by L. T. Meade
in great trouble, Prissie. The servant told me how terriblyupset you were."
"I was. I felt nearly mad."
"But you look very happy now."
"I am; my trouble has all vanished away. It was a great bogie. As soonas I came boldly up to it, it vanished into smoke."
"Am I to hear the name of the bogie?"
"I think I would rather not tell you--at least not now. If Maggiethinks it right, she will speak to you about it; but, as far as I amconcerned, it cannot touch me again."
"Why have you come to see me then to-night, Priscilla?"
"I want to speak about Maggie."
"What about her? She has just been here to speak of you."
"Has she?"
"It is possible that she may make you a proposition which will affectyour whole future, but I am not at liberty to say any more. Have you aproposition to make about her?"
"I have, and it will affect all Maggie's life. It will make her sogood--so very, very happy. Oh, Miss Heath! you ought to do it: youought to make her marry Mr Hammond at once."
"My dear Priscilla!" Miss Heath's face turned crimson. "Are youalluding to Geoffrey Hammond? I know great friends of his; he is one ofthe cleverest men at St Hilda's."
"Yes, and one of the best," pursued Prissie, clasping her hands andspeaking in that excited way which she always did when quite carried outof herself. "You don't know how good he is, Miss Heath. I think he isone of the best of men. I would do anything in the world for him--anything."
"Where have you met him, Priscilla?"
"At the Marshalls', and once at the Elliot-Smiths', and to-day, when Iwas so miserable, when the bogie ran after me, you know, at St Hilda's,just outside the chapel. Mr Hammond asked me to come to the service,and I went, and afterwards he chased the bogie away. Oh, he is good, heis kind, and he loves Maggie with all his heart. He has loved her for along time, I am sure, but she is never nice to him."
"Then, of course," said Miss Heath, "if Miss Oliphant does not care forMr Hammond, there is an end of the matter. You are a very innocent andvery young girl, Priscilla; but this is a subject in which you have noright to interfere. Far from me to say that I disapprove of marriagefor our students, but, while at St Benet's, it is certainly best forthem to give their attention to other matters."
"For most of us," replied Prissie, "but not for Maggie. No one in thecollege thinks Maggie happy."
"That is true," replied Miss Heath, thoughtfully.
"And everyone knows," pursued Prissie, "that Mr Hammond loves her."
"Do they? I was not aware that such reports had got abroad."
"Oh, yes: all Maggie's friends know that, but they are so dreadfullystupid they cannot guess the other thing."
"What other thing?"
"That dear Maggie is breaking her heart on account of Mr Hammond."
"Then you think she loves him?"
"I do--I know it. Oh, won't you do something to get them to marry eachother?"
"My dear child, these are subjects in which neither you nor I caninterfere."
"Oh!" Prissie's eyes filled with sudden tears. "If you won't doanything, I must."
"I don't see what you can do, Priscilla; I don't know what you have aright to do. We do not care that our students should think of love andcourtship while here, but we have never limited their freedom in thematter. If Miss Oliphant cares for Mr Hammond, and he cares for her,they know perfectly that they can become engaged. Miss Oliphant will beleaving St Benet's at the end of the summer term, she is completely, inevery sense of the word, her own mistress."
"Oh, no, she is not her own mistress, she is oppressed by a bogie. Idon't know the name of the bogie, or anything about it; but it isshadowing all Maggie's life; it is taking the sunshine away from her,and it is making it impossible for her to marry Mr Hammond. They areboth so fond of each other; they have both noble hearts, but thedreadful bogie spoils everything--it keeps them apart. Dear Miss Heath,I want you to come and kill the bogie."
"I must find out its name first," said Miss Heath.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
AT THE ELLIOT-SMITHS' PARTY.
Rosalind Merton had been in the wildest spirits all day; she had laughedwith the gayest, joined in all the games, thrown herself heart and soulinto every project which promised fun, which gave a possibility forenjoyment. Rosalind's mood might have been described as reckless. Thiswas not her invariable condition; she was a girl who, with all her gayspirits, took life with coolness. She was not given to over-excitement;her nerves were too well balanced for anything of this kind.
To-day, however, something seemed wrong with these equable nerves ofhers: she could not keep still; her voice was never quiet; her laugh wasconstant. Once or twice she saw Annie Day's eyes fixed upon her; sheturned from their glance; a more brilliant red than usual dyed hercheeks; her laugh grew louder and more insolent.
On this evening the Elliot-Smiths would give their long-promised party.The wish of Annie Day's heart was gratified; she had angled for aninvitation to this merry-making and obtained it. Lucy Marsh was alsogoing, and several other St Benet's girls would be present.
Early in the evening Rosalind retired to her own room, locked her door,and, taking out her new white dress, laid it across her bed. It was avery pretty dress, made of soft silk, which did not rustle, but lay ingraceful puffs and folds on body and skirt. It was just the dress tomake this young, slight figure of Rosalind's look absolutely charming.She stood over it now and regarded it lovingly. The dress had beenobtained, like most of Rosalind's possessions, by manoeuvres. She hadmade up a piteous story, and her adoring mother had listened andcontrived to deny herself and some of Rosalind's younger sisters topurchase the white robe on which the young girl's heart was set.
Deliberately and slowly Rosalind made her toilet, her golden, curlinghair was brushed out, and then carefully coiled round her head.Rosalind had no trouble with her hair: a touch or two, a pin stuck here,a curl arranged there, and the arrangement became perfect--theglistening mass lay in natural waves over the small, graceful head.
Rosalind's hair arranged to her satisfaction, she put on her lovelywhite dress. She stood before her long glass, a white-robed littlefigure, smiles round her lips, a sweet, bright colour in her cheeks, adewy look in her baby-blue eyes. Rosalind's toilet was all butfinished; she stood before her glass now and hesitated. Should she goto the Elliot-Smiths' as she was, or should she give the last finishingtouch to render herself perfect? Should she wear her beautiful coralornaments?
The coral was now her own, paid for to the uttermost farthing; PollySingleton could not come up to Rosalind now, and disgrace her in publicby demanding her coral back again. The coral was no longer Polly's; itwas Rosalind's. The debt was cleared off; the exquisite ornaments wereher own. Unlocking a drawer in her bureau she took out a case, whichcontained her treasures; she touched the spring of the case, opened it,and looked at them lovingly. The necklace, the bracelets, the earrings,and pins for the hair looked beautiful on their velvet pillow. For thesake of the pink coral, Rosalind had manoeuvred for her white dress; forits sake she had knowingly stinted her mother and sisters; for its sakeshe had also stolen a five-pound note from Maggie Oliphant. She dreamtmany times of the triumphs which would be hers when she appeared at theElliot-Smiths' in her white silk dress, just tipped with the slightcolour which the pink coral ornaments would bestow. Rosalind hadlikened herself to all kinds of lovely things in this beautiful yetsimple toilet--to a daisy in the field, to a briar-rose: in short, toevery flower which denoted the perfection of baby innocence.
Yet, as she held the coral necklace in her hand to-night, she hesitateddeeply whether it would be wise to appear at the Elliot-Smiths' in hertreasured ornaments.
Rose had not felt comfortable all day. She had banished thought withthe usual device of extra hilarity; she had crushed the little voice inher heart which would persistently cry, "Shame! shame!" which would goon telling her, "You are the meanest, the most w
icked girl in StBenet's; you have done something for which you could be put in prison."The voice had little opportunity of making itself heard that day, and,as Maggie Oliphant evidently did not intend to investigate the matter,Rosalind had every hope that her sin would never be found out.Nevertheless, she could not help feeling uneasy; for why did Annie Day,her own chosen and particular friend, so persistently avoid her? Whyhad Lucy Marsh refused to walk with her yesterday? and why did Annie sooften look at her with meaning and inquiry in her eyes? These glancesof Annie's caused Rosalind's heart to beat too quickly; they gave her anundefined sense of uneasiness.
She felt as she stood now before her glass that, after all, she wasdoing a rash thing in wearing her coral. Annie Day knew of her moneydifficulties; Annie knew how badly Rosalind had wanted four guineas topay the debt she still owed for the ornaments. If Rosalind wore themto-night, Annie would ask numerous questions. Oh, yes, there was arisk--there was a decided risk--but Rosalind's vanity was greater thanher fears.
There came a knock at her room door. To Rosalind's surprise, AnnieDay's voice, with an extremely friendly tone in it, was heard outside.
"Are you ready, Rosie?" she cried; "for, if you are, there is just roomfor you in the fly with Lucy Marsh and Miss Singleton and myself."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Rosalind from the other side of the door; "justwait one moment, Annie, and I will be with you."
Both fear and hesitation vanished at the friendly tones of Annie'svoice. She hastily fastened on her necklace and earrings, slipped onher bracelets, and stuck the coral pins in her hair. She saw a dazzlinglittle image in the glass, and turned away with a glad, proud smile.
"We can't be kept waiting; are you ready?" called Miss Day's voice inthe passage.
"Yes, yes; in one moment, Annie, dear," replied Rosalind. She wrappedherself from head to foot in a long white opera cloak, pulled the hoodover her head, seized her gloves and fan, and opened the door. Thecoral could not be seen now, and Annie, who was also in white, took herhand and ran with her down the corridor.
A few moments later the four girls arrived at the Elliot-Smiths' andwere shown into a dressing-room on the ground floor to divest themselvesof their wraps. They were amongst the earliest of the arrivals, andAnnie Day had both space and opportunity to rush up to Rosalind andexclaim at the perfect combination of white silk and pink coral.
"Lucy, Lucy!" she said, "do come and look at Rosalind's coral! Oh, poorPolly! you must miss your ornaments; but I am obliged frankly toconfess, my dear, that they are more becoming to this little cherub thanthey ever were to you."
Polly was loudly dressed in blue silk. She came up, and turned Rosalindround, and, putting her hand on her neck, lifted the necklace, andlooked at it affectionately.
"I did love those ornaments," she said; "but, of course, I can't grudgethem to you, Rose. You paid a good sum for them--didn't you, dear?--although nothing like what they were worth, so, of course, they areyours by every right."
"You have paid off the debt? I congratulate you, Rose," said Annie Day.
"Yes," said Rosalind, blushing.
"I am glad you were able to get the money, my dear."
"And I wish she hadn't got it," retorted Polly. "Money is of no momentto me now. Dad is just rolling in wealth, and I have, in consequence,more money than I know what to do with. I confess I never felt crosserin my life than when you brought me that five-pound note last Mondaynight, Miss Merton."
Rosalind coloured, then grew very pale; she saw Annie Day's eyes blazeand darken. She felt that her friend was putting two and two together,and drawing a conclusion in her own mind. Annie turned abruptly fromRosalind, and, touching Lucy Marsh on the arm, walked with her out ofthe dressing-room. The unsuspecting Polly brought up the rear withRosalind.
The four girls entered the drawing-room, and Rosalind tried to forgetthe sick fear which was creeping round her heart in the excitement ofthe moment.
Nearly an hour later Maggie Oliphant arrived. She was also in white,but without any ornament, except a solitary diamond star which blazed inthe rich coils of her hair. The beautiful Miss Oliphant was receivedwith enthusiasm. Until her arrival Rose had been the undoubted _belle_of the evening, but beside Maggie the _petite_ charms which Rosepossessed sank out of sight. Maggie herself never felt less consciousof beauty; the heaviness at her heart made her cheeks look pale, andgave her brown eyes a languid expression; she was indifferent to theadmiration which greeted her. The admiration which greeted her gave hera momentary feeling of surprise--almost of displeasure.
Meta Elliot-Smith and her mother buzzed round Maggie, and expressedtheir gratitude to her for coming.
"We expect a friend of yours to arrive presently," said Meta--"MrHammond. You know Mr Hammond, don't you? I have had a note from him.He says he will look in as soon after ten as possible. I am so glad; Iwas dreadfully afraid he couldn't come, for he had to go suddenly intothe country at the beginning of this week. You know Mr Hammond verywell, don't you, Miss Oliphant?"
"Yes," replied Maggie, in her careless voice; "he is quite an old friendof mine."
"You will be glad to see him?"
"Very glad."
Meta looked at her in a puzzled way. Reports of Hammond's love affairhad reached her ears. She had expected to see emotion and confusion onMaggie's face; it looked bright and pleased. Her "very glad" had agenuine ring about it.
"I am so delighted he is coming!" repeated Meta. "I do trust he will behere in good time."
She led Miss Oliphant to a prominent seat at the top of the room as shespoke.
"I shall have to leave soon after ten," replied Maggie, "so, if MrHammond cannot arrive until after that hour, I shall not have thepleasure of seeing him."
"Oh, but you must really stay later than that; it would be too cruel toleave us so early."
"I am afraid I cannot. The gates are closed at St Benet's at eleveno'clock, and I do not care to remain out until the last moment."
Meta was obliged, with great reluctance, to leave her guest, and amoment later Annie Day came up eagerly to Maggie's side.
"It's all right," she said, drawing Miss Oliphant into the shelter of awindow; "I have found out all I want to know."
"What is that?" asked Maggie.
"Rosalind Merton is the thief."
"Miss Day, how can you say such dreadful things?"
"How can Rosalind do them? I am awfully sorry--indeed, I am disgusted--but the facts are too plain." Miss Day then in a few eager whispers,which Maggie in vain endeavoured to suppress, gave her chain ofevidence. Rosalind's distress; her passionate desire to keep the coral;her entreaties that Miss Day would lend her four guineas; her assurancesthat she had not a penny in the world to pay her debt; her fears that itwas utterly useless for her to expect the money from her mother. Thenthe curious fact that, on that very same evening, Polly Singleton shouldhave been given a five-pound note by her. "There is not the leastdoubt," concluded Miss Day, "that Rosalind must have gone into yourroom, Miss Oliphant, and stolen the note while Priscilla was absent.You know Miss Peel said that she did leave your room for a moment or twoto fetch her Lexicon. Rosalind must have seized the opportunity; therecannot be a doubt of it."
Maggie's face turned white; her eyes were full of indignation andhorror.
"Something must be done," continued Annie. "I am no prude, but I drawthe line at thieves. Miss Merton ought to be expelled; she is not fitto speak to one of us."
"The affair is mine," said Maggie, after a pause. "You must let me dealwith it."
"Will you?"
"I certainly will."
"To-night?"
"I cannot say; I must think. The whole thing is terrible, it upsetsme."
"I thought you would feel it. I am a good bit upset myself, and so isLucy Marsh."
"Does Miss Marsh know, too? In that case, Miss Day, it will, I fear, bemy duty to consult Miss Heath. Oh, I must think; I can do nothinghastily. Please, Miss Day, keep your own counsel for t
he present, andask Miss Marsh to do the same."
Annie Day ran off, and Maggie stood by the open window looking out atthe starry night. Her head ached; her pulses beat; she felt sick andtired. The noise and laughter which filled the gaily thronged roomswere all discordant to her--she wished she had not come. A voice closeby made her start--a hand not only clasped hers, but held it firmly fora moment. She looked up, and said with a sudden impulse, "Oh, Geoffrey!I am glad you are here." Then, with a burning blush, she withdrew herhand from Hammond's.
"Can I help you?" he asked. His heart was beating fast; her words weretingling in his ears, but his tone was quiet. "Can I help you?" herepeated. "Here is a seat." He pulled a chair from behind a curtain,and Maggie dropped into it.
"Something is wrong," she said; "something dreadful has happened."
"May I know what it is?"
"I don't think I have any right to tell you. It is connected with thecollege; but it has given me a blow, and I was tired beforehand. I camehere against my will, and now I don't want to talk to anyone."
"That can be easily managed. I will stand here, and keep off allintruders."
"Thank you." Maggie put her hand to her forehead.
The headache, which had scarcely left her for a fortnight, was now soacute that all her thoughts were confused; she felt as if she werewalking in a dream. It seemed perfectly right and natural that Hammondshould stand by her side and protect her from the crowd; it seemednatural to her at that moment, natural, and even right, to appeal tohim.
After a long pause, he said--
"I am afraid I also have bad news!"
"How?"
"I went to see my uncle, Mr Hayes."
"Yes; it was good of you--I remember."
"I failed in my mission. Mr Hayes says that Miss Peel, our Prissie'saunt, would rather die than accept help from anyone."
"Oh, how obstinate some people are!" replied Maggie, wearily."Happiness, help, and succour come to their very door, and they turnthese good things away."
"That is true," replied Hammond. "I am firmly convinced," he added,"that the good angel of happiness is within the reach of most of us onceat least in our lives; but for a whim--often for a mere whim--we tellhim to go."
Maggie's face grew very white. "I must say `Good-bye': I am goinghome," she said, rising; then she added, looking full at Hammond,"Sometimes it is necessary to reject happiness; and necessity ought notto be spoken of as a whim."
CHAPTER THIRTY.
"IF I HAD KNOWN YOU SOONER."
As Maggie was leaving the crowded drawing-room, she came face to facewith Rosalind. One of those impulses which always guided her, more orless, made her stop suddenly and put her hand on the young girl'sshoulder.
"Will you come home with me?" she asked.
Rosalind was talking gaily at the moment to a very young undergraduate.
"I am obliged to you," she began; "you are kind, but I have arranged toreturn to St Benet's with Miss Day and Miss Marsh."
"I should like you to come now with me," persisted Maggie in a gravevoice.
Something in her tone caused Rosalind to turn pale. The sick fear,which had never been absent from her heart during the evening, became onthe instant intolerable. She turned to the young lad with whom she hadbeen flirting, bade him a hasty and indifferent "Good-night," andfollowed Maggie out of the room.
Hammond accompanied the two girls downstairs, got their cab for them,and helped them in.
After Rosalind consented to come home, Miss Oliphant did not addressanother word to her. Rosalind sat huddled up in a corner of the cab;Maggie kept the window open, and looked out. The clear moonlight shoneon her white face and glistened on her dress. Rosalind kept glancing ather; the guilty girl's terror of the silent figure by her side grewgreater each moment.
The girls reached Heath Hall, and Maggie again touched Rosalind on herarm.
"Come to my room," she said; "I want to say something to you."
Without waiting for a reply she went on herself in front. Rosalindfollowed abjectly; she was shaking in every limb.
The moment Maggie closed her room door, Rosalind flung her cloak off hershoulders, and, falling on her knees, caught the hem of Maggie's dressand covered her face with it.
"Don't, Rosalind; get up," said Miss Oliphant, in a tone of disgust.
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie, do be merciful! Do forgive me! Don't send me toprison, Maggie--don't!"
"Get off your knees at once, or I don't know what I shall do," repliedMaggie.
Rosalind sprang to her feet; she crouched up against the door; her eyeswere wide open. Maggie came and faced her.
"Oh, don't!" said Miss Merton, with a little shriek, "don't look at melike that!" She put up her hand to her neck and began to unfasten hercoral necklace. She took it off, slipped her bracelets from her arms,took her earrings out, and removed her pins.
"You can have them all," she said, holding out the coral; "they areworth a great deal more--a great deal more than the money I--_took_!"
"Lay them down," said Maggie. "Do you think I could touch that coral?Oh, Rosalind," she added, a sudden rush of intense feeling coming intoher voice, "I pity you! I pity any girl who has so base a soul."
Rosalind began to sob freely. "You don't know how I was tempted," shesaid. "I went through a dreadful time, and you were the cause--you knowyou were, Maggie. You raised the price of that coral so wickedly, youexcited my feelings. I felt as if there was a fiend in me. You did notwant the sealskin jacket, but you bid against me, and won it. Then Ifelt mad, and, whatever you had offered for the coral, I should havebidden higher. It was all your fault; it was you who got me into debt.I would not be in the awful, awful plight I am in to-night but for you,Maggie."
"Hush!" said Maggie. The pupils of her eyes dilated curiously; she puther hand before them.
"The fruits of my bad half-hours," she murmured under her breath. Aftera long pause, she said--
"There is some truth in your words, Rosalind; I did help you to get intothis false position. I am sorry; and when I tell Miss Heath the wholecircumstance--as I must to-morrow--you may be sure I shall not exoneratemyself."
"Oh, Maggie, Maggie, you won't tell Miss Heath! If you do, I am certainto be expelled, and my mother--my mother will die; she is not overstrong just now, and this will kill her. You cannot be so cruel as tokill my mother, Maggie Oliphant, particularly when you yourself got meinto this."
"I did not get you into this," retorted Maggie. "I know I am notblameless in the matter; but could I imagine for a moment that any girl,any girl who belonged to this college, could debase herself to steal,and then throw the blame on another. Nancy Banister has told me, Rose,how cruelly you spoke to Priscilla--what agony your cruel words costher. I did wrong I own, but no act of mine would have tempted anothergirl to do what you have done. Now, stop crying; I have not brought youhere to discuss your wickedness with you. I shall tell the wholecircumstance to Miss Heath in the morning. It is my plain duty to doso, and no words of yours can prevent me."
With a stifled cry, Rosalind Merton again fell on her knees.
"Get up," said Maggie, "get up at once, or I shall bring Miss Heath herenow. Your crime, Rosalind, is known to Miss Day and to Miss Marsh.Even without consulting Miss Heath, I think I can take it upon me to saythat you had better leave St Benet's by the first train in themorning."
"Oh, yes--yes! that would be much the best thing to do."
"You are to go home, remember."
"Yes, I will certainly go home. But, Maggie, I have no money--I haveliterally no money."
"I will ask Priscilla Peel to go with you to the railway-station, and Iwill give her sufficient money to pay your fare to London--you live inLondon, don't you?"
"Yes, at Bayswater."
"What is your address?"
"19, Queen Street, Bayswater."
"Priscilla shall telegraph to your mother, when you start, and ask herto meet you at. King's Cross."
; Rosalind's face grew paler and paler. "What excuse am I to give tomother?" she asked.
"That is your own affair; I have no doubt you will find something tosay. I should advise you, Rosalind, to tell your poor mother the truth,for she is certain to hear all about it from Miss Heath the followingmorning."
"Oh, what a miserable, miserable girl I am, Maggie!"
"You are a very miserable and sinful girl. It was a wretched day forSt Benet's when a girl such as you are came to live here. But I don'twant to speak of that now, Rosalind; there is something you must dobefore you leave."
"What is that?"
"You must go to Priscilla Peel, and humbly beg her pardon."
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot! You have no idea how I hate Priscilla."
"I am not surprised; the children of darkness generally hate those whowalk in the light."
"Maggie, I _can't_ beg her pardon."
"You can please yourself about that: I certainly shall not force you;but, unless you beg Priscilla's pardon, and confess to her the wickeddeed you have done, I shall lend you no money to go home. You can go toyour room now, Rosalind; I am tired, and wish to go to bed. You will beable to let me know your decision in the morning."
Rosalind turned slowly away. She reached her room before the othergirls had arrived home, and tossing the coral ornaments on herdressing-table, she flung herself across her bed, and gave way to themost passionate, heart-broken sobs that had ever rent her baby frame.
She was still sobbing, but more quietly, for the force of her passionhad exhausted her, when a very light touch on her shoulder caused her toraise herself, and look up wildly. Prissie was bending over her.
"I knocked several times," she said, "but you
