girls are very miserable; one girl is very angry. Jessie, I take shame to myself for not having allowed the child's adventure to be known from the very first. But now, dear, I must, as I said, take measures. Sit down, Jessie, and tell me the exact truth with regard to the secret society in the midst of the school called the Penwernians."
Jessie's face turned very pink; tears filled her eyes.
"Come, Jessie; I must know everything. I gave you liberty in the past; I give you none now. Tell me everything."
What little Jessie told she did not know, nor how she told it, nor exactly what she said; but Miss Peacock listened calmly. After a time, going close to the little speaker, she held her hand. When this happened Jessie felt that she could tell better than ever. Courage came into her; she became certain that Miss Peacock was right. She had always adored Lavinia Peacock; now she knew that harshness in the real sense of the word could never come from those kind lips, nor proceed from that true and generous heart. At last Jessie stopped.
"I did wrong," said Miss Peacock when all was finished. "I love you, Jessie; you are the greatest comfort I have, but a mistress in my position ought to know everything. In the future, dear, we will have just as happy a time—nay, a happier time—at Penwerne Manor, but we can never allow things to come to such a pass that an innocent girl can be willfully tortured by her companions."
"And what about to-night?" said Jessie.
"At what hour is the feast generally held?"
"They go to bed, you know, Lavinia, apparently just as usual, and then they slip away from their rooms. Oh, you needn't think, dear, that I go to bed on those nights. Not I! I wait about, just hovering near, to be certain that there is no real mischief; and when they are snug in their beds, then I retire."
"You, dear little, patient Jessie! You have tried to act the guardian angel; but the post is too much for you, dear. To-night I, Lavinia Peacock, will take your place."
"Oh, Lavinia, they would be so frightened—so terrified—if they saw you!"
"It is your impression that there is going to be a very special feast to-night?"
"I did think so, but I am not so sure now. Some provisions were got in, but for the last two or three days all has been quiet."
"Well, dear, to-night I will mount guard. Say nothing to anyone."
Jessie soon afterwards left Miss Peacock's presence. She felt so upset, so terrified, at what she considered her betrayal of her darling girl that she had to retire to her own room, and did not even appear at tea time. The girls, however, were all too excited to notice her absence. Christian was the heroine of the hour.
Next to Christian, Rose took the highest place. Wasn't she pretty? And wasn't she stanch and true and faithful? And wasn't the adventure itself quite a grand sort of affair? And wasn't Christian really brave?
"To think that I should ever have doubted her bravery!" thought Star.
As Star thought in a very penitent way of her ownconduct in the past, a hand was put on her arm, and looking up, she saw Maud Thompson by her side.
"Star, I do wish you'd come and speak to her. She's in the bowling-alley, and she's crying just like anything. She wouldn't come in to tea. She says she hates everyone in the place."
"Do you mean Susan?" asked Star.
"Yes—oh, yes! Do come to her! I think she respects you if she respects anyone."
Star thought for a minute. The rain was still pouring. To get to the bowling-alley she had to run down a sidewalk which was dripping with moisture. Turning her skirt over her head, she ran quickly, followed by Maud. Susan was standing where an eave from a neighboring tool-house slightly protected her. Her handkerchief was pressed to her eyes; she was bending forward. As Star drew near she heard her very audible sobs.
"Are you sorry, Susan?" said Star.
"I sorry? No. Go away; don't torture me."
"Oh, Susan! I said I would bring her, and you said you'd listen to her. Here's the key of the tool-house. Let's open it and go in. We must say something to comfort you, Susan. I am an awfully bad girl, but I am sorry for you."
"No one is sorry for me," said Susan.
"Oh, yes, someone is. I am, and so is Star."
"If she is going to repent, I'll try and be sorry," said Star. "Are you going to repent, Susan?"
"No, I can't—I won't. There's nothing to be done. I must go to those girls to-night, and you must come with me. I am crying so because everyone has forsaken me, for Maud doesn't wish to come."
"Of course you are not going, Maud," said Star. "You will just stay with me; yes, you will."
"No, no; I won't forsake her," said Maud. "Everyone else has. I told you, Susy, that if you went I would go with you; but I wish you'd give it up. We are certain to be discovered."
"I suppose we are," said Susan, suddenly stopping her tears and looking full at Star. "I suppose you have told. I always knew you would."
"I have not told yet."
"Then, you mean to tell?"
"Yes, I mean to tell."
"You are certain?"
"Yes, I am; I do mean to tell."
"When?"
"Before you go out at midnight and disgrace us all. I shall certainly tell."
"Then you won't, so there!" said Susan.
She suddenly pushed Star forward. There was a step, down which the little girl tumbled. Before she could recover herself she was firmly locked into the tool-house, and Susan and Maud were running back to the house.
"It was awfully mean of you," began Maud. "I didn't think, bad as you are, that you'd do it."
"Yes, I did it. You have promised to come with me. She is locked safely in now. She may scream as loud as she can and not a soul will hear her there. I will let her out again if I come back. Perhaps I'll never come back. Perhaps I'll stay with Florence Dixie. I could write from there to my father. I couldn't get into greater disgrace."
"Then if you stay I'll stay too," said Maud "But, oh, Susan, I do think you are wicked!"
"Never mind now; come upstairs. Let us keep out of the way of all the others. We'll have one last fling—one last bit of fun."
A few of the Penwernians were scattered about. One of them came up and spoke to Susan.
"Do you know where Star is? I want her."
"I am not her keeper," said Susan roughly.
"But what about our feast to-night? Are we to have it?"
"I was going to speak about that," said Susan, recollecting herself. "As that precious Christian Mitford, about whom everyone is making such a ridiculous fuss, is still very ill, we had best not risk matters. The feast is therefore postponed for another week."
"I am glad," said the girl. "I begin to hate the Penwernians."
Susan walked away.
"Now then, Maud, buck up and be cheerful once again. We will account for Star's absence, and you and I will have a jolly time."
The rest of the day passed quietly. Miss Peacock, contrary to her usual custom, appeared at late supper that evening. She took the head of the longest table, and looked from one girl to another. She noticed that some were missing, amongst them Susan Marsh, Maud Thompson, and Star Lestrange. She was not surprised at the absence of the first two, but the absence of the younger girl caused her heart to sink even lower than it already was in her breast.
The meal proceeded and came to an end; prayers followed, and then the greater number of the girls dispersed for the night.
It was about an hour later when Miss Peacock, accompanied by Jessie Jones, went upstairs. They entered the White Corridor very softly. The door of Christian's room was a little ajar, and Miss Peacock was afraid of waking her. By and by she came to the foot of the stairs. All was quiet.
"I am sure they are not there to-night. I am sure we needn't go any farther," whispered Jessie.
"I think we will go upstairs to make all safe," was Miss Peacock's answer.
So Jessie, who knew the trick of the door, pushed it open, and without anyone seeing, they went up the creaking stairs and entered the wide front attic. Here all looked peaceful and orderly. Miss Jessie gave a sigh of relief.
"Now, Jessie," said Miss Peacock, "will you godownstairs? First of all, go straight to Star Lestrange's room and ascertain if she is safe in bed; then proceed to Maud Thompson's room and do likewise; and, finally, visit Susan Marsh's bedroom. Be quick, dear; and if by any chance you find that those three beds, or any of them, are vacant, go to my room and fetch me my cloak and galoshes. Be as quick as you can."
"Yes," said Miss Jessie.
She nodded her head. She felt terribly anxious. She even felt a fierce desire, unlike herself, to follow the trail, to bring the culprits to justice. Yes, if they were wicked enough to do what Miss Peacock feared they had done, they ought to be punished. Things must have come to a sad pass when Jessie could feel like this, but those certainly were her sensations. Lavinia was angry—dear, noble Lavinia. Whatever she said and did must be right.
While Jessie was absent Miss Peacock walked round the attic. In one corner she saw a basket filled with provisions. They none of them looked too fresh, but they were certainly there. Near the open window lay a piece of paper. Miss Peacock picked it up, and saw that it was an untidy-looking envelope, with "John Manners, greengrocer, High Street, Tregellick," printed across the top. Why should this envelope lie on the floor of the front attic? She put it carefully into her pocket. Then thrusting her head out of the window, she saw a ladder, which reached from the ground beneath to within a few feet of the window. Miss Peacock panted slightly when she saw this; her eyes grew bright and hard, and her face looked unlike itself.
Just at that moment Jessie entered. She was carrying Miss Peacock's warm cloak on her arm, and Miss Peacock's galoshes were in her hand. She herself wore a bonnet and cloak.
"They're none of them in their beds," she said. "I don't know what we are to do."
"We will follow them," said Miss Peacock.
"Follow them? How?"
"They have left the attic by means of a ladder. Look out, Jessie; you will see for yourself. It is not necessary for us to use it; we will go by the front door. Jessie, think how severely Lavinia Peacock ought to blame herself for making this thing possible."
"No, no, Lavinia; it is my fault. You will turn me from the school after this."
"I blame myself alone," said Miss Peacock.
The ladies left the attic, ran downstairs, and let themselves out.
"They have certainly gone; but where?" said Jessie.
"I found one of our greengrocer's envelopes on the floor. It may give me a necessary clew," said Miss Peacock. "Anyhow, we will visit John Manners this evening. Come along, Jessie. We shall reach the house in a quarter of an hour."
How the rain did pour! How tired Jessie felt! How fast Lavinia walked! How stern was her face when Jessie caught a glimpse of it!
By and by they reached the High Street. The place appeared at first to be in total darkness, but presently they perceived a cheerful light streaming through closed blinds.
"I was right; they are here," said Miss Peacock. "Oh, Jessie! to think of Star—to think that she could have done it. It cuts me to the heart."
Poor Jessie had not a word to say. She adored Star, but even she could not defend her favorite at this moment.
Miss Peacock suddenly pulled the bell. PresentlyManners appeared. He had been smoking in his kitchen. He thought it great fun to have the young ladies enjoying themselves with his daughters upstairs. But when he saw Miss Peacock he stepped back and grew very pale. He had certainly not reckoned on the head-mistress of the school appearing in person to demand her runaway scholars.
"Some of my young ladies are in your parlor," said Miss Peacock. "I am obliged to you, Manners, for treating them so hospitably, but the hour is too late for my girls to be from home. I have come to take them back. With your permission I will go upstairs at once."
"Shall I announce you, ma'am?"
"You will oblige me by remaining where you are. Come, Jessie."
They pushed the little greengrocer aside and went upstairs. The fun was at its height. Miss Peacock softly opened the door. She saw Florence Dixie holding her sides in convulsions of laughter, while Susan, lying back on an old Chesterfield sofa, was clapping her hands at the attempts of the two Manners girls to dance an Irish jig.
To attempt to describe the confusion, the amazement—nay, the despair—which filled the faces of two of those girls when they caught sight of Miss Peacock would be impossible. Maud gave a bitter cry and fell on her knees. A cloud came over Susan's face; she stood upright, her hands hanging to her side.
"The fun is up, girls," she said, turning to her companions. "Let's put out the lights and go home."
Making hysterical efforts, she tried to blow out one of the candles; but Miss Peacock came up and took her hand.
"Come, Susan; recollect yourself. Don't giveyourself away more than you can help. Come home with me this moment."
"Florence, you said you'd keep me," said Susan.
"Oh, but I can't, really!" said Florence, who showed the despicable character of the true coward when difficulties arose. "Father would be wild if he knew. Please, Miss Peacock, understand that father knows nothing of this. It was just a little fun of our own. I wouldn't shelter one of your girls against your will for the world."
"Oh, you're a nice friend," said Susan—"a friend to be proud of!"
"I'll take you home, Susan. And, Maud, you can follow with Jessie."
Miss Peacock's face was calm and cold; her words came out like morsels of ice. She went downstairs at once. Susan put her hat on as fast as she could, and Miss Peacock herself stooped to tie her cloak round her neck. Then they started on their way home. Maud and Jessie, absolutely speechless, followed them. Once Maud tried to say something, but she was interrupted.
"Don't, don't! It is best to let her have her own way now. Oh! you have cut her to the heart, and she is such a dear—so noble."
The moment they reached the hall Miss Peacock said:
"There are three girls absent from their bedrooms to-night. Two of them are here, but where is Stella Lestrange?"
Then Maud fell on her knees.
"I don't expect you to forgive us. We——"
"Don't screen me," said Susan. "If I am bad, I am at least not ashamed of it. I was determined to have that frolic. I hate your close ways. I hate everything about this school. I want to leave to-morrow; I can't go away too soon. But I was determined to have myfrolic to-night. Star was equally determined that we should not go, so I locked her up in the tool-house. Maud was forced to help me, but she didn't approve. You needn't scold Maud. When she is with good girls she will be all right; and I shall leave in the morning."
"Where did you say you locked Star up?" said Miss Peacock.
"In the tool-house."
"Thank you."
Early—very early—on the following morning, those girls who happened to be awake might have heard sounds of wheels on the gravel sweep without the house. They might have heard hurried steps going down the corridor; and had they chosen to rise from their beds and look out of the windows, they would have perceived a lady and a girl get into a cab. They would have seen some boxes being put on the roof, and the cab, with the lady and girl inside, leaving the place.
When school did resume its ordinary functions on that unhappy day Miss Forest read prayers; and when prayers were over she said quite simply:
"Miss Peacock will not attend school to-day; and Susan Marsh has left. Matters will be explained to you to-morrow."
So the day dragged on. Star's face was very white; her head ached. She had taken a bad cold in the tool-house.
As to Maud, she shrank into a corner.
"Of course, I shall be dismissed. I can't expect Miss Peacock to keep me any longer," was her thought.
Late that evening Miss Peacock returned; and on the next morning, when prayers were over, she asked the girls to remain.
"I have a few words to say," she remarked. "I have a very painful matter to explain to you all. Girls, oneof your schoolfellows has, I grieve to say, been removed from the school. I am most unhappy about her, but in justice to you all I could not allow her to remain here any longer. Not only did she sin against the rules of rectitude and honor and honesty in this place; not only did she willfully disobey my wishes; but she did not repent. I do not think, girls, that there is any sin a schoolgirl could commit that I should not forgive if repentance followed. But this unhappy girl has not repented. I was obliged to take her back to her father, and a terrible and most bitter scene we had together. What he will do with Susan in the future I do not know; but as far as Penwerne Manor is concerned, she has left it forever."
A cry came from the lips of Mary Hillary.
"Her companions," continued Miss Peacock, looking full at Maud and also at Mary, "will understand that underhand ways are to be altogether abolished in the school; and because the Penwernian Society has led to evil and not good, I wish to announce here that there will no longer be such a society in the school. As to you, Maud Thompson, have you anything to say? If so, come forward. You at least, I know, have repented."
"Oh, I have! I am bitterly sorry. I know that you won't keep me. I can't expect it. I was led by Susan. I feared her; I was so weak. I loved Star all the time, but I didn't dare to go with her, for I dreaded Susan Marsh so much. I was deceitful; I did what Susan told me. I have nothing more to say, except that I am bitterly sorry. I suppose," added Maud, the tears streaming from her eyes, "that you will send me from the school."
"What is the wish of the majority?" asked Miss Peacock, glancing round at the other girls.
"Oh, Miss Peacock," said Louisa Twining, "if she is sorry——"
"Yes, Louisa?"
"If she is sorry," repeated Louisa, "and would consent for a little bit to be my friend—I mean, if she would sit in my boudoir, and I might get her to share some of the interests in my life—would you?"
Louisa's delicate face changed from white to pink, and then from pink to white again.
"Would I what, Louisa dear?"
"Would you give her a chance?"
"Louisa!" said Maud.
She ran up to her side. She fell on her knees, clasped Louisa's long, white hand, and kissed it with passion.
"Will you be responsible for her, Louisa?"
"Maud, look at me," said Louisa.
Maud did look up.
"I think I may safely say that I will."
"Then she shall be your child for the remainder of this term. You will teach her what things are right, what things are honorable, what things are of good repute. And now, girls, let us turn from an unpleasant subject. It is necessary sometimes to weed what is really bad out of life, out of school. I would have kept Susan Marsh had it been possible. As it was impossible, those who believe in prayer will, I hope, pray for her that God may show her the error of her ways. She has gone, and with her the misery, the discomfort, the prying, the unkindness, which such conduct as hers could not but promote. Christian Mitford is out of danger, and I hope that ere long she will be among you again. She has been far from good; but who is perfect? If she did wrong, Star, there were moments when you might have been more generous, kinder, less inclined to think well of yourself. Each of you girlswho stand before me must own to weaknesses as well as to virtues. I think, my dear girls, that the virtues do preponderate; and I think in the future there will be no school in the whole of England that will be a happier one than Penwerne Manor."