by L. T. Meade
willunderstand."
"Listen, Cecil," said Mrs Willis, "you have just told me you haveprayed to God, and have asked Him to show you the right path. Now, mydear, suppose we kneel together, and both of us ask Him to show us theway out of this difficult matter. I want to be guided to use the rightwords with you, Cecil. You want to be guided to receive the instructionwhich I, as your teacher and mother-friend, would give you."
Cecil and Mrs Willis both knelt down, and the head-mistress said a fewwords in a voice of great earnestness and entreaty; then they resumedtheir seats.
"Now, Cecil," said Mrs Willis, "you must remember in listening to methat I am speaking to you as I believe God wishes me to. If I canconvince you that you are doing wrong in concealing what you know fromme, will you act as I wish in the matter?"
"I long to be convinced," said Cecil, in a low tone.
"That is right, my dear; I can now speak to you with perfect freedom.My words you will remember, Cecil, are now, I firmly believe, directedby God; they are also the result of a large experience. I have trainedmany girls. I have watched the phases of thought in many young minds.Cecil, look at me. I can read you like a book."
Cecil looked up expectantly.
"Your motive for this concealment is as clear as the daylight, Cecil.You are keeping back what you know because you want to shield some one.Am I not right, my dear?" The colour flooded Cecil's pale face. Shebent her head in silent assent, but her eyes were too full of tears, andher lips trembled too much to allow her to speak.
"The girl you want to defend," continued Mrs Willis, in that clearpatient voice of hers, "is one whom you and I both love; is one for whomwe both have prayed; is one for whom we would both gladly sacrificeourselves if necessary--her name is--"
"Oh, don't," said Cecil imploringly--"don't say her name; you have noright to suspect her."
"I must say her name, Cecil dear. If you suspect Annie Forest, whyshould not I? You do suspect her, do you not, Cecil?"
Cecil began to cry.
"I know it," continued Mrs Willis. "Now, Cecil, we will suppose,terrible as this suspicion is, fearfully as it pains us both, that AnnieForest _is_ guilty. We must suppose for the sake of my argument thatthis is the case. Do you not know, my dear Cecil, that you are doingthe falsest, cruellest thing by dear Annie in trying to hide her sinfrom me? Suppose, just for the sake of our argument, that this cowardlyconduct on Annie's part was never found out by me; what effect would ithave on Annie herself?"
"It would save her in the eyes of the school," said Cecil.
"Just so, but God would know the truth. Her next downfall would bedeeper. In short, Cecil, under the idea of friendship you would havedone the cruellest thing in all the world for your friend."
Cecil was quite silent.
"This is one way to look at it," continued Mrs Willis, "but there aremany other points from which this case ought to be viewed. You owe muchto Annie, but not all--you have a duty to perform to your otherschool-fellows. You have a duty to perform to me. If you possess aclue which will enable me to convict Annie Forest of her sin, in commonjustice you have no right to withhold it. Remember that while she goesabout free and unsuspected some other girl is under the ban--some othergirl is watched and feared. You fail in your duty to yourschool-fellows when you keep back your knowledge, Cecil. When yourefuse to trust me, you fail in your duty to your mistress; for I cannotstamp out this evil and wicked thing from our midst unless I know all.When you conceal your knowledge, you ruin the character of the girl youseek to shield. When you conceal your knowledge, you go against God'sexpress wish. There--I have spoken to you as He directed me to speak."
Cecil suddenly sprang to her feet.
"I never thought of all these things," she said. "You are right, but itis very hard, and mine is only a suspicion. Oh, do be tender to her,and--forgive me--may I go away now?"
As she spoke, she pulled out the torn copy of Mrs Browning, laid it onher teacher's lap, and ran swiftly out of the chapel.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
TALKING OVER THE MYSTERY.
Annie Forest sitting in the midst of a group of eager admirers, waschatting volubly. Never had she been in higher spirits, never had herpretty face looked more bright and daring.
Cecil Temple, coming into the play-room, started when she saw her.Annie, however, instantly rose from the low hassock on which she hadperched herself and, running up to Cecil, put her hand through her arm.
"We are all discussing the mystery, darling," said she; "we havediscussed it, and literally torn it to shreds, and yet never got at thekernel. We have guessed and guessed what your motive can be inconcealing the truth from Mrs Willis, and we all unanimously vote thatyou are a dear old martyr, and that you have some admirable reason forkeeping back the truth. You cannot think what an excitement we are in--even Susy Drummond has stayed awake to listen to our chatter. Now,Cecil, do come and sit here in this most inviting little armchair, andtell us what our dear head-mistress said to you in the chapel. It didseem so awful to send you to the chapel, poor dear Cecil."
Cecil stood perfectly still and quiet while Annie was pouring out hertorrent of eager words; her eyes, indeed, did not quite meet hercompanion's, but she allowed Annie to retain her clasp of her arm, andshe evidently listened with attention to her words. Now, however, whenMiss Forest tried to draw her into the midst of the eager and animatedgroup who sat round the play-room fire, she hesitated and lookedlongingly in the direction of her peaceful little drawing-room. Herhesitation, however, was but momentary. Quite silently she walked withAnnie down the large play-room and entered the group of girls.
"Here's your throne, Queen Cecil," said Annie trying to push her intothe little armchair; but Cecil would not seat herself.
"How nice that you have come, Cecil!" said Mary Pierce, a second-classgirl. "I really think, we all think, that you were very brave to standout against Mrs Willis as you did. Of course we are devoured withcuriosity to know what it means; aren't we, Flo?"
"Yes, we're in agonies," answered Flo Dunstan, another second-classgirl.
"You will tell exactly what Mrs Willis said, darling heroine?"proceeded Annie in her most dulcet tones. "You concealed yourknowledge, didn't you? you were very firm, weren't you? dear, bravelove!"
"For my part, I think Cecil Temple the soul of brave firmness," hereinterrupted Susan Drummond. "I fancy she's as hard and firm in herselfwhen she wants to conceal a thing as that rocky sweetmeat which alwayshurts our teeth to get through. Yes, I do fancy that."
"Oh, Susy, what a horrid metaphor!" here interrupted several girls.
One, however, of the eager group of school-girls had not opened her lipsor said a word; that girl was Hester Thornton. She had been drawn intothe circle by an intense curiosity; but she had made no comment withregard to Cecil's conduct. If she knew anything of the mystery she hadthrown no light on it. She had simply sat motionless, with watchful andalert eyes and silent tongue. Now, for the first time, she spoke.
"I think, if you will allow her, that Cecil has got something to say,"she remarked.
Cecil glanced down at her with a very brief look of gratitude.
"Thank you, Hester," she said. "I won't keep you a moment, girls. Icannot offer to throw any light on the mystery which makes us all somiserable to-day; but I think it right to undeceive you with regard tomyself. I have not concealed what I know from Mrs Willis. She is inpossession of all the facts, and what I found in my desk this morning isnow in her keeping. She has made me see that in concealing my knowledgeI was acting wrongly, and whatever pain has come to me in the matter,she now knows all."
When Cecil had finished her sad little speech she walked straight out ofthe group of girls, and, without glancing at one of them, went acrossthe play-room to her own compartment. She had failed to observe a quickand startled glance from Susan Drummond's sleepy blue eyes, nor had sheheard her mutter--half to her companions, half to herself--"Cecil is notlike the rocky sweetmeat; I was mistaken in her
."
Neither had Cecil seen the flash of almost triumph in Hester's eyes, northe defiant glance she threw at Miss Forest. Annie stood with her handsclasped, and a little frown of perplexity between her brows, for amoment; then she ran fearlessly down the play-room, and said in a lowvoice at the other side of Cecil's curtains--
"May I come in?"
Cecil said "Yes," and Annie, entering the pretty little drawing-room,flung her arms round Miss Temple's neck.
"Cecil," she exclaimed impulsively, "you're in great trouble. I am agiddy, reckless thing, I know, but I don't laugh at people when they arein real trouble. Won't you tell me all about it, Cecil?"
"I will, Annie. Sit down there and I will tell you everything. I thinkyou have a right to know, and I am glad you have come to me. I thought,perhaps--but no matter. Annie, can't you guess what I am going to say?"
"No, I'm sure I can't," said Annie. "I saw for a moment or two to-daythat some of those absurd girls suspected me of being the author of allthis mischief. Now, you know, Cecil, I love a bit of fun beyond words.If there's any going on I feel nearly mad until I am in it; but what wasdone to-day was not at all in accordance with my ideas of fun. To tearup Miss Russell's essay and fill her desk with stupid plum-cake andTurkish delight seems to me but a sorry kind of jest. Now, if I hadbeen guilty of that sort of thing, I'd have managed something farcleverer than that. If _I_ had tampered with Dora Russell's desk, I'dhave done the thing in style. The dear, sweet, dignified creatureshould have shrieked in real terror. You don't know perhaps, Cecil,that our admirable Dora is no end of a coward. I wonder what she wouldhave said if I had put a little nest of field-mice in her desk. I sawthat the poor thing suspected me, as she gave way to her usual littlesneer about the `underbred girl:' but, of course, _you_ know me, Cecil.Why, my dear Cecil, what is the matter? How white you are, and you areactually crying! What is it, Cecil? what is it, Cecil, darling?"
Cecil dried her eyes quickly.
"You know my pet copy of Mrs Browning's poems, don't you, Annie?"
"Oh, yes, of course. You lent it to me one day. Don't you remember howyou made me cry over that picture of little Alice, the over-workedfactory girl? What about the book, Cecil?"
"I found the book in my desk," said Cecil, in a steady tone, and nowfixing her eyes on Annie, who knelt by her side--"I found the book in mydesk, although I never keep it there; for it is quite against the rulesto keep our recreation books in our school-desks, and you know, Annie, Ialways think it is so much easier to keep these little rules. They arematters of duty and conscience after all. I found my copy of MrsBrowning in my desk this morning with the cover torn off, and with avery painful and ludicrous caricature of our dear Mrs Willis sketchedon the title-page."
"What?" said Annie. "No, no; impossible."
"You know nothing about it do you, Annie?"
"I never put it there, if that's what you mean," said Annie. But herface had undergone a curious change. Her light and easy and laughingmanner had altered. When Cecil mentioned the caricature she flushed avivid crimson. Her flush had quickly died away, leaving herolive-tinted face paler than its wont.
"I see," she said, after a long pause, "you, too, suspected me, Cecil,and that is why you tried to conceal the thing. You know that I am theonly girl in the school who can draw caricatures, but did you supposethat I would show _her_ dishonour? Of course things look ugly for me,if this is what you found in your book; but I did not think that _you_would suspect me, Cecil."
"I will believe you, Annie," said Cecil eagerly. "I long beyond wordsto believe you. With all your faults, no one has ever yet found you outin a lie. If you look at me, Annie, and tell me honestly that you knownothing whatever about that caricature, I will believe you. Yes, I willbelieve you fully, and I will go with you to Mrs Willis and tell herthat, whoever did the wrong, you are innocent in this matter. Say youknow nothing about it, dear, dear Annie, and take a load off my heart."
"I never put the caricature into your book, Cecil."
"And you know nothing about it?"
"I cannot say that; I never--never put it in your book."
"Oh, Annie, exclaimed poor Cecil, you are trying to deceive me. Whywon't you be brave? Oh, Annie, I never thought you would stoop to alie!"
"I'm telling no lie," answered Annie with sudden passion. "I do knowsomething about the caricature, but I never put it into that book.There! you doubt me, you have ceased to believe me, and I won't wasteany more words on the matter."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
"SENT TO COVENTRY."
There were many girls in the school who remembered that dismalhalf-holiday--they remembered its forced mirth and its hidden anxiety;and as the hours flew by the suspicion that Annie Forest was the authorof all the mischief grew and deepened. A school is like a little world,and popular opinion is apt to change with great rapidity. Annie wasundoubtedly the favourite of the school; but favourites are certain tohave enemies, and there were several girls unworthy enough and meanenough to be jealous of poor Annie's popularity. She was the kind ofgirl whom only very small natures could really dislike. Her popularityarose from the simple fact that hers was a peculiarly joyous andunselfish nature. She was a girl with scarcely any self-consciousness;those she loved, she loved devotedly; she threw herself with a certainfeverish impetuosity into their lives, and made their interests her own.To get into mischief and trouble for the sake of a friend was anevery-day occurrence with Annie. She was not the least studious; shehad no one particular talent, unless it was an untrained and birdlikevoice; she was always more or less in hot water about her lessons,always behindhand in her tasks, always leaving undone what she shoulddo, and doing what she should not do. She was a contradictory, erraticcreature--jealous of no one, envious of no one--dearly loving a joke,and many times inflicting pain from sheer thoughtlessness, but alwaysready to say she was sorry, always ready to make friends again.
It is strange that such a girl as Annie should have enemies, but shehad, and in the last few weeks the feeling of jealousy and envy whichhad always been smouldering in some breasts took more active form. Tworeasons accounted for this: Hester's openly avowed and persistentdislike to Annie, and Miss Russell's declared conviction that she wasunderbred and not a lady.
Miss Russell was the only girl in the first-class who had hitherto givenwild little Annie a thought.
In the first-class, to-day, Annie had to act the unpleasing part of thewicked little heroine. Miss Russell was quite certain of Annie's guilt;she and her companions condescended to discuss poor Annie and to pullall her little virtues to pieces, and to magnify her sins to an alarmingextent.
After two or three hours of judicious conversation, Dora Russell andmost of the other first-class girls decided that Annie ought to beexpelled, and unanimously resolved that they at least, would do whatthey could to "send her to Coventry."
In the lower part of the school Annie also had a few enemies, and thesegirls, having carefully observed Hester's attitude toward her, now cameup close to this dignified little lady, and asked her boldly to declareher opinion with regard to Annie's guilt.
Hester, without the least hesitation, assured them that "of course Anniehad done it."
"There is not room for a single doubt on the subject," she said;"there--look at her now."
At this instant Annie was leaving Cecil's compartment, and with redeyes, and hair, as usual, falling about her face, was running out of theplay-room. She seemed in great distress; but, nevertheless, before shereached the door, she stopped to pick up a little girl of five, who wasfretting about some small annoyance. Annie took the little one in herarms, kissed her tenderly, whispered some words in her ear, which causedthe little face to light up with some smiles and the round arms to claspAnnie with an ecstatic hug. She dropped the child, who ran back to playmerrily with her companions, and left the room.
The group of middle-class girls still sat on by the fire, but HesterThornton now, not Annie, was the centre of attr
action. It was the firsttime in all her young life that Hester had found herself in the enviableposition of a favourite; and without at all knowing what mischief shewas doing, she could not resist improving the occasion, and making themost of her dislike for Annie.
Several of those who even were fond of Miss Forest came round to theconviction that she was really guilty, and one by one, as is the fashionnot only among school-girls but in the greater world outside, they beganto pick holes in their former favourite. These girls, too, resolvedthat, if Annie were really so mean as maliciously to injure other girls'property and get them into trouble, she must be "sent to Coventry."
"What's Coventry?" asked one of the little ones, the child whom Anniehad kissed and comforted, now sidling up to the group.
"Oh, a nasty place, Phena," said Mary Bell, putting her arm round thepretty child and drawing her to her side.
"And who is going there?"
"Why, I am afraid it is naughty Annie Forest."
"She's not naughty! Annie sha'n't go to any nasty place. I hate you,Mary Bell." The little one looked round the group with flashing eyes ofdefiance, then wrenched herself away to return to her youngercompanions.
"It was stupid of you to say that, Mary," remarked one of the girls."Well," she continued, "I suppose it is