Meg's Friend: A Story for Girls

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XIV.

  WHO GAVE THAT KISS.

  A year and a half had elapsed since that wild outburst of rebellionagainst discipline had sent Meg flying Londonward. She had settled downinto the routine of the school. Nothing now existed for her outside itsboundaries. She had parted company with her childhood. The goblin pastlay behind her, and as she looked back upon it the child who watchedover the staircase almost appeared to have been a visionary creature.

  She concentrated all her attention upon her studies. If still MissGrantley was prejudiced against her she won the approbation of her otherteachers. Signora Vallaria rolled her dark eyes as Meg's fingers stilllagged behind in execution; but there was an energy, an intelligence inher apprehension that made the signora, while wringing her hands, yetconsider Meg's lesson a treat to give. If Meg's answers occasionallystill lacked exactitude in the historical class they were always roughlybrilliant and intelligent. She was still apt to pass beyond her owndepth, but her fellow-pupils felt the impetus of a rashness that was theoutcome of energy. Meg had an unconscious ascendency over herschoolmates. A vigorous nature will always sway more languid spirits;but her influence over them was due rather to the fact that since shewas eight years of age she had begun to think, and, like all sufferingcreatures, to observe. This power of observation, of drawing her ownconclusions, and of acting upon them, was the secret of her ascendencyover her schoolfellows. It was the ascendency of character.

  Some called her repellent; for there was a childlike bluntness, acertain defiant awkwardness about her still. Others, like Miss Pinkett,treated her with contempt as a nameless waif. Others again, likeGwendoline Lister, wove a web of romance about her; nothing short of Megbeing the deserted child of a duchess satisfied the Beauty. Meg knew shecontinued to be the object of this speculation, and these castles in theair made about her future wounded her, and she repelled curiosity. Shestill remained solitary in that busy republic of girls. Still hersensitive pride impelled her to refuse sweets when offered to her,because she had none to give in return; still she refused invitations,because she could not ask others to be guests at her home.

  The day of her attempted flight had proved memorable; that day offeverish adventures had brought her an experience over which, in herloveless life, she often pondered. That spectral kiss placed on herforehead, which had brought such solace to her as she lay in misery andloneliness, haunted her. Who had given her that kiss? At first she hadthought it might be Miss Reeves to assure her of pardon; but why shouldthe schoolmistress have made a mystery of her kindness? The balancedcomposure and impartiality of the lady's manner dispelled thisconjecture. The more Meg saw Miss Reeves the more she felt sure the ladywould not yield to any emotional demonstration, and, if she yielded, shewould not conceal it. Miss Grantley could not have taken this fit ofpity. Her frosty behavior precluded its possibility. Then Meg thought itmight be the cook who was kind to her.

  "Did you come up to my room that night when I was going to sleep?" sheasked the old servant; but the surprised denial she received wasconclusive. Who then could have given her that kiss? It could not be theold gentleman. She had heard the wheels of his carriage driving down thegarden, and nothing could well be more unlikely or unlike his stern,unsympathetic nature. There was no one else in the house that day exceptthe servants, and no servant could have approached with that glidingfootfall. Meg sometimes fancied it might be her dead mother attracted toher grieving child's bedside; but Meg asked herself, "If it were, whyhad she not come to kiss or comfort her before?" and then she added,"there are no such things as ghosts." But still this solution seemed torest upon her mind as a notion more akin to her feelings, if it were theleast probable explanation of the mystery.

  Meg, during the year and a half that had elapsed, had given way to nomore bursts of impish rage; she had become a reticent, grave, and silentgirl. She was rather stern-looking, but this expression of sternness, ifto a superficial observer it might have seemed an outcome of her nature,was in truth but that of a habit acquired by its enforced repression.Her sympathies bid fair to languish and die from want of soil, when anevent happened which gave a force and a color to her school-life.

  One afternoon after class, Meg, entering the schoolroom, perceived thegirls gathered in a knot at the further end. She pushed her way throughto discover what was attracting them. A golden-haired child was thecenter of the group. She was a new pupil come from India, and the girlswere lavishing caresses upon the little stranger. The child was prettyand frail-looking enough to justify their enthusiastic effusiveness.She submitted to the kisses and hugs and general petting with ahalf-resigned air that suggested endurance of what she was alreadyover-satiated with, rather than gratitude for the accorded welcome. Meglooked on, unsympathizing with these cheap caresses, but still attractedby the prettiness of the child as one might be by a strange bird ofgreat beauty. The wistful gaze of large blue eyes encircled with lilacshadows met hers; but still Meg took no notice, repelled by that excessof demonstration lavished upon the little stranger by the other girls."They don't see how they worry the poor little thing," she muttered as,taking up what she had come for, she went upstairs.

  Some time after, as she knelt before her trunk, putting its contents inorder, a slight touch on her elbow caused her to look round.

  "What pretty things!" said a little voice. It was the child. With tinyfingers she pointed to the gayly-bound volume Meg was restoring to thebox.

  "There are pictures inside," Meg replied, turning the pages. The childlooked coldly at the prints. She apparently did not care for theillustrations. It was the gold-edged leaves and the gold pattern on thecover which attracted her.

  "How it _sines_!" she said with her baby lisp, and she passed her rosyfingertips over the gilding.

  Meg looked at the bright hair falling in soft abundance over the tinyshoulders, at the dark lashes that shaded the eyes, surrounded by pearlyshadows, at the sculptured lips, the upper lip lying softly curled overthe lower. She thought she had never seen anything so dainty anddelicate as this child. She seemed to be like a feather blown out ofheaven across her path.

  "What is your name?" asked Meg.

  "Elsie," said the child; "and what is yours?"

  "My name is Meg."

  "Did your mamma give you those books?" asked the child.

  "I have no mamma," Meg replied curtly.

  "I have no mamma either; she is dead," said Elsie.

  Meg was moved by one of those sudden emotions which come with a rush.She lifted her box with violence and carried it some paces off.

  "How strong you are!" said the child. "Can you lift me?"

  Meg felt inclined to be impatient. Then, meeting the glance of eyes theappeal of which was irresistible, she took the child in her arms andtossed her up.

  That night, through the silence of the dormitory, Meg heard subduedsobbing. All the other girls were asleep. Elsie's bed had been placed onthe other side of the room. Meg listened for a moment. Her heart waswrung by that low sound of weeping. She thought of her own anguish ofloneliness, and of that haunting kiss which had brought such solace toher in her night of sorrow. After awhile she stole out of bed, andbending over the child, she kissed her forehead.