The Girls of St. Wode's

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER XXVI

  ANNIE'S REQUEST.

  The next day Marjorie awoke from her long sleep with a stunned feelingat her heart, but no longer quite such a keen sense of despair. Sheclung to Leslie, and would scarcely let her out of her sight. Thedoctors were rather anxious about her. She was scarcely likely to takethe fever; but, if she exhausted herself in the way she was doing, shemight be laid up with a severe nervous attack. Accordingly, Mrs.Chetwynd implored Leslie to remain with them; and Leslie, havingreceived a note from her mother to say that she was only too glad shewas making herself useful, agreed to do so.

  On the afternoon of that same day Marjorie went to lie down. There wasabsolute stillness in the house, for Lettie had gone out to spend theafternoon with a friend. The sick girl was fighting death in the roomoverhead, and Leslie found herself alone in the pretty boudoir. It was acharming room, furnished with every taste and luxury; but Leslie, as shelay back in a deep chair, had a strange feeling of inertia and lassitudeall over her. She was glad to be with Marjorie; but the depression whichhad so often visited her of late was on this afternoon worse than ever.Mr. Parker's attitude to her yesterday kept recurring again and again toher memory. The cold, almost disdainful look he had given her, theeffort to appear as usual before her mother and brother and sisters, thesignal failure of that effort, kept coming back to her. He had done muchfor her; she had taken an enormous favor from his hands. Now what aterrible position she found herself in. Oh, Llewellyn was right afterall! He would not take a money-favor from anyone. How she wished she hadbeen equally determined.

  In the midst of these meditations she heard a ring at the front door.The next moment the footman came up, opened the door of the boudoir, andushered in a visitor. Leslie started to her feet, a vexed exclamationcame to her lips, and with difficulty remained unspoken, for AnnieColchester stood before her.

  "I followed you here, Leslie," said Annie. "Can I see you at once, andby yourself?"

  "Certainly," said Leslie. Her tone was cold. "Sit down, Annie."

  Annie did not sit; she came quickly across the room, and looked full atLeslie.

  "You know, of course," she said abruptly, "that I have come down fromSt. Wode's?"

  "Yes; and how did you pass your final?"

  "I took an ordinary--no more; and now I want some work to do."

  "Of course."

  "How cold you look, Leslie; so different from what you were when first Imet you at St. Wode's."

  "Never mind about me," answered Leslie. "Do you want me to help you?Have you come on that account?"

  "Yes. I have come to you on that account, for you can help me. I went toyour house this morning and heard you were out. It was of the most vitalimportance that I should see you, so I got your address from yourmother. She was unwilling to give it to me at first, for she said youwere staying in a house of illness; but I begged so hard that at lastshe gave way, and here I am."

  "Well. What is it?" asked Leslie. Her tone was still icy-cold, and thewant of sympathy in her eyes caused Annie's dark red-brown ones to flashangrily.

  "Oh, you are one of those dreadfully Puritan, goody-goody people," shesaid, "who always hate an unfortunate sinner. I would not like you to bemy judge at the Great Assize."

  "You must not talk to me in that tone," said Leslie, stung in her turn."You know what you have done. You have changed all my life."

  "You don't mean to say you are still fretting over that matter. What canit signify to you whether Mr. Parker thinks badly of you or not. Justconsider for a moment what would have happened if you had betrayed methat time."

  "It might have been the better for me and for you too if I had spokenthe truth," said Leslie. "I am sometimes inclined to believe that I didwrong to shield you."

  "Wrong to shield me! Why, I should have been expelled, ruined;absolutely ruined for life."

  "But I should not be feeling as bitter as I now do."

  "You would have been so miserable you would not have cared to live,"said Annie, with conviction. "But, now, don't let us hark back on thataffair. I want you to do something for me, and at once. Can you possiblycome out with me? I want you to come with me to Mr. Parker."

  "To Mr. Parker, and with you? No, Annie; that I cannot do."

  "But you must. Listen to me, Leslie."

  Annie suddenly fell on her knees and took one of Leslie's hands in hers.

  "How luxurious this room is," she said. She looked around it as shespoke, glancing at the curtained windows, the pictured walls, thecomfortable chair in which Leslie was seated.

  "Your friends are rich," she continued. "And although your home is plainenough, yet you have never wanted. I wonder, Leslie, if you were everhungry, hungry to the point of starvation."

  "What do you mean?" asked Leslie.

  "Oh, you'd know very well if you had suffered. Now, I have. Let me showyou the money I have in my pocket."

  She slipped her hand into her pocket, took out her purse, and tumbledits contents into Leslie's lap.

  "I don't want to see," said Leslie.

  "But you must look. See, here is a ten-shilling piece, and here are fourshillings. Ten and four make fourteen. That is all I possess, absolutelyall, and I have not a friend in the world. My brother----"

  "Your brother is in Australia?"

  "Never mind where he is. If he keeps his promise to you I must never seehim again; he must never come back to England. But listen; this hasnothing to do with my brother--it has to do with me. I could scarcelylive on less than two shillings a day, which means that I have exactly aweek in which to spend my money. At the end of that time where am I?"

  She stood up and held out her empty palms.

  "Now listen, Leslie. I know Mr. Parker does not like me, and he neverliked Rupert. It is true he was kind to me, for he helped to pay for myeducation at St. Wode's. If I had taken a first-class at my final Icould have got a good situation as a teacher, although I hate teaching,for I am too impatient and too dreamy; but as I have only barely takenan ordinary, all that sort of thing is hopeless. Besides, even if itwere not hopeless, there is nothing vacant. I must live while I amwaiting for a situation. Now, Mr. Parker wants a secretary. He wants agirl to come to his office every day to write his letters and to attendgenerally to his correspondence, and I intend to secure that post. I amtold that he offers his secretary two guineas a week. I mean to be thatsecretary: I mean to earn that money. He won't give me the post, though,because he does not like me well enough; but if you come with me andplead for me, just because he likes you, because he loves you, he willgive the post to me. Can you come now, at once? I was at his office thismorning. I did not say who I was; and, do you know, there were twentygirls waiting to see him for this one situation. They all looked capableand clever, the sort who would write his letters and attend to hiscorrespondence, and keep things going for him. But every one of thosetwenty girls are to be disappointed, for I am to be the successful one.I shall be, if you will speak a good word for me. Come, Leslie, will youdo this for me?"

  "But do you quite realize what you are asking?" said Leslie; "to demanda favor of Mr. Parker? Annie, you cannot know what this means. I willspeak to you frankly. My heart has been cold as a stone to you. You havemade my life all gall and bitterness."

  "Oh, folly!" said Annie. "Remember, I shall starve. Only fourteenshillings between me and the world!"

  "But Mr. Parker will not give you the situation if I ask him," continuedLeslie. "He scarcely speaks to me now if we meet. How can I ask him todo me a favor? Annie, you expect too much."

  Annie stared very hard at Leslie; then she rose to her feet. There was alook of despair in her eyes; her cheeks were ghastly white.

  "Fourteen shillings," she said in a whisper.

  She returned her purse to her pocket, and looked again at Leslie.

  "Are you sure you won't yield?" she said. "Remember, whatever you domust be done to-day; he is going to decide to-day."

  Leslie struggled with herself.

  Just at that mom
ent the door was quickly opened, and Marjorie rushed in.There was a queer look on Marjorie's face, traces of recent tears in hereyes, and a softness about her mouth. She went up to Leslie and kissedher. She did not see Annie at all.

  "Eileen is better," she cried; "she has had a long, quiet sleep, and thenurse says she is certainly better. The doctors have just gone, too, andthey believe that she is on the mend. They think that the worst is over.Leslie, God did hear our prayers. I shall believe in God now as long asever I live. I wish Belle Acheson would come, in order that I might tellher how God heard our prayers. Yes. I shall believe in Him as long as Ilive. It was your thought, Leslie; your splendid thought, and it hassucceeded. Oh, I am so happy!"

  She kissed Leslie again, and ran out of the room as quickly as she hadentered. She did not even notice Annie Colchester, who stood near thewindow.

  When Marjorie closed the door behind her. Leslie looked full at Annie.

  "What can it all mean?" said Annie. "How queer Marjorie Chetwyndlooked!"

  "No wonder," said Leslie. "Her sister Eileen was at death's door; butshe is a little better to-day."

  "Only Marjorie talked some humbug about prayer. Did she imagine thatyou--you prayed? I thought you were too hard."

  "No, no," said Leslie, with a catch in her voice, and a suppressed sob."I am a miserable girl; but I--it does not matter. Annie, I will do whatyou wish."

  "Then you are an angel after all. I thought you one once, and so didRupert; but you yourself choked us off. Well, come with me now. You arean angel after all."

  The words were scarcely out of Annie's lips, her hand, hot and tremblingwith excitement, had scarcely touched Leslie's sleeve, before the doorwas thrown open and Belle Acheson was announced.

  Belle came in with a queer, eager look on her face, a kind of hungry,half-starved look. She went straight up to Leslie.

  "I did not ask the man at the door," she said. "I didn't wish to; I feltI would rather get the news, good or bad, from you. Do you know what aqueer thing happened? I was so impressed by what you told me yesterdaythat I, actually I, Belle Acheson, began to pray in real earnest. Allnight long I kept asking God to spare Eileen; and now the question is,has He done so? Leslie, how is Eileen? Is she better?"

  "She is, Belle; oh, she is," cried Leslie. "It is too wonderful; but itis true. God has heard all our prayers. It is only a moment back thatdear Marjorie ran into the room and told me that Eileen was better."

  "Thank you," replied Belle; "you need not say any more." She turned herback on Leslie, and walked to the window. She stood there, behind theshelter of the curtains, and looked out. No one knew what she saw orwhat she felt. After a time she looked round.

  "Then it is all right," she said. "There is a God who answers prayers;Eileen will get well again. It is a great thing for a girl to discoverthe truth of that; it makes a great difference in her life. It is quitetoo interesting, and too--too wonderful. It makes everything worth while,somehow. Oh, there! I cannot speak about it."

  She stopped abruptly. Leslie did not reply; but Annie now ran up toBelle.

  "Don't you know me?" she said. "Or are you too absorbed with this--thiswonderful discovery, to notice that I am one of the St. Wode's girls."

  "Of course I know you; you are Annie Colchester, the queer,extraordinary girl who was almost as enthusiastic as I am to windistinction, to solve problems, to acquire the great, the gloriouspossession of knowledge."

  "I am the same," answered Annie; "although in some ways my views havechanged."

  "Don't tell me so. If you are one of those who put their hand to theplough and then look back I will have nothing to do with you. By theway, you have passed your exam before now; how have you succeeded?"

  "I have not succeeded at all--that is, I have only just taken anordinary."

  "And you meant to take a first-class in honors?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you have done poorly."

  "I know I have," replied Annie, hanging her head.

  "Let me look at you," said Belle. She went straight up to her, put herhand under Annie's chin, and lifted up the blushing face.

  "And yet you have a fine, well-developed brow," she said; "plenty ofbrains there, and your eyes are clear and dancing with intelligence.Stay though, let me feel your pulse."

  She caught Annie's wrist between her finger and thumb. Belle herself wasall eagerness now; her attitude was that of one who stood at attention.

  "Come," she said. "H'm! I'm not a doctor, but I don't like that pulse.One moment it seems to be running away, the next it stops dead--then itis wabbly, quite uncertain. Annie Colchester, do you eat enough?"

  "Don't question me," answered Annie.

  Belle's gray eyes traveled to Leslie's face. Leslie's lips formed avoiceless "No." Belle understood her.

  "By the way, where are you staying?" she asked, turning again to Annie;"have you any friends in town?"

  "I have no special friends. I am in lodgings."

  "What address?"

  "I cannot give you an address, because I am leaving to-day."

  "Then that is delightful; you shall come home with me."

  "With you? Do you mean it?"

  "Of course I mean it. I am not in the habit of saying things I don'tmean. I should consider such conduct a breach of truth. Do you imaginefor a moment that I am a liar; I, who wish to cultivate all the sacredvirtues, to stoop to a lie. When I ask you to come home with me, I wishto have you. I want a friend to keep me company, an intelligent friend.You shall stay with me for a week at least. I don't believe in thatfailure of yours. If you did not take honors, you ought to have takenthem. That brow and those eyes were not given you for nothing. By theway, did I ever mention to you--no, I don't think I did--that I amstarting a little hostel of my own, that I am saving money for it. I donot know the exact sum that I have saved, but it is not very far from ahundred pounds. You are one of the girls I should like to live with methere. You are just the sort to fling aside every weight, and devoteyourself heart and soul to the acquiring of glorious knowledge."

  "I have felt like that now and then," said Annie; "but somehow themotive has gone. It is unfair, absolutely unfair, for me to come to youon false pretenses."

  "Oh, whether you are clever or not, you look as if you wanted a week'srest. I am very happy to-day--what occurred has given me--I cannot exactlytell you what, but a wonderful feeling. I am in the humor to do a gooddeed, and you are the person who wants it done to. You want rest andgood nourishment and peace. You have been tossed about in a sore battle.I do not know where, and I do not know how; but the proof lies in thequeer, desolate expression of your face. My home is comfortable, andmother always does exactly what I like; so come at once."

  "I thank you from my heart, and I will come," said Annie. "It is a greatboon to me; but I must first go out with Leslie Gilroy."

  "Off with you then at once. I don't want to pry into any secrets; but,Leslie, when you have done with her, bring her or send her back to me.You know the old address in Maida Vale. Good-by for the present."