"O God, our help in ages past,Our hope for years to come",
"O God, our help in ages past,Our hope for years to come",
"O God, our help in ages past,Our hope for years to come",
there was not a girl in the Dower House pews who did not sing it with real meaning in the words.
On the Monday, Mrs. Trevellyan, hoping to recover from her nervous attack more easily if she were out of sight of the sea, went away for a short visit to an inland watering-place, taking Ronnie and poor contrite Miss Herbert, who could not forgive herself for having allowed her young charge to run into danger. Appreciating the wisdom of the step, and realizing that her own girls had been in a state of high tension, and were suffering from the consequent reaction, Miss Birks granted the school a whole holiday, and took votes on how the day should be spent. Opinions seemed divided, so it was finally decided that Forms VI andVashould go by train to Linsgarth, look over the ruins of the abbey, and walk home by road; whileVb, containing the younger and more wildly energetic spirits, should enjoy the pleasures of a game at hare and hounds.
It was years since a paper chase had been held at the school, and while the elder girls affected todespise it, the younger ones had plumped for it in a body. They felt they required something more stirring than admiring ruins and marching along a high road.
"It may be very cultured, and good taste, and intellectual, and all the rest of it, to poke round with Miss Birks among Norman arches and broken choir-stalls, but it doesn't work off steam," confessed Evie Bennett. "I'm longing for a good sporting run, and that's the fact!"
"Let the Sixth talk architectural jargon if they like; hard exercise for me!" agreed Betty Scott.
It was arranged that all should start out at ten o'clock; Miss Birks conducting the expedition to Linsgarth, and Miss Harding assuming command of the paper chase, while Mademoiselle, who was a bad walker and disliked country excursions, promised herself a delightful day of rest and leisure in the garden. Miss Birks insisted that there must be three "hares", all solemnly pledged to keep well together, and the remaining six, who were to be "hounds", had orders not to outstrip Miss Harding to the extent of getting hopelessly out of eyeshot and earshot. Fortunately Miss Harding was energetic and enthusiastic, and promised not to be a drag on the proceedings. She donned her shortest skirt and her coolest jumper, and discarding a hat, appeared fully ready to play as hearty a part in the game as any of her pupils.
Everybody, naturally, was anxious to act "hare",so it was decided that the fairest plan was to draw lots for the coveted posts. The three fortunate papers with the crosses fell to Deirdre, Gerda, and Annie Pridwell.
"I'm not jealous, but I do envy you dreadfully," confessed Evie Bennett. "Oh, I'm not grumbling! I'm ready to take my sporting luck, and someone must draw the blanks. You'll make capital hares, because you're all good runners and don't lose your breath quickly. But, I beseech you, don't go too fast! Remember, the hounds are tied to Miss Harding's apron-string. It's no fun if we can't catch a glimpse of you the whole run. And, please, do a little backwards-and-forwards work, cross a brook, or double round a wood—anything to make it more difficult to find the scent. We don't want to be home in a couple of hours."
"Trust us to be as cunning as foxes," declared Annie Pridwell. "I'm an old hand at the game. We play it in the holidays at home."
"I haven't Annie's experience, but I can run," said Deirdre.
"So you can, best of anyone in the school, and Gerda's no slacker, so I think you'll do."
Each girl had a packet of sandwiches and a small folding drinking-cup, so that they could take some refreshment when they felt hungry. Miss Birks had arranged that a cold lunch should be laid in the dining-hall at the Dower House at one o'clock, andleft on the table indefinitely, so as to be ready for the girls when they came in, whether early or late, and those who returned first were to help themselves without waiting for the others.
"We shall all feel far more at liberty with this plan," she said. "It spoils everyone's pleasure to have to hurry home by a certain time. It is much more enjoyable to think we have the day free to do as we like. We can have tea together in the evening, and compare our experiences."
"We shall have seen something worth seeing," declared the senior girls.
"Ah, but you won't have had the ripping, glorious time that we mean to have!" retorted the members ofVb.
Punctually at ten o'clock the three hares were ready, each with a satchel round her shoulder containing the scraps of torn paper that were to provide the scent. They were to have ten minutes' start, after which the hounds would follow in full cry. They had decided among themselves what route to take, and, determined to give the hunt a run, they selected the direction of Kergoff, and set off towards the old windmill, where in the early spring they had surveyed the country to draw maps, as a lesson in practical geography. There was a definite reason for their choice, as the windmill could be approached by no less than three separate paths, and by dodging from one to another of these they hoped very successfully to puzzle their pursuers.
"We'll leave some scent by the gate of Perkins's farm," said the experienced Annie; "then, of course, they'll think we've chosen the road past the quarry. But we'll only go a little way up the lane, then climb the wall, cross the fields, and get into the upper road, leave a scent there, then track through the wood, and go past the old yew tree by the path over the tor."
"There'll be a scent on each separate path," chuckled Deirdre. "They'll be a good long time in finding out which to follow. We must be careful not to let ourselves be seen when we're crossing the tor."
There was a delightful interest in baffling the hounds; it seemed to hold almost the thrill of earlier and more romantic times.
"Can you imagine the moss-troopers are after you?" asked Deirdre; "or that you've slain the Red King, or robbed an abbot in the greenwood, and are fleeing for your life to take sanctuary in the nearest church?"
"No, I'm a smuggler," said Annie, "trying to outwit the coast-guardsmen, and arrange to leave my kegs of brandy and packets of tea and yards of French lace in some cunning hiding-place. What are you, Gerda?"
"An escaped prisoner from Dartmoor, running from his warders?" queried Deirdre. "That would be sport!"
"There's a warrant out for your arrest, and you're dodging the officers of the law," laughed Annie lightly.
But Gerda did not appear to accept the suggestionskindly, or in the spirit of fun in which they were intended. To the girls' surprise she blushed, just as she used to do when first she came to school, and looked so clearly annoyed instead of amused that the joke fell flat. She was never at any time talkative, but now, taking seeming offence at these very innocent remarks, she drew into her innermost shell, and refused to converse at all. Knowing her of old in this uncommunicative mood, the others did not trouble further, but left her to her own devices until she chose to come out of it. They had found by experience that it was useless either to question her, laugh at her, or rally her upon her silence; the more they pressed the subject the more obstinate she would grow. It was no great hardship to miss her out of their talk; they much preferred each other's company without an unwelcome third.
"Those that sulk for nothing may sulk, so far as I'm concerned," remarked Deirdre pointedly.
"I hate people not to be able to take the least scrap of a joke," said Annie. "Why, Betty and Evie and I are teasing each other the whole time in our bedroom."
"You three certainly know how to rag."
"Rather! We'd die of dullness if we didn't."
All the time they went the "hares" were carefully carrying out their policy of puzzling those who followed. Backwards and forwards, across small brooks, through woods and thickets, over field, farm-yard, andcommon they laid the most bewildering of scents, more than enough to satisfy the demands of Evie Bennett, and sufficient indeed to make her declare it almost an impossibility to decide on the right track. All this artful dodging, however, had necessitated scattering a large number of the precious handfuls of paper, and by the time they arrived at the old windmill they found to their consternation that the contents of the three satchels were almost exhausted.
"What are we to do?" asked Annie tragically. "We can't go on and leave no scents! Are we to sit here on the windmill steps, and let ourselves be run to earth when we've only done half the round?"
It was a crisis indeed, and Deirdre could not see any way out of the difficulty. She stood ruefully contemplating her empty bag, and looking utterly baffled. It was Gerda, after all, who came to the rescue with a valuable suggestion.
"We're close to that queer old house," she said. "Don't you remember how we climbed in through the window, and found all those letters lying about upstairs? They can't be wanted, or somebody would have taken them away. Let's go and see if they're still there, and commandeer what we like."
"Gerda, you're a genius!" shrieked Annie. "We'll go this second. Why, it's the very thing we want!"
It was no great distance to the old house. Down the corkscrew road they ran, through the small fir wood, and over the river by the stone bridge."Forster's Folly" looked if possible even more tumbledown and dilapidated than when they had visited it in February. The spring gales had blown down many more slates and made a gap in the roof; the creepers in their summer luxuriance almost hid the broken windows; large patches of stucco had fallen from the walls; a chimney-pot lay smashed on the front walk; one of the props of the long veranda had been swept away by the whirling stream, leaving the flooring in a dangerous condition; and the crop of nettles and brambles in the garden had outgrown all bounds and, smothering the original privet hedge, overflowed into the road.
"It's more spooky and Rat's Hall-y and Moated Grange-y than ever!" declared Annie. "I could imagine there'd been a witches' carnival since we were last here, or a dance of ghouls. Ugh! I'm all in a shiver at having to go inside! Suppose we find the ghost after all?"
"I'll chance ghosts," said Deirdre. "I'd be a great deal more frightened to find a tramp there!"
"Oh, surely even a tramp wouldn't spend a night in such a haunted den! Still, it's so deserted, it might be a place for smugglers or coiners or burglars. Oh, I don't think I dare go in after all! No, I daren't!"
Annie was half-serious, and looking inclined to turn tail.
GERDA DARTED UPON THE BATHFUL OF OLD LETTERSPage 201
"Don't show the white feather now," said Gerda reproachfully. "Where are we to get our paper from?"
"Come along, Annie, and don't be an idiot!" was Deirdre's uncomplimentary rejoinder. "Why, you were the first to go in before!"
"My nerves were stronger last February," protested Annie. "I'll let one of you take the lead this time."
It was quite a pilgrimage through the nettle-grown garden to reach the window where they had made their entrance into the house. It was open, just as they had left it, but long trails of clematis swept across, and there was an empty bird's nest on the corner of the sill. It did not appear as if anyone had disturbed its quiet for months. This time Gerda led the way, with a confidence and assurance that rather surprised the other two. Through the dilapidated dining-room, along the dim mouldy hall and up the creaking stairs they tramped, trying by the noise they made to dispel the ghostly feeling that clung to the deserted old place. If coiners, smugglers, or burglars had visited the house, they had left no trace of their presence. Everything on the story above was untouched, though perhaps a trifle more dust-covered and cobwebby than before.Gerda darted upon the bathful of old letters, and with eager fingers anxiously began turning them hurriedly over.
"Haven't time to sort them out," declared Annie, snatching up a handful and putting them into herbag. "I vote we take what we want, and tear them up outside. Why are you looking at them so particularly, Gerda?"
"I thought some might have crests. Do let me see what you've taken!" said Gerda beseechingly. "No, I don't want these!"
"Why, you've never looked inside the envelopes! How can you tell whether they've crests?"
"Oh, never mind! It doesn't matter!" Gerda was on the floor, searching among some opened and torn sheets that lay on the mouldering straw.
"Look here! We can't stay all day while you read old Forster's correspondence! We've got enough! Come along!"
"One minute! Oh, do wait for me a second! I'll come! Yes, I'll come in half a jiffy!"
"We'll go without you, then you'll soon trot after us," said Deirdre, who had filled her satchel. She and Annie clattered downstairs again, looked into the empty kitchen, and dared each other to peep into the dark hall cupboard. They had hardly waited more than a minute in the dining-room when Gerda joined them.
"Well, have you found the orthodox long-lost will?" mocked Annie.
"I've got enough scent to take us back to Pontperran, and that's what I wanted," retorted Gerda, with a light in her eyes that seemed almost more than the occasion justified.
No more time must be lost if they did not want to be run to earth by the hounds, so returning to the windmill steps they tore up their fresh supply of paper, taking bites of their sandwiches while they did so. A loud "Cuckoo!" in the distance caused all three to start to their feet in alarm, and leaving a trail behind the broken sail, they scrambled over a fence, and dived down through a coppice which led to the stream. They followed the bank for some distance before they judged it safe once more to take to a foot-path, then doubling round the hill on which the windmill stood, they tacked off in the direction of Kergoff.
The hounds reached the Dower House at five o'clock, exactly half an hour after the hares, and over a combined luncheon-tea discussed the run, and universally agreed that the day had been "ripping".
The Sixth andVa, rather puffed up with their archæological researches, tried to be superior and instructive, and to give their juniors a digest of what they had learnt at the abbey. But at thisVbrebelled.
"You've had your fun, and we've had ours," said Annie. "Don't try and cram architecture down our throats. I tell you frankly, I can't tell the difference between a Norman arch and any other kind of one, and I don't want to!"
"You utter ignoramus!"
"I'm a good hare, if I'm nothing else!" chuckledAnnie. "We must have led them a run of about fourteen miles!"
"Deirdre, I want to ask you something," said Gerda that evening. "You remember that crest you took before from Forster's Folly? Will you swop it with me for some chocolates?"
"Why, I'll give it to you if you like," returned Deirdre, who was in an amiable, after-tea frame of mind, and disposed towards generosity. "I'm tired of crest collecting, and I've taken up stamps. Here it is! It's been in my jewel-box since the day I got it. Are you going in for crests?"
"They're my latest and absolutely dearest hobby," declared Gerda emphatically.
Afterthe delightful dissipation of a whole day's holiday, Miss Birks demanded a period of solid work from her pupils, and deeming that she had sufficiently satisfied their craving for excitement, took no notice of either hints or headaches, but enforced preparation and practising with, as Dulcie expressed it, "a total lack of all consideration". Dulcie, never a remarkably hard worker at any season, was more than usually prone to "slack" in summer, and it needed the combined energies of Miss Birks, Miss Harding, and Mademoiselle to keep her up to the mark. It was more than ever necessary to maintain the standard at present, for examination week was drawing near, and this year several extra prizes were offered for competition. Mrs. Trevellyan had promised a beautiful edition of Tennyson's poems for the best paper on English literature, the Vicar added a handsome volume ofPictures from Palestinefor the most correct answers to Scripture History, and Mademoiselle herself proffered a copy ofLettres de mon Moulinfor the most spirited declamation of any piece of Frenchpoetry not less than two hundred lines in length, the quality of the accent to be particularly taken into account. These were in addition to the usual annual rewards for mathematics, languages, English history, music, drawing, and needlecraft, so that among so many various subjects each girl might feel that she had at least some chance of winning success. At the eleventh hour the Principal announced that a prize would be given for general improvement.
"That's to make slackers like you buck up, Dulcie!" declared Annie Pridwell.
"Really, I wish Miss Birks would offer a prize for pure English," said Jessie Macpherson, who happened to overhear. "The slang youVbtalk is outrageous. Your whole conversation seems made up of 'ripping' and 'scrumptious' and 'spiffing' and other silly words that don't mean anything. I tell you, slang's going out of fashion, even at public schools, and you're behind the times."
"Don't be a prig, Jessie. What else can I call Dulcie except a slacker? Am I to say she shows a languorous disinclination for close application, and advise her to exert her mental activities? It would sound like a 'Catechism' from a Young Ladies' Seminary of a hundred years ago!"
"There is one comfort in having worked badly," admitted Dulcie. "If I make a spurt now, I shall show more 'marked improvement' than if I'd been jogging along steadily all the time."
"Ah, but the tortoise won the race while the hare slept!" retorted Jessie.
In view of the forthcoming music examination, practising was performed with double diligence, and from 6 a.m. to 8.30 p.m. the strains of Schumann's "Arabesque", Tschaikowsky's "Chanson Triste", or Rachmaninoff's "Prelude", the three test pieces, echoed pretty constantly through the house, in varying degrees of proficiency.
"It's a good thing nobody belonging to the school has to do the judging," said Emily Northwood, as she stood in the hall listening to the conflicting sounds of three pianos. "Even Miss Birks must be so sick of these particular pieces that she could hardly express a fair opinion on them. Dr. Harvey James will come fresh to the fray."
The organist and choirmaster of the collegiate church at Wexminster, being a doctor of music, was regarded as a very suitable examiner for the occasion, and even if his standard proved high, all at least would have the same chance, for he had not visited the school before, and therefore could regard nobody with special favour. He was a new resident in the district, and Miss Birks hoped next term to arrange for him to come over weekly and give lessons to her more advanced pupils, who would be likely to appreciate his musical knowledge and profit by his teaching.
The thought of having to play before their prospectivemusic master spurred on most of the girls even more than the chance of the prize; they dashed valiantly at difficult passages, counted diligently, and loosened their muscles with five-finger exercises, each anxious to be placed in the rank of those sufficiently advanced to be transferred to his tuition. The drawing students also, though they could not practise specially for their own prize, were busy finishing copies and sketches for a small exhibition of work done during the school year, which was to be held in one of the classrooms during examination week, and criticized by Mr. Leonard Pearce, an artist who had consented to set and judge the competition. Miss Harding was urging increased attention to mathematics, Miss Birks was giving extra coaching in history and English literature, Mademoiselle was hacking away at languages till her pupils almost wished that French and German were as dead as ancient Egyptian and Assyrian, so it was a very busy little world at the Dower House, so busy that really nobody had time to think of anything else. The Principal, anxious to keep her flock in good health, insisted upon the recreation hours being devoted to definite exercise, and either games or organized walks under the supervision of a mistress were compulsory.
For the present there was no strolling about the warren in "threesomes", there were no visits to the headland, or rambles on the beach. The girls grumbled a little at this lack of their accustomed freedom, complainedthat set walks reminded them of a penitentiary, and declared that to be obliged to play cricket took all the fun out of it. They thrived on the system, however, and were able to manage the increased brain work demanded from them without incurring the penalty of headaches, backaches, or loss of appetite. A few certainly pleaded minor ailments as an excuse for shirking, but Miss Birks's long experience had taught her to distinguish readily between real illness and shamming, and she dismissed the would-be invalids each with a dose of such a nauseous compound as entirely to discourage them from seeking further sympathy. Her bottle, a harmless mixture of Turkey rhubarb and carbonate of magnesia, might have been a magic elixir for the relief of all diseases, for with the same marvellous rapidity it cured Francie's palpitations, Irene'sdyspepsia, and Elyned's attacks of faintness.
"Nasty, filthy stuff!" declared the indignant sufferers, who, with a remembrance of Miss Birks's treatment of the measles patients, had fondly expected to be coddled and cosseted, regaled on soda-water and lemonade, and forbidden to overexert themselves.
"Serve you right!" chuckled their friends. "It's your own faults, for you couldn't expect Miss Birks to believe in your whines when you look in such absolutely rude health, and compass your meals so creditably. Why didn't you refuse all solid food?"
"Oh no, thank you!"
"And declare cocoa made you shudder?"
"That's beyond a joke."
"If anybody looks ill in this house," continued Annie, "it's Mademoiselle. She's pale and thin, if you like, and eats next to nothing, but she doesn't make any fuss about it."
Noticeably Mademoiselle's increased work and anxiety on behalf of her pupils' success had a bad effect on her health. She looked worn and overdone, and there were dark circles round her tired eyes. Though she did not complain, she confessed to being troubled with sleeplessness. Night after night she lay awake till daybreak, and was sometimes only dropping into a doze when the getting-up bell clanged in the passage. "Nuits blanchesmay be all very well in music, but they are not pleasant when one experiences them," she confided to Miss Harding. "When I stay waiting for sleep, I hear many curious sounds. Yes—such as one does not hear during the daylight."
"A house is always full of creaks and groans if one stays awake at night," returned Miss Harding. "You mustn't mind them."
"During the day I smile at them," continued Mademoiselle, "but if I keep vigil I am nervous. Yes, to-night I shall be very nervous, for Miss Birks will be away. I like not that she be away."
It was very seldom that the Principal gave herselfa holiday during the term, but for once she was going to London to attend an important educational meeting, and would spend the night in town. She started by an early train, leaving her small kingdom in perfect order, and confident that for so short a space of time nothing could possibly go wrong. Certainly nothing ought to have gone wrong; her arrangements were excellent, and Miss Harding was thoroughly capable of acting deputy during her absence. Yet there is an old proverb that "while the cat's away the mice will play", and the mere fact that she was not on the spot made a difference in the school. The girls did not give any trouble, but there was a feeling of relaxed discipline in the air.
At four o'clock, instead of going straight from their classroom to their practising, Deirdre and Dulcie decided to indulge in the luxury of a run round the grounds first. They walked briskly through the shrubbery, down the steps, and along the terrace, till they came to the kitchen-garden. Now this kitchen-garden was absolutely forbidden territory to the girls, and they had never been inside it. To-day the gate, which was generally locked, stood temptingly open. It seemed an opportunity too good to be resisted. With one accord they threw rules to the winds, and decided to explore.
A thick and high holly hedge effectually screened this corner of the grounds from wind, and guarded it from intruders. It was a warm, productive plot ofland, and entirely provided the school with fruit and vegetables. Deirdre and Dulcie did not trouble about the currants and gooseberries, but kept straight down the path. They wished particularly to investigate the far end. Here the garden abutted on the cliffs, which sloped downward in a series of zigzag ridges.
The girls made their way gingerly over a freshly-prepared bed of young cabbages to the borderland where rhubarb and horse-radish merged into wormwood and ragwort. It was perfectly easy to slip over the edge and begin to go down the first long shelving slab of rock. There was a drop of about four feet on to the second shelf, which again sloped downwards at a gentle level to a third. Here the cliff ended in a precipice, so steep that even the most experienced climber could not descend without a rope. Rather baffled, the two girls crept cautiously along the edge, then Deirdre suddenly gave a whoop of delight, for she had spied a rough flight of steps cut in the surface of the rock, and evidently leading to the beach below. It was rather a cat's staircase to venture upon, but they were possessed with a thirst for exploration, and were not easily to be daunted. Deirdre went first, and shouted encouragement to her chum, and Dulcie picked up heart to follow, so that in the course of a few minutes they found themselves safely on the sands at the bottom.
"Whew! It's like climbing down the ladder of a lighthouse," exclaimed Dulcie, subsiding on to a convenientstone. Her legs were shaking in a most unaccountable fashion, and her breath coming and going far more rapidly than was comfortable.
"It might have been worse," affirmed Deirdre, trying not to show that her nerve had in any degree failed her, and surveying the scene with the eye of a prospector.
They were in a small and very narrow cove, so hidden between cliffs which jutted out overhead that it was practically invisible from above, and certainly could not be seen from anywhere in the school grounds. It was a pretty little creek, with a silvery slip of beach, and green clumps of ferns growing high up in the interstices of the rocks; quite a romantic spot, so beautiful and secluded that it might almost be the haunt of a mermaiden or a water nixie. The ferns, which were flourishing in unusual luxuriance, caught Deirdre's attention.
"I believe it's the sea-spleenwort," she remarked. "Don't you remember we found some at Kergoff, and Miss Birks was so excited about it? I'm sure she doesn't know all this is growing at the very bottom of her own garden. I'll try and get a root."
To obtain a root was more easily said than done, however. Most of the clumps of fern were in very inaccessible situations, and too deeply embedded in the rock to be removed. Deirdre climbed from one to another in vain, then noticing a particularly fine group of fronds on a projecting shelf far above herhead, commenced to scale the cliff. She reached the shelf fairly easily, but instead of setting to work to try to uproot the fern, she gave a long whistle of surprise.
"What's the matter?" asked Dulcie from below.
"Matter! Come up yourself and see! Oh, goody!"
Dulcie was still a little shaky, but spurred on by curiosity she got up the cliff somehow, and added a "Hallo!" of amazement to her chum's exclamations. Facing them was the entrance to a cave. At one time it had evidently been carefully blocked up, but now the wooden boarding that guarded it had been wrenched asunder, leaving a small opening just sufficient to enter by. The girls peeped cautiously in, but beyond the first few yards all was dark. This was indeed a discovery. The mouth of the cave was so effectually hidden by the crags which surrounded it that nobody would have suspected its existence who had not come across it by accident. What secrets lay in its mysterious depths, who could say? Thrilled with excitement, the girls turned to one another.
"If we could only explore it!" breathed Dulcie.
"We're going to!" returned Deirdre firmly. "I shall run back this instant to the house for a candle. You wait here."
Deirdre's impatience made short work of the cat's staircase. She scrambled up the rocks like a squirrel, and was soon racing up the kitchen-garden. Tosecure her bedroom candle and a box of matches was the work of a few minutes. As she pelted impetuously downstairs again, she nearly fell over Gerda, who had been doing preparation in the schoolroom, and scattered the pile of books she was carrying.
"Do be careful," said the latter in remonstrance. "Where are you going in such a hurry? And what do you want with your candle?"
"Never you mind! It's no business of yours!" retorted Deirdre, running away without even an apology.
Gerda picked up her books and carried them upstairs, but instead of continuing her preparation she went to the window. She was just in time to catch a glimpse of Deirdre vanishing down the kitchen-garden. The sight seemed to afford her food for thought. She stood for a moment or two lost in indecision, then, evidently making up her mind, she set off in pursuit of her school-fellow. Deirdre, meanwhile, returned to the cove with speed and agility, and found Dulcie waiting where she had left her.
"I had a horrible feeling that a monster might come out while you were away!" she declared. "Do you think we dare go in?"
"Dare? Of course we dare! I'm not going to have fetched this candle for nothing. Dulcie Wilcox, where's your pluck? Come along this minute, or I'll not be chums with you again. Here, you may hold the matches."
Having lighted the candle, the two girls stepped through the breach in the wooden barricade, and commenced their exploration. The passage, high at first, soon lowered till it was little above their heads, and narrowed to a width of barely three feet. The walls, which for the first ten yards were worn as if by the action of the sea, became more jagged, and had plainly been hewn out with the aid of a pick, the natural cavern having been greatly extended. Here and there the floor was wet, and the roof showed an oozy deposit as if some surface spring were forcing itself through the strata of the rock. On and on the girls went for two hundred yards or more, Deirdre going first and holding the candle well in front of her, so as to see the way. It was delightfully exciting, yet there was a thrill of horror about it, for who could tell what might be lurking round the next corner? Dulcie's nerves were strung to such a pitch that she was ready to scream at the least alarm. Not a sound, however, broke the dead silence. The passage in its lonely calm might have been the entrance to an Egyptian tomb.
"Does it lead anywhere?" whispered Dulcie. "Oh! hadn't we better turn back? We've gone far enough."
"I'm going to the end, if it's in Australia!" replied Deirdre, and having possession of the candle, she was in a position to dictate.
A few extra yards, however, concluded their journey, the passage being once again blocked by awooden barrier. This was more carefully constructed than the one at the entrance, being made of well-planed timber, and fitted with a door, which stood half-way open, and led into a rough kind of chamber, rather resembling the crypt of a church. At the far side of this there was a small closed door.
"Well, we've got into a queer place!" exclaimed Deirdre. "Must have been a smuggler's cellar, I should say. No doubt they used to keep kegs and kegs of brandy down here in the good old days. Look, the roof is vaulted over there! Where does that door lead to?"
The little door in question had apparently been opened by force, to judge from the broken lock and the marks of some sharp instrument on the jambs. At present it was closed, but not fastened. What lay beyond? With a feeling that they had arrived at the crowning-point of their adventure, Deirdre opened it and peeped in. She found herself looking down from an eminence of about four feet into a bedroom. The room was in complete darkness, for the window was barred with heavy wooden shutters, but by the aid of her candle she could see it was unoccupied. Giving the light to Dulcie to hold, she cautiously descended, then aided her chum to follow. The door through which they had stepped formed part of the panelling over the mantelpiece, and when closed with its original spring would no doubt have been indistinguishable from the rest of the woodwork. Theroom, though neglected and in great disorder, nevertheless bore traces of recent habitation. The bed, with its tumbled blankets, had certainly been slept in. On the dressing-table, spread out on a newspaper, were the remains of a meal. A small oil cooking-stove held a kettle, and one or two little packets, probably containing tea and sugar, lay about. On the floor, torn into small pieces, were the shreds of a letter written in German. Dusty and untended as it was now, the room must once have been pretty, and bore strong evidence of the ownership of a little girl. On the walls hung framed colour prints of Millais's "Cherry Ripe", "Little Mrs. Gamp", "Little Red Riding Hood", and "Miss Muffet". In the corner stood a doll's house, a doll's cradle, and a miniature chest of drawers. A chiffonier seemed to be a repository for numerous treasures—a set of tiny alabaster cups and saucers, a glass globe which when shaken reproduced a snowstorm inside, a writing-desk, a walnut work-box, a small Japanese cabinet, and a whole row of juvenile books. Deirdre took up some of the latter, blew the dust off and examined them. They were volumes ofLittle FolksandChatterboxof many years ago. On the title-page of each was written: "To darling Lillie from Father and Mother".
In greatest amazement the girls wandered round the room, looking first at one thing, then at another. How old the dust was that mostly covered them!Here and there it had been hastily swept away, to make a clearance for cup and saucer or provisions, but in general the little possessions were untouched. Even some New Year cards stood on the chest of drawers, bearing greetings and good wishes for the coming season.
"I want to see better," said Deirdre. "This wretched candle only gives half a light. I've never been in such a fascinating place. Help me, Dulcie, and we'll try and unfasten the shutters."
The heavy iron bar was old and rusty. It must have been in its place for many a long year. For some time the girls pushed and tugged in vain, then with a mighty effort they dislodged it from its socket, and let it clatter down. Deirdre slowly swung aside the shutter. After the faint light of their one candle, the flood of sunshine which burst in completely dazzled them. As soon as they could see, they peeped out through the dingy panes of glass. To their immense surprise they found they were looking into the Dower House garden. Then Deirdre suddenly realized the truth.
"Dulcie! Dulcie!" she cried, "I verily believe we're in the barred room!"
There seemed little doubt about the matter, when they came to consider it. The position of the window corresponded exactly with the closed-up one which had always faced them from the tennis-courts, and whose secret they had so often discussed. Themystery, instead of becoming clearer, seemed only to deepen. Why was one of the bedrooms in the Dower House filled with a child's possessions and sealed with iron bars, yet accessible from a cave on the beach, and evidently in present occupation?
The daylight revealed its extraordinary condition with great clearness; the dust, dirt, and cobwebs looked forlorn in the extreme. On a hook on the door, which presumably led into the Dower House landing, hung a net filled with hard wooden balls, and as the draught blew in from the opening over the fireplace, these swayed about and knocked with a gentle rapping against the panel.
"There's your ghost, Dulcie," said Deirdre. "That was the tap-tapping you heard in the passage. It wasn't a spook after all, you see."
"You were just as scared as I was," protested Dulcie. "I think I'm rather scared now. Let's go! Suppose whoever's been here making tea were to come back? I believe I'd have hysterics."
There was something in Dulcie's suggestion. It had not before occurred to Deirdre that it would be unpleasant if the owner of the kettle were to return and demand an explanation of their presence.
"We must put the shutters back," she decreed.
This was easier said than done, but after considerable trouble they managed to restore the room once more to its former state of darkness. Their candle was burning rather low, but they hoped it would besufficient to light them to the mouth of the cave. With the aid of a chair they climbed on to the mantelpiece, passed through the door in the panelling to the vaulted chamber, and on into the subterranean passage. They scurried along as fast as they could without stumbling, partly from fear that the candle would go out, and partly in dread lest somebody should be coming from the entrance, and meet them on the way. It was with a feeling of intense relief that, bearing the last guttering scrap of candle, they at length emerged into the daylight.
"Here we are, safe and sound, and met no bogy, thank goodness!" rejoiced Dulcie.
"There's our bogy, waiting!" said Deirdre, pointing to a school hat which suddenly made its appearance from below.
"Gerda, by all that's wonderful!" gasped Dulcie.
Yes, it was Gerda who had followed them, and who now watched them as they came out of the cave. She was paler than usual, and there was a queer set look about her mouth.
"So that was what you wanted the candle for. You might have told me," she remarked.
The two girls began an animated account of their strange adventure. They were so full of it that at the moment it would have been impossible to avoid talking about it. Gerda listened calmly, though she asked one or two questions. She spoke withthe constrained manner of one who is putting a strong control on herself.
"So you found nothing to explain the mystery?" she queried.
"Nothing at all. Is it Lillie who's living there and doing her own cooking?"
"And is she a girl or a spook?" added Dulcie.
"Spooks don't drink tea. She must be alive," said Deirdre. "I wonder if Miss Birks knows about her?"
"I guess we'd better not divulge the secret!" chuckled Dulcie. "What would Miss Birks say to us for trespassing in the kitchen-garden?—particularly when she's away."
"We should get into a jolly row!" agreed Deirdre.
"We shall all three get into one as it is if we don't go back quickly," observed Gerda.
Rather conscience-stricken, the chums obeyed her suggestion. They were fortunate enough to slip from the kitchen-garden without being observed, and hoped their escapade would not be discovered. After tea they hurried to make up arrears of practising, but Gerda, evading the vigilance of Mademoiselle, gave an excuse to Miss Harding and absented herself from preparation. Stealing very cautiously from the house she dived through the shrubbery and ran out on to the warren. Casting many a hasty glance behind her to see if she were observed, she hurried along till she reached the little point above St.Perran's well where a rough pile of stones made a natural beacon, easily visible from the sea or from the beach below. Taking her handkerchief from her pocket she tied it to a stick, which she planted at the summit of the pile. Waving in the breeze it was a conspicuous object. She watched it for a moment or two, then walked back along the cliff with the drooping air of one who is almost ready to collapse after meeting a great emergency.
"It was a near thing—a near thing!" she muttered to herself. "Suppose they'd met? Oh, it's too horrible! It was too risky an experiment, really! I hope my danger signal's plain enough. I must get up early to-morrow and take it down before anyone from the school sees it. It'll be difficult with those two in the room—but I'll manage it somehow. Fortunately they're both sound sleepers!"
Thatsame evening an extraordinary thing happened. It was the custom for glasses of milk, dishes of stewed fruit, and plates of bread and butter to be placed on the table in the dining-hall about eight o'clock. This was done as usual, but when the girls arrived for supper they found a large proportion of the bread and butter had vanished. At first the suspicion fell on Spot, the fox-terrier, but the cook pleaded an alibi on his behalf, proving that he had been in the kitchen the whole time; also, the rifled plates were in the middle of the table, so no dog could have purloined their contents without knocking over glasses, or disturbing spoons and forks.
"I'm afraid it's a two-legged dog," said Miss Harding gravely. "The French window was open, and it would be easy for anyone to walk in and help himself. I'm glad nothing more valuable was taken. I wish Miss Birks were here! It's most unfortunate it should happen on the very evening she's away."
The incident gave cause for serious apprehension.Miss Harding made a most careful round of the house before bedtime, to see that all bolts and shutters were well secured. Though she would not betray her alarm to the girls, she was afraid that a burglary might be committed during the night. Both she and Mademoiselle kept awake till dawn, listening for suspicious footsteps on the gravel outside. All was as usual, however, in the morning; there were no evidences of attempts to force locks or windows, and no trace of the mysterious thief who had taken the bread and butter. Mademoiselle reported indeed that she had again heard the curious sounds which for some nights past had disturbed her. She had risen and patrolled the house, and had come to the unmistakable conclusion that they issued from the barred room. The closed chamber was as much a riddle to teachers as to girls, so Miss Harding merely shook her head, and recommended Mademoiselle to tell her experiences to Miss Birks as soon as the Principal returned.
At five o'clock that afternoon Elyned Hughes came running downstairs with a white, scared face. She solemnly averred that, when passing the door of the mysterious room, she had heard extraordinary noises within.
"It was exactly like somebody moving about and frying sausages. I smelled them too!" she declared.
The report was in part confirmed by several othergirls, who pledged their word that they heard stealthy movements when they listened at the barred door.
"Are you absolutely certain, or is it only mice?" queried Gerda. "We've so often fancied things."
"Mice don't clink cans, and strike matches, and clear their throats!" retorted Rhoda.
"But you may have thought it sounded like that."
"I couldn't be mistaken."
"Somebody's there, beyond a doubt," said Agnes.
"Perhaps it's a ghost?" queried Elyned.
"It's nothing supernatural this time, I'll undertake to say—whatever may have made the noises before."
"It ought to be enquired into," declared Doris. "Miss Birks ought to insist on having the bars taken down, and seeing what's going on."
"Oh, no, no! It's best to leave things as they are."
Gerda was looking white and upset and spoke almost hysterically.
"Do you expect the ghost to bolt in amongst us the moment the door is unlocked?" mocked Rhoda.
"No, of course, I'm not so silly! But it's often better to let well alone."
"Mrs. Trevellyan is still away, so Miss Birks couldn't ask her to have the bars taken down now," volunteered Betty Scott.
"So she is," exclaimed Gerda, with an air of relief.
"Ah! You're afraid of the ghost," repeated Rhoda. "I'm more inclined towards the burglar theory. In the circumstances, I think Miss Birks would be quitejustified in making an investigation, even without Mrs. Trevellyan's permission."
"I shouldn't wonder myself if Miss Birks called in the police," said Betty Scott.
The girls were in a ferment of excitement over the affair. Deirdre and Dulcie felt that in view of yesterday's discovery they had a strong clue to the mystery. They hesitated as to whether they ought at once to tell Miss Harding, but, as Miss Birks was expected home within an hour or two, they decided it was better to wait till they could deliver their news at head-quarters.
Gerda, during the whole day, had been very abstracted and peculiar in her manner. She was nervous, starting at every sound, and seemed so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she often took no notice when spoken to.
"What's wrong with the Sphinx?" commented Deirdre. "She's absolutely obsessed."
"Yes, I can't make her out. She's disturbed in her mind. That's easy enough to see. There's something queer going on in this school. I hope she's not mixed up in it."
"We'd decidedly better watch her. After all that's happened before, one can't trust her in the least. Until Miss Birks is safely back in the house I feel we oughtn't to let Gerda out of our sight. Who knows what she may be going to do, or whom she's in league with?"
Coupled with the mysterious happenings of last night and to-day, Gerda's palpable uneasiness gave strong grounds for suspicion. The chums watched her like a couple of detectives. They were determined to warn Miss Birks directly on her return. Meanwhile nothing their room-mate did must escape their notice. They were to perform a duet at the musical examination, therefore they had the extreme felicity of doing their practising together. For the same half-hour Gerda was due at the instrument in the next room. They waited to begin until they heard the first bars of her "Arabesque". At the same moment came from the hall the sounds of the bustle occasioned by Miss Birks's arrival home. Deirdre and Dulcie looked at one another in much relief.
"She'll just be downstairs again by the time we've finished practising, and then we'll go straight and tell her," they agreed.
I am afraid neither in the least gave her mind to the piano. Mademoiselle, had she been near, would have been highly irate at the wrong notes and other faults that marred the beauty of their mazurka. Both girls were playing with an ear for the "Arabesque" on the other side of the wall.
"She's stopped!" exclaimed Dulcie, pausing in the middle of a bar. "Now, what's that for, I should like to know? I don't trust you, Miss Gerda Thorwaldson."
But Deirdre was already at the window.
"Look! look!" she gasped. "Gerda's off somewhere!"
The window of the adjacent room was a French one, and the girls could see their schoolfellow open it gently and steal cautiously out on to the lawn. She glanced round to see if she were observed, then ran off in the direction of the kitchen-garden. In a moment the chums had thrown up the sash of their window and followed her. All their old suspicions of her had revived in full force; they were certain she was in league with somebody, and for no good purpose, and they were determined that at last they would unmask her and expose her duplicity. They had spared her before, but this time they intended to act, and act promptly too.
Gerda opened the gate of the kitchen-garden as confidently as if she were not transgressing a rule, and rushed away between the strawberry beds. Pilfering was evidently not her object, for she never even looked at the fruit, but kept straight on towards the end where the horse-radish grew. Keeping her well within sight, the chums went swiftly but cautiously after. She stood for a moment on the piece of waste ground that bounded the cliff, looked carefully round—her pursuers were hidden behind a tree—then plunged down the side of the rock and out of sight. Deirdre and Dulcie each drew a long breath. The conclusion was certain. Without doubt she must be going to pay a visit to the cave which communicatedwith the mysterious chamber. Whom did she expect to find there?
"To me there's only one course open," declared Deirdre solemnly. "We must go straight to Miss Birks and tell her this very instant."
The Principal, disturbed in the midst of changing her travelling costume, listened with amazement to her insistent pupils' excited account.
"This must be investigated immediately," she declared. "Dulcie, fetch a candle and matches, and you must both accompany me to this cave. You say Gerda has gone on there alone?"
Miss Birks took the affair gravely. She appeared very much concerned, even alarmed. She hurried off at once with the girls to the kitchen-garden.
They led the way down the narrow staircase cut in the cliff, and across the beach and over the rocks. At the entrance to the cave they both uttered a sharp exclamation, for Gerda stood there in an attitude of hesitation, as if unable to make up her mind whether to enter or no. She turned red, and white, and then red again to the tips of her ears when she saw that she was discovered, but she offered no explanation of her presence there. She did not even speak.
"Girls," said Miss Birks, "I think it is highly desirable and necessary that we should follow this passage into the room which I am told is beyond. Deirdre, you go first, with this candle, then Dulcie—Gerda,give me your candle, and walk just in front of me."
Policing the three in the rear, the Principal gave nobody an opportunity to escape. She had her own reasons for her conduct, which at present she did not choose to explain. With a hand on Gerda's shoulder, she forced that unwilling explorer along, and she urged an occasional caution on Deirdre. They had reached the cavern, and now, opening the small inner door, flashed their candles into the room. The result was startling.
On the bed reclined a figure, which, at sight of the light, sprang up with the cry of a hare in a trap—a man, unkempt, ragged, and dirty, bearing the impress of tramp written plainly upon his haggard, unshaven countenance. He darted wildly forward, gazed up at the strangers regarding him, then threw himself on a chair, and buried his face in his hands.
Gerda gave a long sigh of supreme relief. It was evidently not at all what she had expected to see.
"I'm done!" whimpered the tramp. "Send for the bobbies if you like. I'll go quiet."
"You must first tell me what you are doing here," said Miss Birks, stepping down into the room. "Then I can decide whether or no it is necessary to call in the police. Who are you? And where do you come from?"
"I knowed this passage when I was a boy," was the whining reply. "We used to dare each other to go upit, but the door at the end was firm shut. Then when I come back, down on my luck, and without a penny in my pocket to pay for a lodging, I thought I'd at least spend a night there under cover. I'd a bit of candle and a few matches, so I found my way along easy, and there! if the door at the end wasn't broke open, and the place waitin' all ready for me—bed, kettle, cooking-stove, frying-pan, cup and saucer, and all the rest of it, just as if someone 'ad put 'em there a purpose. I wasn't long in takin' possession, and I've lived here five days, and done nobody no harm. I didn't take nothing from the house either, except a bit of bread and butter last night when I felt starving. T'other days I'd found a job on the quay, and was able to buy myself victuals."
"Did you cook sausages?" quavered Dulcie, with intense interest.
"Aye, I'd earned a bit this morning to buy 'em with. Don't know who set up a stove here, but it come in handy for me, all filled ready with oil, too."
"But you know you've no right here," said Miss Birks severely.
"No, mum," reverting to his original whine. "I know that, but I'm a poor man, and I've been unfortunate. I came back to my native place looking for a bit of work. I've bin half over the world since I left it."
"If you're a Pontperran man, somebody ought to be able to vouch for you. What's your name?"
"Abel Galsworthy."
Then Gerda sprang forward with intense, irrepressible excitement on her face.
"Not Abel Galsworthy who was at one time under-gardener at the Castle?" she queried eagerly.
"The same—at your service, miss."
"And you were dismissed for—for——"
"For borrowing a matter of a few pears, that made a little disagreement betwixt me and the head gardener. I swore I'd try another line of life, and I shipped as a fireman on board a steamer bound for America, and worked my way over the continent to California. I didn't get on with the Yankees, so I took a turn to Australia, but that didn't suit me no better, and after I'd knocked about till I was tired of it, I come home."
"Do you remember that when you were at the Castle you witnessed a paper that the old Squire signed?"
"Aye, I remember it as if it was yesterday. Me and Jim Robinson, the under-groom, was the witnesses, but Jim's been gone this many a year."
"Should you know your own handwriting again? Could you swear to it?"
"I'd take my Bible oath afore a judge and jury, if need be."
"Then—oh! thank Heaven I have pieced the broken link of my chain!" cried Gerda. "Oh! can I really clear my father's name at last, and wipe the stain from the honour of the Trevellyans?"
"What does she mean?" asked Dulcie. "I don't understand!"
"It's all a jig-saw puzzle to me!" said Deirdre. "What does Gerda know about the Castle, and the old Squire, and a paper? And what has she to do with the honour of the Trevellyans?"
"I guessed the riddle long ago," smiled Miss Birks, laying a friendly hand on Gerda's arm. "The likeness to Ronnie was enough to tell me that she was his sister."
Inorder to understand the events which were happening at the Dower House we must go back for a period of some years in the history of the family at the Castle. The late owner, Squire Trevellyan, having lost his only child, had practically adopted his nephew L'Estrange Trevellyan as his heir. He had indeed other nephews and nieces, but they were the children of his sisters, and it seemed to him fitting that L'Estrange, the only one who bore the family name of Trevellyan, should inherit his Cornish estate. The young fellow was an immense favourite with his uncle and aunt, they regarded him in the light of a son, the Castle was considered his home, and they had even decided upon an alliance for him with the daughter of a neighbouring baronet. But in this matter L'Estrange had defied the wishes of the autocratic old squire, and, making his own choice, had wedded a lady of less aristocratic birth. His marriage caused a great coolness between himself and his uncle and aunt; his bride was not asked to the Castle nor openly recognized, and he was given tounderstand that he had seriously injured his chances of succession to the estate. His cousins, who had long been jealous of his prospects, were not slow to avail themselves of this opportunity, and did all they could to make mischief and to widen the breach.
Matters went on thus for about ten years, during which time, though Squire and Mrs. Trevellyan occasionally asked L'Estrange to the Castle, they still refused to have anything to do with his wife, and did not see either of his children. At the Squire's death there was great anxiety among the relatives to know how he had disposed of his property. When the will was read it was found that he had left the Castle and entire estate to his wife, with power to bequeath it as she wished, and equal money legacies to all his nephews and nieces; but at the end came a codicil revoking the former part of the will, leaving only small legacies to the other nephews and nieces, but a large sum to L'Estrange, and bequeathing the Castle and property to him after Mrs. Trevellyan's death. The relations, furiously angry to be thus cut out, disputed the validity of the codicil. There were many points in its disfavour. The lawyer who had drawn it up was dead, and of the two witnesses who had signed their names to it one was missing and the other dead. There was therefore not a solitary person left to vouch for it. The family decided to go to law, and in the case which followed the handwriting experts decided that the signature to the codicil was not genuine, giving it astheir opinion that it had been forged by L'Estrange Trevellyan.
The case against L'Estrange looked extremely black, for he had been staying at the Castle at the time of his uncle's illness and death. In view of the decision in the case a criminal charge of forgery was laid against him, and a warrant issued for his arrest. Before it was out, however, he had disappeared—no one knew whither.
To Mrs. Trevellyan the evidence seemed overwhelming, and in spite of her great affection for her nephew, she believed him guilty. It had always been her great wish that the Castle and estate should pass to one who bore the name of Trevellyan, and at this dreadful crisis she offered to adopt L'Estrange's little son, and to bring him up as heir to the property. Her one condition was that she must have the child absolutely, and that his father and mother should not attempt in any way to obtain access to him. In his desperate circumstances L'Estrange had consented; the boy was handed over to his great-aunt, and had been brought up at the Castle without any remembrance of his own home and parents.
The affair had, of course, made a great stir in the neighbourhood, but as L'Estrange had not remained in the country to face a prosecution, and therefore no trial of the case had followed, opinions were divided as to his guilt. In the course of five years the excitement had died down, and though the story was wellknown at Pontperran it was regarded as the Trevellyan family skeleton, and best buried in oblivion. Miss Birks had tried to keep the matter from her pupils; they had a vague knowledge that Ronnie's father was unsatisfactory, but they had been able to glean no further details. In view, however, of the strange chain of events which had just transpired, Miss Birks gave Deirdre and Dulcie, in private, a hasty outline of the circumstances, telling them that Gerda was in reality the daughter of Mr. L'Estrange Trevellyan, and that from certain evidence which she had been able to collect she was confident of disproving the charge which had been brought against her father.
Though the chums were thus briefly in possession of their school-mate's secret, they felt there were many pieces in the puzzle which they could not yet fit together. When they went to bed that night they begged Gerda to give them a full and complete explanation. To their surprise she immediately consented; indeed, instead of keeping her old habit of reserve she seemed anxious to take them into her confidence and to pour her whole story into their listening ears.
"If you're Ronnie's sister you can't be Gerda Thorwaldson," said Dulcie. "I didn't know Ronnie had a sister. I thought he was an only child."
"There are just the two of us," replied Gerda. "I am nine years older than he is, so I've always felt almost like a mother to him. Shall I tell you everything?Quite from the beginning? Miss Harding will excuse us for talking to-night. When our terrible trouble came upon us Ronnie was only fifteen months old—such a darling! He could just walk and say little words. I have his photo inside my work-box. You can imagine the grief it was to part with him, our baby, who'd never been a day from us. Mother was very brave—she realized that she had to decide between Father and her boy, and of course she chose Father. We knew it was entirely for Ronnie's good. Mrs. Trevellyan would bring him up in the old family home as an English boy should be, and would make him her heir; and we could only take him from one foreign place to another, and give him nothing but poverty and a tarnished name. You know, of course, that my father was accused of having forged a codicil to his uncle, Squire Trevellyan's will. By a round of misfortune everything seemed to combine in his disfavour. One witness to the codicil was dead, the other was missing, and though advertisements were put in the papers offering a reward for news of his whereabouts he could not be found. Mr. Forster, the lawyer who had drawn up both the will and the codicil, was dead, so there was no evidence on Father's side, and the case went heavily against him.
"The codicil having been disproved, the public prosecutor stepped in and issued a warrant to arrest my father on a charge of forgery. In the circumstances, with no witnesses obtainable, it was not consideredwise for him to stand the doubtful chance of a trial, and acting on the advice of his best friends, though very much against his own wishes, he quietly left the country. For nearly five years he, Mother, and I have lived together in various continental towns, constantly moving on, as we feared the foreign police might recognize the description circulated at the time of his escape and arrest him under an extradition warrant. For safety we changed our name at almost every place. I cannot express the wretched uncertainty and the misery of this hunted life, especially when we knew the charge to be so utterly false. There would have been only one worse evil—to see him wrongfully sentenced and sent to a convict prison. The dread of that possible horror we endured from day to day. Meantime Mother, though she would not confess it, fretted terribly at Ronnie's loss. As year after year went by, and she pictured him growing older, it became harder and harder for her to exist without hearing the least word about him.
"'If I had even one poor little snapshot photo it would comfort me,' she said once. 'It would show me my darling is well and happy and cared for in his new home.'
"Then an idea came to me. Though I had never been at Pontperran in my life I had often heard my father speak of the Dower House, and I knew it was close to the Castle. I begged to be sent to school there, for I thought I should find some opportunity ofseeing Ronnie, and not only taking a photo of him, but sending first-hand news about him to Mother. I hoped also—but it seemed such a forlorn hope!—that if I were on the spot I might pick up some information that might throw a light on the case and help to clear my father's honour. There seemed little risk of my being detected, for Mrs. Trevellyan had never seen me—Aunt Edith, I ought to call her—and I meant to keep carefully out of her way.
"Mother jumped at my suggestion. I could see that the mere chance of news of Ronnie put fresh life into her, and after some persuasion Father agreed to let me go. I took the name of Gerda Thorwaldson, and the letters to Miss Birks, arranging for me to be received as a pupil, were written from Donnerfest, a little town in Germany. Mother brought me to London, and put me safely into the train for Cornwall. Then she used the opportunity of being in England to pay quiet visits to some of her own relations whom she had not seen for many years.
"My father had a friend, a man who believed in his innocence, and did his best to help him. This Mr. Carr took him a cruise on his yacht, and came to Cornish waters, tacking about the coast from Avonporth to Kergoff. By borrowing the yacht's dinghy, Father was able sometimes to land near Portperran and meet me for a few minutes. Of course it was a terribly risky thing to do, for he was liable to be arrested any moment that he set his foot on Englishsoil; but he longed so much to see me, and, above all, to hear what I could tell of Ronnie. He was so anxious to catch a glimpse of the little fellow for himself that he insisted upon venturing farther on shore. He knew the secret of the barred room, so, bringing with him an oil cooking-stove, a kettle, and a few other things from the yacht, he took up his quarters there for a while.
"I was in an agony lest he should be discovered. I cannot tell you what I suffered on this account. He did not stay the whole time at the cave; indeed he lived mostly on the yacht, but kept spending occasional nights in the secret room. I never knew whether he was there or not, and the uncertainty made me wretched.
"During the last five years we had seemed continually to be standing on the brink of a volcano, and I was always prepared to face the worst.
"I can scarcely express how deeply I realized the difference between myself and all the other girls at school. I know you thought me reserved and uncommunicative and stand-off and everything that is disagreeable, but I simply dared not talk, for fear I might reveal something that would betray my father. You with your happy homes, and nothing to conceal, how can you understand what it is perpetually to guard a dreadful secret? I could tell you nothing about my home, for we had no home, we had only moved on from one lodging to another, and left noaddress behind. I could see that you misjudged me, and were full of suspicions, but I could not explain.
"You were annoyed with me for winning favour with Ronnie. You would not have grudged me his affection if you had known how I had craved for him all these years, and how hard, how very hard it was to be obliged to treat him as if I were an entire stranger, instead of his own sister. Then I was terribly afraid of meeting Mrs. Trevellyan, lest she should recognize my likeness to my father and guess our secret. I avoided her on every possible occasion, and on the whole I managed very successfully to keep out of her way.