CHAPTER XXIV. HIGH CLIFF SEMINARY.
The High Cliff Seminary was surely well named, for from the windows ofits grey stone turrets one had a sweeping view of the surrounding countrywith its lovely woodlands, its wide meadow where grain was yellowing orstacked in the sun, with here and there a nestling town, a suburb of thebig city that was several miles nearer the sea. Directly beneath were thesheer cliffs and then the broad, busy Hudson.
On the sun porch, one Saturday afternoon in September, a group of girlswas gathered. It was evident that they were all old friends, as indeedthey were since they had attended High Cliff Seminary the year previous.Among them were Faith Morley, Gladys Goodsell and Marianne Carnot.
Leaning back in a comfortable cushioned wicker chair, Marianne looked atthe other through partly closed eyes.
"Your democracy in America is crude, n'est-ce pas?" she said, shruggingher shoulders and looking toward the far end of the long glassed-inveranda.
There, all alone, stood a girl dressed in dark blue whose red-brown hairwas neatly fastened at her neck. With hands idly clasped in front of her,she watched the boats plying up and down the great river, and, oh, theloneliness, the bleak, grey loneliness in the heart of the girl.
Without a glance at the curious group at the other end of the sun porch,she soon turned and went within.
"Well, I confess democracy is carried rather far in this particularinstance," the plump, good-natured Gladys Goodsell remarked. "Not that Icare greatly. We do not have to associate with her, whoever she is,unless we so desire."
"Doesn't anyone know who she is?" Catherine Lambert inquired.
The questioner did not look at the French girl, nor would she have beenable to interpret the meaning of the slight sneer that appeared on thedark, handsome face for a fleeting second even if she had seen it.
Marianne had told no one that she had met Muriel the year before on WindyIsland, and Muriel herself, though conscious of the presence of MarianneCarnot, was so numbed with grief that she cared little that she was beingsnubbed.
The coming of that "crude island girl" to this fashionable school hadangered Marianne, but the memory of Gene's very evident preference forMuriel's companionship had aroused in the heart of the French girl adesire to make the other suffer, but she would bide her time.
"Is it true that she cannot speak the English language correctly?" Thetone of the questioner was horrified in the extreme.
Faith Morley nodded, adding hastily (because her heart was kind): "Butthat in itself is not vital, for surely she can learn to speak correctly,but--but of course her family is rather impossible."
"A lighthouse-keeper's grand-daughter!" This from Adelaine Stuart, whosefamily tree was always shown to each new pupil at High Cliff, if shechanced to be one whom Adelaine wished to impress. That her father wasimprisoned for having robbed widows and orphans with his wildcat schemesshe did not tell.
"But, Faith, you know something of the girl's story. Why don't you tellit?" This from Gladys.
Faith hesitated. Would Helen wish her to tell, and yet surely there wasnothing in what she knew that ought to be kept secret.
"Well, what I know is not much," Faith confessed. "Muriel Storm is anacquaintance of Gene Beavers and----"
Exclamations of amazement interrupted the speaker.
Conscious of the shock and surprise her statement had caused in thegroup, Faith hurried on to explain. "You remember Gene had to leavecollege last fall because of a collapse of some kind." Several nodded."Well, he then went to Tunkett, a sea-coast town, to recuperate, andwhile there he met the keeper of the light who was Muriel's grandfather.They did a good deal, Helen told me, to help Gene regain his health."This last, rather defiantly. Faith, unlike the others, was not a snob atheart.
Nor, for that matter, was Gladys. "Poor girl," she now put in. "I do feelsorry for her. Anyone who watches her for five minutes can tell that shehas a broken heart."
"Why that? What has happened to her?" Adelaine Stuart was curious.
"I wonder if any of you recall that terrible electric storm that we hadlast June," Faith continued. "I remember how it crashed over New York.Old-timers said there had not been one as severe in twenty years. Well,it was during that storm that the lighthouse was struck by lightning, theold man was instantly killed and the girl hurled beneath the debris. Shewas unconscious hours later when she was finally rescued. All summer longshe has been in a hospital in the city under the care of some physicianwhose home was formerly in that same sea-coast town. He it is who issending her here." They saw that the girl about whom they were talkingleft the veranda, apparently without having noticed them.
Faith went on: "Years ago Doctor Winslow's sister and our Miss Gordonwere friends." Miss Gordon was the charming middle-aged woman whopresided over High Cliffs. "Then this Muriel Storm not only belongs to aclass of fisherfolk, but she is also a charity pupil." Adelaine Stuarttried to show by her tone and expression the pride and scorn which shouldbe exhibited by one possessed of a family tree.
"I shall write my mother," she concluded, "and if I am not much mistakenMiss Gordon will consider it greatly to her advantage to at once dismissthat girl."
"I shall do the same," Phyllis Dexter echoed. "We ought not to be forcedto breathe the same air with--with----"
"Une bourgeoise," Marianne concluded the sentence for her.
The others did not notice when Faith Morley slipped away. She rebukedherself for not having thought of it before. Surely her dear friend HelenBeavers would wish her to be kind to the girl whose grandfather had beenkind to Gene.
Faith paused outside of a room on the third floor of High Cliff Seminaryand listened. Surely someone within was sobbing. Again her loving heartrebuked her. How many, many hours during the last week that the islandgirl had been in their midst had she sobbed like this and no one had cometo comfort her? Muriel was in none of Faith's classes and so she seldomsaw her. Nor did she eat with the other pupils in the main dining hall,for, temporarily, she was seated at the right of Miss Gordon at theteachers' table, there being a vacant chair which soon would be occupiedby Miss Humphrey, the English teacher, whose leave of absence had not yetexpired.
The problem of finding a seat for poor Muriel at first had been a hardone for Miss Gordon to solve, for she knew full well how heartless andsnobbish were many of the daughters of her wealthy patrons.
When she received a message from Miss Humphrey stating that she would notreturn for another fortnight, the principal talked the matter over withthe faculty and Muriel was then invited to sit with the teachers untilthe absent one should return. This would give Miss Gordon time todiscover if any of the pupils were kindly disposed toward Muriel, and ifso, she could then be placed at one of the three long tables in the maindining hall at which the young ladies were seated.
The teachers' table was in a curtained alcove, and so many of the girlswere not even aware of the fact that Muriel dined there. Moreover, it hadbeen Doctor Lem's wish that the island girl should receive privateinstruction, and as Miss Humphrey was the only teacher whose time couldbe arranged to make this plan possible, Muriel's studies had not as yetbegun.
Every day Miss Gordon sent for the girl to come to her room at thetwilight hour. At first she did this for the sake of Doctor Lem, whosesister had been her dear friend, but after a time she did it gladly, forshe found in the soul of this untutored girl much that it would be a joyto awaken and develop.
But, of course, there were many hours every day when Muriel was leftalone. Oh, so alone. While the other girls were at their classes shewandered about the extensive, parklike grounds that grew wilder and morebeautiful, so Muriel thought, a quarter of a mile down the Hudson andaway from the school.
There she found a spot on an overhanging ledge where a young pine treewas clinging, none too securely, to the bank, for after each storm theearth beneath it loosened and a day was coming when that small pine andthe ledge on which it stood would be hurled down the steep
cliff into theblue waters seething far below.
The cliff on which the light had stood the island girl had thought high,but this was a sheer wall of rock that rose twice as far from the watertoward the sky. The little pine had grown very dear to the girl who soloved nature, and often she would sit on the ledge, her cheek pressedagainst the rough bark, her eyes gazing far up the river, seeing not theboats of all kinds that were plying back and forth, hearing not thediscordant sounds of screeching tugs or warning whistles, but picturingin memory the island she so loved and the lighthouse standing as it hadfor so many, many years, and tears gathered in her eyes as, in a dream,she saw her grandfather again as he had looked on thatnever-to-be-forgotten day, and then suddenly she would sob and hold herarms out, calling, "Grand-dad! Grand-dad, come and get your Rilly gal!"On one of these occasions she had cried herself weary, and for a momentshe had slept on the little overhanging ledge. Her grand-dad seemed tocome to her and say so plainly that she heard his voice: "Fust mate,didn't you'n me agree that we'd trust the Skipper at the helm, knowin'His guidin' to be for the best?"
"Yeah, Grand-dad," she said aloud, sitting up and looking about. Then sherose and drew back, shuddering, for she had been very close to the edgeof the overhanging ledge. How easy it would be to fall off and---- Thegirl turned and ran all the way back to the school. That had been the daybefore and today she was staying indoors, half afraid to visit the ledge.
She sat up and looked toward the door when she heard a knock. "Come in!"she called, leaping to her feet. Her visitor, she supposed, would beeither Miss Gordon or the maid of that corridor.
When Muriel saw a strange girl in the hall she felt rebellious, believingthat she had called out of unkind curiosity, but Faith held out her righthand as she said graciously: "Miss Storm, I am Faith Morley, one of yourschoolmates. I am sorry that I have not been up to see you sooner. HelenBeavers and Gene are dear friends of mine, as perhaps you do not know,and I am convinced that they would wish me to be your friend, too." Then,feeling that the sentiment could be put in an even more kindly way, sheadded impulsively: "Truly, I want to be your friend. May I?"
Tears gathered slowly in the clear hazel eyes and the lips that repliedquivered: "Thanks, but I dunno why you'd be carin' for my frien'ship. Ifyou do, though, I'm glad."
They sat in chairs near each other, and Faith, looking for the first timewith eyes that really saw Muriel, decided that she had a most interestingface. There was far more depth of character expressed in it than in manyof the pretty doll faces of the pupils at High Cliffs. For one wildsecond the visitor groped for a subject of conversation that wouldinterest this island girl. Of course she might have gossiped about theother pupils in the school, but Faith had been taught never to talk ofpersons, but rather of things and events. She now recalled having heardHelen say that Muriel had never been farther inland than Tunkett, whileshe, Faith, had circled the globe with her parents two years before. Thenher eyes fell upon the copy of "Treasure Island," Muriel's gift fromGene.
"Do you enjoy that book?" the visitor asked.
"I can't read," Muriel replied simply, "but I love the sea an' the lifeon it. Cap'n Barney often told me tales of sea adventure an' Gene Beaversread to me out of this book."
Faith's dark eyes lighted. "Oh, Muriel," she exclaimed, "my father gaveme such an interesting book about the sea for my birthday, and I'mreading it now. I'd just love to read it aloud to you if you would enjoyhearing it. Of course it will come in your reading course, in time. ShallI get the book?"
There was real eagerness in Faith's voice, and also in her heart, for sheyearned to help this girl who as yet hadn't been given a chance.
Muriel was indeed pleased with the suggestion and so Faith went at onceto her room, returning a few moments later with a beautifully illustratedcopy of "Two Years Before the Mast."
"Muriel," she announced when she opened the door, this time withoutknocking, "I wonder if you know how lucky you are. You have the nicestroom in the school. This round cupola room with so many windows, and sucha sweeping view in three directions, is the one that many of us hope eachyear will be given to us."
Then she laughed. "Honestly, I do not eavesdrop, but I happened to be inthe reception room the first day of this term and heard Adelaine Stuart'smother offering to pay extra if her spoiled darling could have it. ButMiss Gordon said it had been reserved for you.
"Think of that, young lady. Moreover, you are doubly lucky, for, not onlyhave you the nicest room in the school, but you are invited to spend anhour every evening with the idol of all our hearts, the adorable MissGordon."
Muriel smiled at her new friend's enthusiasm. "'Twa'n't last long,though," she replied. "I mean, Miss Gordon's just bein' kind to me nowbecause she knows as I'm lonesome an' she'n Uncle Lem are friends."
Faith looked pityingly at the girl whose shadowed eyes plainly showedthat many hours had been spent in tears.
"Muriel," she suggested, "suppose you lie on the window seat. Pile thosepillows under your head and try to rest while I read. I'm afraid you areholding yourself too tense these days, as our gym teacher tells us."
Muriel did as she was bidden and Faith continued: "Now, take a deepbreath and drop down on the pillows with every muscle relaxed. Listenidly while I read until you fall asleep. I really think that restfulsleep is what you most need."
Then Faith read for an hour. Muriel was greatly interested, but she wasalso very weary, and after a time she did fall into the first restfulsleep that she had had since she arrived at the school.
Faith drew a cover over her new friend and stole out, but she did not godirectly to her own room. Instead she went to the office of Miss Gordon.
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